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ktwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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The Babysitter (a Last of Us fanfic) pt. 8

Title: The Babysitter Fandom: The Last of Us Rating: Mature Characters & Pairings: Joel Miller x Reader Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: An encounter with a familiar face.

Notes: This one has a point of view change at the end. Hope it doesn't throw off the groove, but someone's keeping secrets from us ;)

Winter & Spring

In the coming weeks, Joel and Tommy worked on the shed so that you could preserve the meat the next time one of them shot a deer or goose. In the meantime you drank peppermint tea by the gallon and ate all the berries you could get your hands on.

With the last of the tomatoes boiled down to a measly pint and the garden cleared of bitter greens, you scoured your little library for information on what plants would support a healthy pregnancy. Wild yam was most commonly mentioned so you tore the yellowing botanical illustration from your book and carried it with you on your daily walks. You searched high and low and despaired to realize your pleasant little valley was too rocky to support root vegetables.

By the first frost you had a substantial belly and an appetite to match. You tried not to be greedy, but neither Joel nor Tommy had the heart to let you go hungry, so as your supplies dwindled they starved while your belly grew. As the days grew colder, the icy conditions proved more treacherous as it became harder for you to get around. It wasn’t so cold as to be dangerous, the way it got further north, but it was still much colder than your Texas blood cared for. One morning you woke up to a blanket of snow covering the garden.

You took a spill into the ice cold creek while hunting for the crayfish that burrowed under the rocks. Joel and Tommy stayed up all night stoking the fire just to be sure you didn’t freeze solid. The next morning, Joel put his foot down and insisted on confining you to the house. He worried–as did Tommy, who was far more diplomatic with his concerns–that a wrong step or slip that might otherwise be merely injurious could prove disastrous for you. You agreed to their demands, supposing it was the least you could do under the circumstances, but you weren’t above complaining when the cabin fever set in.

Joel wasn’t quite asleep, but your supply of firewood was dwindling, and the bed was still warm. There was no sense in getting up before dawn. You could hear his stomach growling as he laid in bed beside you, but he wasn’t the only one keeping you awake. You could feel the baby moving, a foot or an elbow pressing hard into your ribs. It wasn’t quite painful, but even now that it was happening more frequently, it still felt utterly strange. It didn’t help that your skin felt so dry and stretched in the winter air.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Give me your hand,” you said.

“What for?”

He sounded irked; you weren’t surprised. Aside from the hunger, he’d barely touched you all winter. He wouldn’t have even shared the bed, if not for his nightmares about you freezing to death in the night. You couldn’t blame him, not really; you weren’t feeling particularly sexual these days. You still had nausea most mornings and laying on your back made your legs go numb.

“Just give it here,” you urged, reaching for him. “Quick.”

You slid his hand between the folds of your robe–one of the only things that still fit–and placed it on the swell of your belly.

“Whoa,” Joel sat up at attention as the baby kicked against his hand and you chuckled. He moved his hand over your stomach, following the path of a tiny foot. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Almost constantly,” you said.

“That’s—shit,” Joel stammered, awestruck.

You had always suspected Joel and Sarah’s mom weren’t together when Sarah was born, but now you realized although he had been a father (and a good one from what you remembered) he had never done this part before. That it was all as new to him as it was to you.

Weeks passed, the snow melted and as the days grew longer you began to notice the first signs of spring. Snowdrops and crocuses poked their heads up along with kale sprouts that had over-wintered. Yellow dandelions polka-dotted the yard and you pulled them up to brew tea and make fritters.

On the first warm day of spring you staged your rebellion, pulling on your boots stuffed with newspapers and declaring that you were going for a walk if it killed you.

“Stay within sight,” Joel warned, although you suspected he was just as happy to get you out of the house as you were to get away from him.

It was harder to get down the hill than you remembered. You tried to brush it off as a product of being cooped up for so long, but it was so pleasant just being outside you were distracted from your worries soon enough. The trees were turning the gorgeous green of the first new growth of the season.

As you walked you caught sight of a spot of red in the brush and realized with delight there was a patch of strawberries ripening among the ferns. You sat right down on the damp earth and began plucking as many berries as you could, shoving them greedily into your mouth, even the palest pink ones that were still quite bitter and astringent. You were so enraptured you didn’t notice someone was approaching until they were right in front of you.

You looked up and there was a woman. She was tall, you guessed somewhere between Tommy and Joel in age. She had long brown hair and held a gun loosely in her right hand; she looked nearly as surprised as you. You froze, eyes wide, paralyzed by fear.

“Easy,” she said, holding her hands out. “Easy–”

You screamed, struggling to push yourself to your feet, scrambling on all fours through the mud back up the hill, too top heavy to push yourself upright.

“Joel! Tommy! Help!”

“Woah,” the woman shouted. “I’m not here to hurt you–”

You were impressed, honestly, by how fast Joel managed to move, sprinting down the hill, rifle in hand. He pushed you behind him, gun raised. The woman raised her weapon.

“It’s fine,” she said firmly. “Everything’s fine. No problems.”

“You’re on my land,” Joel growled. “I call that a problem. What are you doing here?”

You couldn’t see Joel’s face as you cowered behind him dutifully, but you felt like you could read his mind as the standoff progressed. You had made it through winter by the skin of your teeth; you were just getting back on your feet. The garden would feed you for the summer, but everything you had–food, shelter, safety–depended on no one finding you.

“My group sent me to look for food,” the woman said. “I saw your strawberries from the trail. That’s all.”

By then Tommy, who must have been further off when you called, was coming down the hill and the woman–realizing she was out-manned and out-gunned–held her hands up in parley. She cocked her head to one side, peering at you, Joel’s dwindling frame doing a poor job of concealing your bump.

“How far are you?”

“Six months,” you said, only for Joel to shush you.

“Really?” The woman looked surprised.

“What’s it to you?” Joel snapped.

“She looks a little big for 24 weeks is all,” she said. “Every woman is different. Probably nothing to worry about.”

You felt Joel’s body tense. Six months was only an estimate, of course. You knew you were getting big, you moved slowly, your back hurt, your feet swelled, but it had never occurred to you that something could be wrong until now.

“My name’s Tess, by the way,” the woman waited for you to introduce yourselves, but was met with silence. “And, uh, which one of you is the father?”

“None of your fucking business,” Joel snapped, which was as good as a confession as any. For a moment, you thought she looked disappointed.

“What brings you through here, anyway?” Tommy asked, changing the subject before Joel inevitably shot her for asking too many questions.

“My group’s heading north,” Tess explained. “You have a radio?”

You did, but you only turned it on every few weeks to try to save what battery you had.

“Boston QZ lost a third of their population over winter,” Tess explained. “They’re looking for healthy people who can work. They’ve got supplies, doctors, schools–”

You’re sure that must have sounded like a dream to some, but after Atlanta you were in no hurry to be crammed into another QZ. You hoped Tess and her people would get there safely. You found yourself liking her; you didn’t know many folks who could stare down Tommy and Joel and stay calm and collected.

“I guess you better get going then,” Joel said, still peering at her over the barrel of the rifle.

“Well,” Tess gave a long, drawn-out sigh, tucking her gun into her waistband. “I was looking for food. I was hoping you might share your strawberries.”

“Those are my wife’s strawberries,” Joel said.

You blushed inadvertently, hearing him call you his wife for the first time and realizing–though you didn’t have church bells or wedding rings–it felt right. It felt true.

“Well, Sweetpea?” Joel relaxed his grip on the rifle, turning to look at you.

“She can have some,” you nodded.

“Thank you,” Tess said, flashing you a smile so warm you couldn’t help but smile back. “Do you think you could come down and show me where I should pick?”

Joel shot you an exasperated look, waving you on as he and Tommy watched closely.

“Here is okay,” you said, pointing to a section of the plants that you hadn’t entirely picked over.

“Can you show me how?” Tess said. “I don’t want to hurt your plants.”

“It’s not hard,” you said, rolling your eyes, crouching down to pinch one of the berries from its stem.

Tess leaned over, watching closely.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, leaning into your ear. “Do you want to be with these men?”

“Oh,” you gasped, and laughed nervously. “Yes. I’m okay. They’re my family–”

Remembering Atlanta, you thought better of it and tried again.

“I mean, we’ve been together forever, since before, you know. We take care of each other. I like it here.”

Tess nodded along with your explanation. “No offense. You understand why I had to ask.”

“I do,” you agreed. “And I appreciate it. It’s kind of you.”

“So,” Tess said. “Which one is Tommy and which one is Joel?”

“Tommy’s the younger one with the hair,” you explained, soto voce. “And Joel is the older one with the sourpuss.”

“I see,” Tess chuckled. “He calls you Sweetpea?”

“My childhood nickname,” you explained. “To be honest I’m not even sure if they remember my Christian name, but it’s nice to have a reminder of home, you know.”

“And where is home, for you?”

You told Tess all about Texas and she told you about growing up outside Chicago. Despite your better judgment, you recounted a sterilized version of your time in Atlanta, and she reassured you weren’t responsible for your troubles there. You had forgotten how much you had enjoyed the company of other women, and the more you talked with Tess the more charming and likable you found her.

“I want Tess to come to the house for lunch,” you announced, catching Joel and Tommy off guard. You felt bold, stating it as a fact instead of asking permission, but it was as much your house as it was theirs.

“It’d like that, too,” Tess agreed.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Joel protested.

“I want her to come,” you insisted.

Joel looked to Tommy, who shook his head.

“Consider me Switzerland,” he said.

“I said no,” Joel growled.

“I work just as hard as you and Tommy,” you said, probably harder considering you cooked and cleaned and foraged while lugging around an extra thirty pounds of baby Miller. “I want to have a friend. I deserve to have a friend.”

“This is a bad idea,” Joel warned.

Lunch, like every meal for the last few weeks, was watered-down soup of a scant handful of beans and barley, the first young leaves of swiss chard, garlic mustard, with a chickweed and violet blossom salad on the side. It wasn’t much, but Tess was gracious enough to make it out to be the best thing she had eaten in ages. If her travels north had been anything like yours, it very well might have been.

After your meal you felt the day’s excitement had taken its toll and were content to lie down in the bedroom while Joel escorted Tess out of your valley.

Tess and Joel spent most of the walk in silence, each one casting sideways glances

“Listen, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Tess said, carefully picking her way through the greenbriers along the road. “I think we can help each other.”

“I don’t need your help,” Joel said.

“Maybe not,” Tess nodded. “But I believe you want what’s best for that girl and your baby. I’m not going to lie, we could use you and your brother out there on the road. We’re no saints, by any stretch of the imagination, but we’re decent people. About as good as it gets out here. We’ll do right by you and your family, I promise you that.

“Because the way I see it, you’ve got six, eight weeks max and that baby is coming, ready or not. She’s young, she’s strong, and there’s a good chance everything goes right. But if even one thing goes wrong, wouldn’t you rather have a doctor there?”

Joel stood in silence, staring at the forest floor. The muscles of his jaw clenched, the very cadence of his breath galloping along with his racing mind.

“I am not trying to scare you,” Tess pressed. “But I’ve got a cesarean scar that says even with the best care, sometimes things don’t go as planned. Come to Boston with us. Get that girl some real care–you owe her that much.”

“I’ll think about it,” Joel agreed. “I have to talk to Tommy, but I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Baby’s First Taglist: @stilllivindue2spite, @amethystwonders11, @teacupcollectorr, @jbaby2, @flyingmushroomsss, @boysddontcry, @cated18, @sunnycamm

#joel miller x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou

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ktwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 6

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Tom's wake leads to a revelation for the pack.

Notes: I don't know what else to say...

Technically speaking, you hadn’t been invited to Tom’s service, but you had never known a wake to require an RSVP. The boys weren’t thrilled about you tagging along to Molly’s, but they agreed Frankie would watch the baby for a few minutes so you could say goodbye. You agreed not to stay for food or drinks or talk to anybody. But by the time you arrived–for lack of a better term–things were already FUBAR. The whole house reeked of a female in heat; you couldn’t help but recoil at the smell.

Will and Frankie intercepted you in the front hallway. You barely recognized one of their old army colleagues pitching his nose closed–blood staining the front of his dress shirt. Benny held an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel to a sizable lump blooming over the man’s temple, his own knuckles bloody and bruised.

“What the hell happened?” you whispered, handing Luna over to Frankie who seemed all-too-happy to have an excuse to get out of the house.

“It’s Tess,” Will sighed.

The pronouncement caught you off guard although you shouldn’t have been surprised. A heat cycle could be exacerbated, even brought on by stress. In young females it could be particularly difficult. It wasn’t the way you would have chosen to bring Tess into the pack, officially, but you couldn’t help but be pleased by the prospect of having another female to balance out the pack. And with Tom’s lineage, she’d certainly give the boys a run for their money.

“Anthony was caught off guard–lunged at her,” Will explained, gesturing to the bloodshed in the hall. “Benny put him down.”

“Oh no,” you frowned. “Poor Tess.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but glow with pride that Benny had stepped up to look after your own. You knew Tom would be proud, too, at least after he had gotten over the initial shock. Shifter genetics were a recessive trait, carried on the X chromosome; still there was roughly a 50/50 chance Tom’s girls would end up recessive carriers of the gene.

“Maybe you can talk to her,” Will said.

“Do you think Molly is okay with that?” you asked. As excited as you were to bring Tess back into her natural-born pack, you didn’t want to make this day worse than it already was for Tom’s family.

“I don’t think she’s got a choice,” Will said. “Pope’s talking to her now. Tess is in her room.”

“I’ll talk to her,” you agreed. “If I text you a list, can you run to the store to pick up some things for me?”

Will agreed and you mounted the stairs to Tess’s bedroom on the corner of the landing. You knocked on the door.

“Tess, it’s Ginger,” you said. “Can I come in?”

“Fuck off,” Tess yelled through the door.

“Will told me what happened,” you explained. “He’s worried about you. He wanted me to come talk to you.”

You heard a long sigh through the door. Tess’s puppy crush on Will was one of the worst kept secrets of the pack. Mentioning it never failed to get Tom riled up, but it was perfectly healthy and natural. For his part, Will was always tender with her; he never tried to embarrass or abuse her affection.

You opened the door a crack. Tess was sprawled across her bed, stripped down to her slip and stockings. Her face was flushed, and her hair clung to her sweat-damp neck and chest.

“What is wrong with me,” she moaned, in obvious discomfort.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” you said, moving toward the bed, drawing her hair off her neck and twisting it into a loose braid. “It’s true; you’re different from most of your peers, but that doesn’t make it wrong. Since time immemorial, there comes a time in every young woman’s life when she declares to the world that she is a co-creator of life itself.”

“So I’m just supposed to be a baby factory for any man who comes near me?”

“No,” you snapped, taking Tess’s hands and forcing her to look you in the eyes, her skin feverish and clammy.

“Never. That is vicious slander perpetuated by humans who are too afraid to admit that no matter how much time and energy they spend on waxing and dieting and anti-aging potions, at the end of the day they’re still just animals. You choose your mate. You decide when to have children. You decide where. That is your birthright.”

“Why me?” Tess threw herself back on the bed, still unconvinced of the splendor that being a shifter had to offer.

“Your father only ever wanted to protect you,” you said. “Unfortunately, that means there are some things he didn’t prepare you for. I know we haven’t always gotten along, but we’re family. I’m here for you. Let me draw you a bath, you can relax, there’s nothing you need to do but take care of yourself.”

You went to the bathroom down the hall and gave the tub a quick rinse before filling the tub with lukewarm water and a healthy squirt of Evie’s Mr. Bubbles. You stepped back into the hallway to fetch fresh towels from the linen closet and that’s when you ran into Molly coming out of the bedroom. Her face was puffy and red, which made her eyes stand out in a startling shade of green.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here,” the fiery redhead warned you, putting on a brave face in spite of her obvious grief. You had to admit she was beautiful; at least Tom had been right about that.

“I’m not here to make trouble,” you said. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened, but right now I’m the only one here who knows what Tess is going through. I just want to help.”

Molly bushed passed you on her way down the stairs without another word. You took it as tacit permission to continue routing through her linen closet. You brought Tess the clean towels and sent her to the bathroom with some implicit instructions on the various applications of a handheld shower head.

While Tess was in the bath, you changed the bed sheets. Will arrived with arms full of shopping bags from the Target around the corner and together the two of you started unpacking new pillows and blankets, and a few more intimate personal effects.

“Put your arms up,” you instructed, tearing the tags off a faux-fur blanket.

Will complied instinctually, but then balked as you scrubbed the blanket against his chest and underarms.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting your scent on this,” you insisted. “It’ll help.”

Will grumbled in protest, but ultimately relented as you prepared a suitable nest of softness and warmth. Tess returned from the bathroom in a fresh nightgown and robe. You made sure she was comfortable with cold water, snacks, and anything else she might need until the mourners had left.

“Tell me about my father,” Tess said, getting settled into bed.

“Your father was a great man,” Will said.

“Not you,” Tess cut him off. “God, I’ve heard that speech a thousand times. I want to hear it from her.”

“I met your father in Tehran,” you explained, perching on the end of her bed. “He could have killed me, but instead he brought me in. He never treated me like a woman, just another one of his warriors. I suppose I wasn’t grateful enough for that at the time, but I miss him terribly.”

At the time, the army’s special forces unit of shifters was still in its infancy with Tom as its captain, struggling to make a pack out of lone wolves so far gone they were nearly feral. Something the higher ups in Washington couldn’t possibly understand.

You were living as a lone wolf yourself at the time, trying to fly under the radar, but Redfly sniffed you out right away. Ginger was a red wolf, like him, it was possible you had a common ancestor somewhere down your family line. The unit had orders to destroy any other wolves who could be used by foreign powers to do the same things Tom and his team were doing for the U.S. But Tom saw your skill as a healer and knew he could make use of you.

“There was a lot I didn’t understand about Tom,” you said. “But I know he loved you girls and your mother very much. He fought against every instinct in order to make a life with you. He wanted very badly to be a good father, but he was a killer by nature. I wish I could assure you otherwise, but that’s the truth.”

Tess nodded solemnly as you finished tucking her into bed before making your way downstairs.

Will stopped in the kitchen to grab a beer as Santi recounted for the thousandth time the carefully crafted explanation of what had happened in Columbia for another of Tom’s acquaintances from the real estate office.

You stepped out on the porch, taking a seat on the swing, watching Frankie play with Evie in the grass as Benny tossed Luna into the air in a way that made the other mother’s gasp. Will came out from the kitchen and handed you a cold beer and took a seat beside you.

“Tess will make a good match for Benny,” you said, leaning on Will’s shoulder as you looked out across the yard.

Will groaned, taking a long drink from his beer as sweat beaded on the outside of the bottle.

“Not now, but in a few years,” you insisted. “Once she’s done with college. I’ll be an old maid by the time Benny’s ready to settle down and start a family.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Will warned with a chuckle.

After a while, Santi came out to the porch, leaning heavily on the door frame. The sun was starting to set and the crowd of mourners had dwindled. Frankie brought Evie back up to the porch to hand off to one of her aunties for bedtime rituals and shouldered Luna’s diaper bag.

“You ready to go?” you said, reaching for Santi’s hand. He mumbled something that sounded like protest and Will stepped in.

“You should head out; Benny and I can help with the cleanup.”

“You alright if I ride with Pope?” you asked Frankie as he packed the car.

Frankie agreed and leaned over to kiss your cheek, his fresh stubble tickling your face.

“I’ll see you back at the house.”

Santiago insisted on driving, despite how tired he was. You figured it helped get his mind off things. You were renting a two bedroom flat about twenty minutes from Will’s apartment. Before Columbia, Frankie had been staying in a trailer on the airfield, but that had fallen through after his suspension, so he was currently sharing the second bedroom with Luna. It wasn’t ideal, but you liked having your family close.

“Come here,” you sighed, herding Santiago into the bedroom. “Let me help you relax.”

You pressed him onto the bed and climbed up to kneel behind him. You reached around and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. You massaged his neck and shoulders with the utmost care, tracing the scars at the base of his neck. You felt the tension in his muscles start to ease under your hands.

“That’s better,” you said, moving your body closer. You slid your hands down his front, undoing a few more buttons as Santiago sighed, letting his head fall back against your breasts.

“It’s been a long day,” you said, kissing his face and neck, then down his shoulders. “A hard day. You deserve a break. You’ve earned it.”

You carefully helped him shuck off his shirt. He let you move him, just this side of dead weight as you ran your hands over his chest and across his waist. You had to admit he had maintained quite a nice figure despite his advancing years–not that you minded the little belly Frankie had put on around the same time you had gained the bulk of your pregnancy weight–but variety was the spice of life, after all.

“C’mon,” you said. “Lay down. Let me take care of you.”

Santiago stretched out on the bed and you pulled off his shoes and socks, unbuttoned his pants and kissed a trail across his hip as you pulled them down. You put on a show, unzipping your dress, letting it pool around your feet as you pulled down the cups of your nursing bra and climbed over him.

You took his shaft in your hand, running your tongue over the swollen tip. You crawled upwards with a cheeky smile and took his face in your hand, kissing him hard as you lifted yourself onto him, snug muscles gripping the hard pulse of his cock.

You braced yourself placing hands on his chest, lifting yourself up to rock against him. Santiago hummed sleepily, gripping the swell of your hips.

“You like that,” you murmured. “You like how good I take this cock for you.”

You leaned forward to kiss his face, his throat, nipping at his earlobe. Santiago growled, pulling you into him harder, nuzzling into your face and neck, running his fingers through your hair.

You ground down against him until he shuddered with his release. You rolled onto the bed beside him, panting in exhilaration. You pressed your nose into his cheek, tracing circles against his skin.

#triple frontier fic #shifters au #reverse harem #reader x frankie 'catfish' morales #reader x santiago 'pope' garcia #reader x will 'ironhead' miller #reader x benny miller #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #charlie hunnam #garrett hedlund

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ktwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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Shameless self-reblog as I struggle in the throws of sickness to bring this one back. 😭😭😭

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 5

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Things with Santiago reach their boiling point.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 (below cut)

Content Notes: rough sex, a little d/s with shifter dynamics, etc.

Chapter Five

After three days, Will’s fever finally broke. Arrangements were made to have Tom’s remains cremated and returned to the states. And then there was the matter of the money: five million and change. Split five ways it wasn’t enough to live on even if you spent the rest of your days as misers. To hear that Santiago’s woman got two million of her own left you seething, but still you put on your best dress and got Luna ready to go to the bank with the others to finish the paperwork.

You sat at the back of the room as the accountant explained the processes and fees. Luna cooed and babbled, excited by the novelty of being out of the house for the first time in weeks. At just over seven months of age, she had a few word-like sounds in her lexicon, like ba-ba and da-da, but you were still waiting in eager anticipation for those bona fide first words.

When the time came to sign the contracts, Will asked for his share of the money to be included in the trust for Redfly’s family. You don’t know what you were expecting. Will saw himself as the noble warrior, doing right by his fallen comrade, but still your eyes went dark. Of course, Benny followed his brother’s lead, signing away his share of the money as well.

You rose from your seat, approaching the table to stand beside Frankie, balancing his child on your hip as you leered down at him. He pointedly refused to meet your gaze as he crumpled up his set of paperwork before scrawling his name on the family trust documents. Luna could tell you were upset, pulling at the neck of your dress to try to get to your breasts. You pried her hands away and she whined loudly in protest.

“Are you serious right now?” you moved in front of Frankie as he made his way to the door.

“Don’t,” Frankie warned, stepping around you.

You let him go, returning your attention to Santiago.

“I hope you’re happy,” you said, looking down at him. “You destroyed our lives.”

At the end of the table the accountant cleared her throat, as if reminding you of her presence would persuade you to reconsider the awkward exchange.

If Ironhead were there, he would have torn you a new asshole for challenging Pope in front of an outsider. Whatever disagreement you had with Santiago was pack business.

“Shame on you,” you snapped.

You stormed out of the bank, buckling Luna into her carseat in enraged silence. Frankie started the car and you rode back to the safehouse in the same heavy quiet. You regretted that Frankie was hurting, but you didn’t worry about him. He would come around, he always did. It was Catfish’s nature to blow up then calm down. Things would return to normal until the next cataclysmic event.

More pressing was your realization that Santiago was intent on leaving. Soon. That was the only reason he would insist on imploding your relationship with Frankie before Redfly was even in the ground. He wanted it out in the open before he rendezvoused with his human and her millions.

Parking the car, Frankie tried to come around to take Luna out of the back seat, but you snarled at him, forcing yourself between him and the car door. He backed down, trudging up to the house after the others without another word.

“Come here, baby,” you said, unbuckling Luna and lifting her out of her carseat. “It’s just you and me against the world, isn’t it.”

You felt like your family was falling apart before your eyes. Santiago would leave again, and then what? Will and Benny would be useless without someone to give the orders. Frankie would backslide, God forbid relapse. If Santiago thought he could just implode your family over out of stubborn self-righteousness and disappear back into the desert, he had another thing coming.

You put one hand on Luna’s head and pressed your nose into her baby-fine hair, soothing yourself with her sweet milk and powder smell.

In the house, the boys lingered quietly in the front kitchen, as though the gravity of the past weeks had finally set in. Tom was gone and so was the money. Sooner or later, in all likelihood, some very bad men were going to come looking for it. The person you usually counted on to figure these things out was dead and now there was nothing left but to forge ahead without him.

“Congratulations, boys,” you announced bitterly. “You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

“We got Lorea,” Santiago said, leaning heavily on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Of course,” you mocked. “After years of training, the best shifters in the world managed to achieve their ultimate goal: killing one guy. And let’s not forget the consolation prize, a measly five million dollars.”

“It’s enough to take care of Tom’s girls,” Benny said.

“I am so sick of hearing about Tom’s daughters,” you said. “Hell, even Santiago’s whore got her cut!”

You paced the room in agitation.

“What about my daughter? Who’s looking after her future? Certainly not her deadbeat father—can’t even be trusted to do the one thing he’s good at.”

It was a cruel thing to say, too cruel, and you knew it. Frankie shook his head, but said nothing. It wasn’t him you were trying to provoke anyway.

“You need to remember your place,” Santiago warned you.

“So do you!”

If it were possible, Santiago’s eyes grew darker.

“Frankie, take the baby,” he said coldly.

Frankie looked between you nervously.

“Pope, don’t hurt her,” he said.

You were almost touched; after everything you had said and done, he was worried about you.

“Take the baby,” Santiago ordered, already stripping off his clothes.

You scoffed, handing Luna over to her father.

“Oh please,” you said, turning to face Santiago, you could feel the pressure building in your head as your eyes flashed amber. “I’m not afraid of him–two bad knees and a spinal fusion. Go ahead, if you still have it in you–”

Pope hit you like a freight train, but with Ginger roiling so close to the surface, you had shifted before you hit the ground. In truth, it wasn’t much of a fight. Just enough to keep up appearances. Everyone already knew how it would end. You hadn’t given Santiago much choice. You had openly defied him in front of the pack. It was either mark you or kill you and Pope wasn’t so cruel as to do that to Frankie and Luna.

Ginger submitted as Pope’s jaws clamped down on your shoulder, a careful strike, missing the tender vein in your neck by centimeters. You cried out, shifting back, Pope naked on top of you. He grabbed you by the hair, dragging you toward the bedroom, the others watching in anxious silence as he slammed the door behind you.

Santiago threw you onto the bed, climbing over you. You panted hard, struggling to push yourself up.

“Turn over,” he growled, grabbing you by the waist to flip you onto your back. “You’re going to look at me.”

He pinned both your hands over your head with one of his, taking no time at all to stroke himself to hardness with the other. You shivered in anticipation.

“If you’re going to act like a bitch, I’ll treat you like a bitch.”

Santiago pressed into you all at once without hesitation or preamble. Big enough that you felt yourself tear and whimpered at the stab of pain.

“Is this what you want?” Santiago growled. “You want me to take you like a fucking whore?”

Santiago placed one hand over your throat, fingertips squeezing with expert precision. He barely withdrew from you, just stabbed deeper in. The pain didn’t last, hormones raging, the need to submit to your alpha overriding every other instinct. You moaned, back arching, womb clenching with need.

Santiago’s hands began to roam, groping the soft give of your belly, squeezing your thigh hard enough to bruise. You moved to hold his face–his dark curls plastered to his forehead with exertion–but he caught your hands and pinned them back on the mattress.

“No.”

He lowered his face to yours, snarling with fangs bared, but all the hostility was out of him now, replaced by hunger, desire, yearning. He nuzzled against your face, interlacing his fingers with yours as he rutted into you. The sick squelching of your eager, creaming pussy barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears.

“Take it,” Santiago growled, head bowed toward your breasts. “Take it all. Or I’ll eat you up.”

A lewd sound escaped your lips as he pinched and pulled your nipples to swollen points. The animalic scent of your combined arousal pierced by creamy sweetness as your breasts began to leak.

Santiago took your breasts in his hands, squeezing hard, milk spilling between his fingers.

“Mine,” he proclaimed, the word a barely intelligible snarl. “These are mine. You’re mine.”

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes closed as he sank his teeth into the flesh of your left breast, sealing his mouth over the sensitive nipple, drinking from you as his pelvis ground into the soft pad of your mound, his back arching.

Santiago was too lost in his own desire to protest as you moved again. Sliding one hand down his back, drawing him toward you as the snug muscles of your inner walls tightened around him with your climax. As you moaned, he caught your mouth in a harsh, possessive kiss, his lips still tasting of milk and blood.

Santiago shuddered with his release, the hard pulse of semen filling you up as the head of his cock swelled inside your already impossibly stretched pussy. You cried out, quivering with relief as spurt after spurt of hot cum surged against the mouth of your womb.

Santiago relaxed into you as he finally emptied himself inside you. He had never been like this with you before: forceful, demanding. But somehow you knew, he had always had it in him. You felt a sudden pang of gratitude that he had finally let down his guard for you.

“Thank you, Alpha,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his hair as he rested his head between your breasts. “Thank you.”

Pope slept for close to an hour as you rested beneath him, enjoying the pleasant surge endorphins. He stirred slowly, his weight shifting over you as he eased himself out from under the covers. His eyes fell on the dried bloodstains on the sheets twisted between your legs.

“I hurt you,” he said quietly.

You hummed softly, sitting up in bed.

“I earned it.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Santiago said.

He went to your medkit on the dresser, cracking open an instant ice pack to tuck between your legs. The cold felt nice against your swollen heat.

He doused a clean gauze pad in antiseptic wash and brushed the hair away from your neck to blot at the bite mark on your shoulder, although it had long-since stopped bleeding.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you assured him, your eyes cast down in submission.

“What do you need?” Santiago fretted, the gravity of what he had done sinking in.

Not even Redfly had dared to give you a claim mark–a scar that could been a death blow–a sign for all to see that you were alive by his grace alone. To abandon you after that would be considered a cardinal sin among wolves, and above all else, Santiago needed to see himself as the hero.

“Water would be lovely,” you cleared your throat. “Please, Alpha.”

Santiago poured you a glass from the pitcher on the dresser and waited patiently at the bedside while you drank to take the glass from you when you were finished.

“What else?” he asked.

“Luna needs to be fed soon,” you said.

“Of course. I'll bring her to you,” Santiago agreed, sticking his head out the bedroom door where the others were still gathered in your laughably small living area, pretending they hadn’t heard what had just gone on behind closed doors.

“Fish, Ginger needs to nurse the baby. I can take her.”

“No, I got it,” Frankie insisted, pushing past Santiago in the doorway with Luna in his arms.

Santiago arranged the pillows comfortably around you, placing the densest one in your lap to support the baby. You brought Luna to your breast and she latch eagerly.

“She’s got a good appetite,” Santiago remarked, stroking her little foot.

“We haven’t had any problems,” you agreed. “It’s been a blessing.”

It had been a hard birth–complicated somewhat by your insistence on laboring at home–everything after had seemed like smooth sailing in comparison.

“Are you hungry?” Santiago asked. “I can bring you something.”

“There’s leftover soup in the fridge,” you said. “It just needs to be heated up.”

“I’ll get it ready,” Santiago agreed.

As Santiago rushed off, Frankie paced the room anxiously.

“Please try to relax,” you said, supporting Luna with one arm as you beckoned him to you with the other. “You’re making me nervous. Just sit down.”

“Sit down,” he repeated, lifting his cap to tousle his hair before replacing it, slightly off-kilter. “Where my best friend just fucked the mother of my child?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you said. “You make it sound obscene.”

“How do you want me to say it?” Frankie asked.

“Come here,” you pleaded. “Just come here.”

Frankie took a careful seat on the bed beside you, placing a hand on Luna’s head as you took his chin in your hand.

“I love you, Francisco,” you said. “I chose you. And I chose Pope. You knew that it was never going to be just one. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“I know,” Frankie sighed, his large dark eyes wet and shining. “I just wish you hadn’t done that.”

As much as you assured him that you didn’t care if he took other partners, that you wanted him to explore those parts of himself, Frankie insisted he only wanted you. You suspected he was still holding out hope that you would marry him one day, but now that hope was marred by knowing he could only have you if Pope allowed it.

“I did what I had to do,” you said. “He was going to leave us. I wasn’t going to stand back and let it happen. I’m sorry you’re upset, but I won’t be held hostage by shitty ultimatums. I love you.”

“I know,” Frankie nodded, placing one hand on the back of your neck, bowing his head toward yours. “I love you, too.”

Santiago returned, a warm bowl in hand, and took a seat on the other side of you to offer you spoonfuls of barley and broth.

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s warm enough,” he said.

“It’s good,” you nodded wrapping your lips around the spoon to mask your smile. “Is there enough for the others?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Santiago assured you. “You just rest. I can take the baby for a bit, if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” Frankie said, leaning into you possessively.

“Fish,” you warned, touching his face lightly. “Let Santi help. You could use a few solid hours of shuteye. These bags are out of control.”

“Then it’s settled,” Santiago agreed, setting your dishes aside. “I will spend some quality time with my beautiful goddaughter and you two will get some sleep.”

Santiago lifted Luna from your arms, her body pliant and relaxed in her milk-drunk state, as he lifted her to his shoulder to rub her back soothingly.

“Sleep,” Santiago repeated, uncharacteristically light-hearted as he carried Luna from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“You need to undress,” you instructed, reaching for the buttons on Frankie’s shirt.

“It smells like blood,” he protested, reaching to stop your hands.

You pulled him closer, stroking his face and combing your fingers through his hair. Frankie whimpered like a frightened pup, fists balled and muscles taught.

“It’s fine, Frankie, you’re exhausted. Just lay down.”

None of the boys had truly recovered from their misadventure, and while Will was still healing from physical wounds, Frankie hadn’t had much opportunity to recover from the psychological trauma between waking up for late-night feedings and diaper changes.

“Luna is safe. I am safe. Relax.”

It took some cajoling, but you finally convinced Frankie to take off his clothes and settle down beside you in bed. He climbed under the covers and turned onto his side. Certainly the sheets could use a good wash, but that could wait until after some much-needed sleep. You rolled over to press your front against his back, hitching your top leg over his hip and drawing him close.

“This is nice,” you reminded him, slinking an arm around him, resting your hand on his chest. He entwined his fingers with yours and nodded.

You breathed slowly, consciously, your breasts pressing into his back and soon you felt his breath grow deeper and more even, the wings of his heart pressing back into you with each rise and fall.

Baby's First Taglist: @hiroikegawa

#triple frontier fic #shifters au #reverse harem au

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ktwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

Note

When will nothing else matters be updated 🥺🥺🥺

Oh my gosh! Thank you for the sweet note. The holidays definitely had me in a chokehold, but I’ll be working on it. Keep a weather eye on the horizon.

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 5

Content Notes: rough sex, a little d/s with shifter dynamics, etc.

Chapter Five

“Are you serious right now?” you moved in front of Frankie as he made his way to the door.

“Don’t,” Frankie warned, stepping around you.

You let him go, returning your attention to Santiago.

“I hope you’re happy,” you said, looking down at him. “You destroyed our lives.”

At the end of the table the accountant cleared her throat, as if reminding you of her presence would persuade you to reconsider the awkward exchange.

If Ironhead were there, he would have torn you a new asshole for challenging Pope in front of an outsider. Whatever disagreement you had with Santiago was pack business.

“Shame on you,” you snapped.

“Come here, baby,” you said, unbuckling Luna and lifting her out of her carseat. “It’s just you and me against the world, isn’t it.”

You put one hand on Luna’s head and pressed your nose into her baby-fine hair, soothing yourself with her sweet milk and powder smell.

“Congratulations, boys,” you announced bitterly. “You should all be very proud of yourselves.”

“We got Lorea,” Santiago said, leaning heavily on one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s enough to take care of Tom’s girls,” Benny said.

“I am so sick of hearing about Tom’s daughters,” you said. “Hell, even Santiago’s whore got her cut!”

You paced the room in agitation.

“What about my daughter? Who’s looking after her future? Certainly not her deadbeat father—can’t even be trusted to do the one thing he’s good at.”

It was a cruel thing to say, too cruel, and you knew it. Frankie shook his head, but said nothing. It wasn’t him you were trying to provoke anyway.

“You need to remember your place,” Santiago warned you.

“So do you!”

If it were possible, Santiago’s eyes grew darker.

“Frankie, take the baby,” he said coldly.

Frankie looked between you nervously.

“Pope, don’t hurt her,” he said.

You were almost touched; after everything you had said and done, he was worried about you.

“Take the baby,” Santiago ordered, already stripping off his clothes.

You scoffed, handing Luna over to her father.

Santiago threw you onto the bed, climbing over you. You panted hard, struggling to push yourself up.

“Turn over,” he growled, grabbing you by the waist to flip you onto your back. “You’re going to look at me.”

He pinned both your hands over your head with one of his, taking no time at all to stroke himself to hardness with the other. You shivered in anticipation.

“If you’re going to act like a bitch, I’ll treat you like a bitch.”

Santiago pressed into you all at once without hesitation or preamble. Big enough that you felt yourself tear and whimpered at the stab of pain.

“Is this what you want?” Santiago growled. “You want me to take you like a fucking whore?”

“No.”

“Take it,” Santiago growled, head bowed toward your breasts. “Take it all. Or I’ll eat you up.”

A lewd sound escaped your lips as he pinched and pulled your nipples to swollen points. The animalic scent of your combined arousal pierced by creamy sweetness as your breasts began to leak.

Santiago took your breasts in his hands, squeezing hard, milk spilling between his fingers.

“Mine,” he proclaimed, the word a barely intelligible snarl. “These are mine. You’re mine.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” you murmured, combing your fingers through his hair as he rested his head between your breasts. “Thank you.”

“I hurt you,” he said quietly.

You hummed softly, sitting up in bed.

“I earned it.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Santiago said.

He went to your medkit on the dresser, cracking open an instant ice pack to tuck between your legs. The cold felt nice against your swollen heat.

He doused a clean gauze pad in antiseptic wash and brushed the hair away from your neck to blot at the bite mark on your shoulder, although it had long-since stopped bleeding.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you assured him, your eyes cast down in submission.

“What do you need?” Santiago fretted, the gravity of what he had done sinking in.

“Water would be lovely,” you cleared your throat. “Please, Alpha.”

Santiago poured you a glass from the pitcher on the dresser and waited patiently at the bedside while you drank to take the glass from you when you were finished.

“What else?” he asked.

“Luna needs to be fed soon,” you said.

“Fish, Ginger needs to nurse the baby. I can take her.”

“No, I got it,” Frankie insisted, pushing past Santiago in the doorway with Luna in his arms.

Santiago arranged the pillows comfortably around you, placing the densest one in your lap to support the baby. You brought Luna to your breast and she latch eagerly.

“She’s got a good appetite,” Santiago remarked, stroking her little foot.

“We haven’t had any problems,” you agreed. “It’s been a blessing.”

It had been a hard birth–complicated somewhat by your insistence on laboring at home–everything after had seemed like smooth sailing in comparison.

“Are you hungry?” Santiago asked. “I can bring you something.”

“There’s leftover soup in the fridge,” you said. “It just needs to be heated up.”

“I’ll get it ready,” Santiago agreed.

As Santiago rushed off, Frankie paced the room anxiously.

“Please try to relax,” you said, supporting Luna with one arm as you beckoned him to you with the other. “You’re making me nervous. Just sit down.”

“Sit down,” he repeated, lifting his cap to tousle his hair before replacing it, slightly off-kilter. “Where my best friend just fucked the mother of my child?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you said. “You make it sound obscene.”

“How do you want me to say it?” Frankie asked.

“Come here,” you pleaded. “Just come here.”

Frankie took a careful seat on the bed beside you, placing a hand on Luna’s head as you took his chin in your hand.

“I love you, Francisco,” you said. “I chose you. And I chose Pope. You knew that it was never going to be just one. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“I know,” Frankie sighed, his large dark eyes wet and shining. “I just wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I know,” Frankie nodded, placing one hand on the back of your neck, bowing his head toward yours. “I love you, too.”

Santiago returned, a warm bowl in hand, and took a seat on the other side of you to offer you spoonfuls of barley and broth.

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s warm enough,” he said.

“It’s good,” you nodded wrapping your lips around the spoon to mask your smile. “Is there enough for the others?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Santiago assured you. “You just rest. I can take the baby for a bit, if you need a break.”

“I’m fine,” Frankie said, leaning into you possessively.

“Fish,” you warned, touching his face lightly. “Let Santi help. You could use a few solid hours of shuteye. These bags are out of control.”

“Then it’s settled,” Santiago agreed, setting your dishes aside. “I will spend some quality time with my beautiful goddaughter and you two will get some sleep.”

Santiago lifted Luna from your arms, her body pliant and relaxed in her milk-drunk state, as he lifted her to his shoulder to rub her back soothingly.

“Sleep,” Santiago repeated, uncharacteristically light-hearted as he carried Luna from the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“You need to undress,” you instructed, reaching for the buttons on Frankie’s shirt.

“It smells like blood,” he protested, reaching to stop your hands.

You pulled him closer, stroking his face and combing your fingers through his hair. Frankie whimpered like a frightened pup, fists balled and muscles taught.

“It’s fine, Frankie, you’re exhausted. Just lay down.”

“Luna is safe. I am safe. Relax.”

“This is nice,” you reminded him, slinking an arm around him, resting your hand on his chest. He entwined his fingers with yours and nodded.

You breathed slowly, consciously, your breasts pressing into his back and soon you felt his breath grow deeper and more even, the wings of his heart pressing back into you with each rise and fall.

Baby's First Taglist: @hiroikegawa

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Dig Too Deep (a merge mansion inspired tale of intrigue)

Title: Dig Too Deep Fandom: Merge Mansion Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Det. Tim Rockford x Maddie!reader Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: When you find yourself under suspicion of murder, you do what you have to do to protect your family.

Content Notes: tw for dubious consent situations

Dig Too Deep

You watched intently as the detective stabbed his fork into the pie, scooping flaky pastry, seasoned meat and vegetables into his mouth, making lewd, satisfied sounds as he chewed and swallowed. The cheap fabric of his white shirt was already stretched tight across his broad chest and with every bite the buttons seemed to squeal with the effort of containing him.

“This is incredible,” he said, wiping his still full mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I’ve ever had lamb like this before.”

You were seated at the small kitchen table beside him, clutching a mug of herbal tea that had long-since gone cold. It was a little past noon when Detective Tim Rockford had arrived at your doorstep and your Grandma Ursula had just put a pie into the oven. But of course it would have been rude to let the detective go hungry once the delicious smell filling the house prompted him to admit he had been living on diner coffee and takeout. So you had warmed up the shepherd’s pie for him and sat down at the kitchen table to discuss Roddy’s disappearance.

“It’s an old family recipe,” your grandmother replied with a tight smile. “Just took the blue ribbon at the Hopwell Bay Faire. Maddie grows the vegetables herself, you know.”

“Is that so?” The detective turned to you.

You tried to appear as relaxed as possible, given that there was a real detective from the city sitting at your kitchen table, even as you tried to parse his every move. People only ate when they felt comfortable. Certainly if he suspected you of murder he would not be tucking in to his second piece of pie in your grandmother’s cottage. Then again, he was a homicide detective. Perhaps he was accustomed to staring down murderers without losing his appetite. There was certainly a hungry look in his eye as he fixed his gaze on you.

Detective Rockford scooped the last crumbs from the plate into his mouth and finished the glass of milk your grandmother had set down in front of him in a few large gulps. He leaned back in his chair, legs spreading to accommodate his swollen paunch.

“More?” your grandmother asked. The uninitiated likely would have missed the annoyance in her tone.

“Thank you,” the detective shook his head, rubbing his belly contentedly. “I couldn’t eat another bite. And I shouldn’t take up any more of your time.”

Detective Rockford sat up straight, adjusting the waistband of his pants and retrieved a small notebook from his pocket.

“I had just a few more questions if you don’t mind.” Despite his obvious over-indulgence, you could have sworn there was something hungry, almost predatory, about the way he looked at you. “You said Mr. Took left here around 11?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “11 or 11:30.”

“You see,” Detective Rockford rubbed his chin. “According to the city planner’s office, he never arrived for his next meeting. So you may very well be the last person to have seen him alive.”

The detective looked up from his notes to stare across the table at you with his keen, dark eyes. “Besides the murderer, that is.”

You reached for your throat out of nervous habit, fingertips grazing your bare collarbones. You struggled to keep your face neutral as a knot of panic caught in your chest.

“That’s just awful,” you said, moving your hands to stroke your arms through your wooly sweater. “It’s all so awful. You really think he was killed? You said you found his truck. How can you be sure?”

“Blood,” the detective said, matter-of-factly. “The amount of blood and the pattern of the splatter was, well, contra-indicative for survival.”

You grimaced and covered your mouth.

“To think they can tell all that after pulling the car out of the water,” your grandmother said. “Technology today, it’s really astounding.”

You watched in horror as Detective Rockford fixed his gaze on Ursula. His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest. It was like a slow-motion trainwreck you were powerless to stop.

“Where did you hear the car was underwater?”

“Oh, I just assumed,” your grandmother said, removing a hot apple pie from the oven without missing a beat. “Our neighbor Julius mentioned seeing a crane pulling a truck out of the reservoir. If it's meant to be a secret I won’t mention it to anyone else, but I’m afraid news travels fast in a small town.”

Detective Rockford looked unconvinced, but he returned his attention to his notes without further comment.

“Now Maddie,” he said. “You understand it’s very important you tell me exactly what happened. Just as you remember it.”

“Like I said,” you repeated. “It was nothing remarkable. I met Roddy up at the Big House, Boulton Manor, that is, at 9 in the morning. We did our walkthrough and he gave me a list of everything we still need for the permits. He drove me back to the cottage and I haven’t seen him since.”

You watched him writing in his notebook. He had large hands. Worn and marked by a web of thick veins. You imagined–despite yourself– what it would feel like, having those big hands searching the curves of your body, roughly twisting your wrists behind your back, bending you over the kitchen table.

“You didn’t notice anything unusual? No indication of where he was headed next?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, snapping out of your reverie. “I know that isn’t very helpful. I just can’t believe he’s gone. He was such a sweet man. Who would want to hurt him?”

“Who indeed?” Ursula added. “There are too many sick people in the world these days. Of course you hear about these things happening in the city. I just never thought it could happen here.”

“If you think of anything else,” Detective Rockford took a business card from his pocket and slid it across the table to you. “I’m staying at the Motor Lodge on Church Street–”

“Of course,” you said, accepting the card.

“If that’s all, Detective,” your grandmother said, beckoning him toward the door with a polite grimace.

“Now that you mention it,” the detective said, adjusting his tie as he rose from the table. “I sure would love a slice of that apple pie for the road.”

You closed the door behind him, watching through the window as the car pulled out of the drive.

“You said too much,” you warned, practically throwing the detective’s plate into the sink.

“And you barely said anything at all!” Your grandmother shook her head, wrapping what remained of the apple pie and placing it in the ice box. “No wonder he was suspicious, the way you were shaking like a leaf.”

“A man is dead, Grandma,” you said, sinking back into the chair at the kitchen table. “You saw how he looked at me; he thinks we have something to do with this! Maybe we do need a lawyer–”

“Nonsense,” your grandmother said. “A lawyer would only make you look more suspicious!”

“You watch too many cop shows, grandma,” you rolled your eyes, holding your head in your hands.

“And you listen to too many podcasts.” Grandma Ursula placed her hands on your shoulders comfortingly. “You did nothing wrong. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Try not to worry so much.”

But you couldn’t stop worrying. If the police were sure Roddy was dead, having only recovered the car, there was no telling what other evidence they had. There had to be something you could do, some way to win the detective over.

You went to the Motor Lodge with a basket of Ursula’s cinnamon rolls. You knew Becky would be working the desk and she was more than happy to gossip about the detective in room three–keeping odd hours, ordering late-night takeout, and leaving messes for housekeeping.

You knocked on the door; it took him so long to answer you thought he might be out. The door swung open and the detective looked you over, leaning against the door frame. His jacket was off, exposing his shoulder holster and the service weapon tucked under his left arm, his tie was loose and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” you said.

“You’re damn right there is,” the detective said.

“Can I come in?” you said.

“Why? So you can lie to me some more?” the detective said. “In fact, maybe you should get a lawyer–a real one–not that Julius character.”

You held the basket out in front of you as a peace offering. The detective looked it over, lifting the cloth napkin and nodding appraisingly at the contents.

He stepped back, allowing you inside the room. Becky hadn’t been kidding about the mess, there were papers spread out across the desk and dresser with crumpled up notes filling the waste paper basket. Every other available surface was littered with used napkins and half-empty takeout containers from the side table to the unmade bed. The room had a distinct odor of the metallic tang of stress and sweat and MSG.

The detective snatched a photograph off the bedside table and held it out in front of you. A locket, the chain broken and tangled under the seat of Roddy’s truck.

“What happened in that car?” the detective said

“We fought,” you admitted, sinking onto the bed.

“About the permits?” Detective Rockford took his phone from the dresser, starting a new recording. “The department of public works said they had scheduled to move forward with the demolition.”

You nodded, sniffing and wiping your eyes as the detective held out a box of tissues from the bedside table.

“Roddy said the storm water mitigation plan didn’t meet the drainage requirements. That we’d never get the new permits within the timeframe the city gave us before demolition, unless…unless I did something for him."

The detective looked you over, sizing you up. In his eyes, he had you exactly where he wanted you.

"I tried to let him down easy, but he just flew into a rage. I had never seen him like that. He grabbed me. I hit him. I managed to get out of the car and I ran back to the house. That was the last time I saw him.”

“When you got back to the house, your Grandmother was there?” The detective probed.

“Well yes.”

“You told her what happened?”

“No–”

“But she knew,” Detective Rockford said. He took a seat beside you, the worn mattress sagging, still holding the phone between you.

“Can I have this back?” you said, handing him the photograph. “It has pictures of my parents, sentimental value.”

“It’s evidence.” Detective Rockford said.

It wouldn’t take much to confirm the locket was yours, that horse was out of the barn. For all you knew he had your fingerprints, DNA, it was too late to back out now, but you could paint a picture, explain it all away. If there was one thing the Boultons excelled at it was concealing hard truths.

“Evidence of what?” you asked. “That we fought; that I hurt him, had motive. You think I–”

Your voice broke, and the detective placed one of his large hands on your bare arm.

“Stop,” he warned softly, his eyes fixed on your plush, pink lips. “Don’t say another word.”

“You knew it was mine,” you said. “Even before I came here. How?”

The detective brushed your hair back from your shoulder gently.

“There’s a mark on your neck, from where he ripped it off of you,” he explained. “You must have been scared.”

“Yes, of course, but I would never hurt him–”

“Are you scared now?”

The detective leaned in so close, you could see your silhouette reflected in his shining brown eyes.

“Should I be?”

When the detective didn’t respond, you moved toward him, your lips a mere breath away from his, just to be sure you hadn’t miscalculated.

The detective lunged at you, pressing his mouth into yours with ravenous desire. His hand holding your face and moving to grope your breasts, your waist, your thighs. Your elbow connected with a half-eaten carton of lo mein as he pushed you back onto the bed. You knotted your fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, gasping at the sudden assault as his tongue prodded past your teeth.

You let your head fall back as his mouth traveled to your throat, sucking and biting. His large hands pulled at the neck of your sweater, exposing the tops of your breasts.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “How soft you’d be, how warm squeezing my cock with that tight little pussy. Since the moment I laid eyes on you–”

You saw the phone on the pillow beside you. You experienced a moment of clarity between waves of desire. He hadn’t stopped the recording; probably figured he could delete it later, but everything went straight to the cloud these days.

“No,” you moaned as his hands drifted down, prying open the button on your jeans. “Stop. We can’t–”

“Don’t worry, baby girl,” he moaned against the skin of your stomach, pulling your pants down around your knees. “Gonna make you feel so good. ‘S all I can think about–if you taste as good as that pie.”

You whimpered with relief as he pressed his mouth to you, tongue lapping at your folds and circling your clit. His satisfied moans sending shockwaves through your wet heat.

“No,” you sighed again, turning your head away as he gripped your hips harder, nose buried in the soft flesh padding your hip bones. “Don’t–don’t–”

You moaned loud and long as your womb clenched and thighs shook, braced against the detective’s broad shoulders.

“That’s my good girl,” he coaxed, pushing himself upward, his face coated in your arousal as he shucked his pants down. “Keep being good for me.”

He was so big, bigger than you had guessed. He worked into you with long, deliberate strokes, face contorted with arousal. Your swollen, eager pussy engulfing him, drawing him in, devouring him. He came hard, painting your inner walls, rolling off you with a guttural moan.

Before you could even sit up, he seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. Without another word you straightened your clothes, and slipped back out of the room into the crisp, autumn air.

#tim rockford x reader #merge mansion fanfic

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 4

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Sexy times in the woods...

Chapter Four

Back in the day, whenever the boys were home from deployment you would spend full moons at the Miller family cabin in South Carolina. It was your favorite place in the world, so lush and green, no one else around for miles. Just you and your pack, running, hunting, with nothing to do but follow your instincts and appetites. Those happy days were few and far between now, so when Tom let you get away, you were sure to take full advantage.

While the boys drank around the bonfire, you ran. Ginger caught the scent of a stag about a mile from the cabin and you followed it across the mountain. You felt so strong and free, you wished it could be like this always.

You finally caught up to the deer, a young eight-point buck, fat and healthy. You stalked it silently on velvety paws, waiting in the shadows. At just the right moment you leapt, teeth sinking into the stag’s throat, warm blood filling your mouth, tearing with fangs and claws until you lost yourself to the animal inside.

You woke to the sensation of a cold, wet nose proding between your thighs. You opened your eyes to find a compact, gray wolf snuffling against your bare skin. Your mouth and hands were stained with blood from the deer carcass torn open beside you, Ginger already having dug out the best bits from her kill.

Ironhead lapped at your belly and pressed his snout into your groin.

“Knock it off,” you said, pushing him away. Ironhead huffed, shaking his large head.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Will warned, shifting back as you stretched your limbs, painfully stiff from spending the night on the ground.

“I’m not alone,” you teased, taking one of the deer’s forelegs in your hand and waving it at Will.

“You disgust me,” Will said, sinking to his knees beside you.

“You like it,” you said, placing a hand on his head, drawing him into a lazy kiss.

Will moaned against your mouth, holding your face in his hands as he climbed over you. You snarled and snapped at him, digging your nails into the muscles of his arms. Will growled back fiercely, moving his hands to grip your thighs, pressing his body against yours as you scratched across his shoulders and down his arms.

Will pushed you back onto the moss-covered earth, panting and gasping between hard, hungry kisses. He took your throat in one hand, thumb tucked against the hinge of your jaw, forcing your teeth apart as his tongue delved toward your throat.

The morning air turned your damp skin to goose flesh. You braced your legs against his sides and pushed with all your strength to roll on top of him, pinning him to the earth.

Will grabbed your ass with both hands, hoisting you up and impaling you on his cock in one precise movement. You moaned at the sudden intrusion, pussy stretched so tight you could feel every pulse of his hard shaft. You rolled your hips against him instinctively, bracing your hands against his chest.

With a growl, Will flipped you onto your back, thrusting into you hard and fast. You bared your teeth, pulling his face toward yours, close enough that you were breathing the same air. Your muscles–already primed from the exhilaration of the hunt–coiled tighter, nerve endings on fire.

Your eyes rolled wildly, mouth hanging open, practically drooling with your orgasm. You sank your teeth into his shoulder in a firm love-bite to keep from crying out loud enough to scare all the game for miles.

Will pulled out of you, shuddering with his release, ribbons of cum coating your stomach and thighs. He rolled onto the grass beside you, draping an arm over you and burying his nose against your hair.

“You smell different,” Will said.

“Hmm?” you moaned, tracing the ridges of his muscles lazily.

“You smell different,” Will repeated. “Like booze. Not beer; sweeter…like whiskey.”

The boys had reached a consensus that you smelled like sex; at first it made you self-conscious, but they assured you it was pleasant. Animalic musk and warm floral, although they each described it a little differently. Will said it was like roses, Benny thought it was magnolias, and it reminded Frankie of marigolds.

To you each of the boys had a distinct smell as well. Tom smelled like stress, sour sweat and hops. Benny had a skin-like smell as well, but cleaner, one that reminded you of summer, like sunscreen and salt. Will smelled like old leather and dark earth, grounded and stable. Frankie smelled like Christmas, cardamom, nutmeg, and amber bourbon.

“You’re pregnant.” Will put the pieces together even before you did.

“What? How could you possibly know that? It’s barely been a week; I haven’t even missed a period.”

You laughed, even as you realized he must be right. Ironhead knew your body as well as you did, even better perhaps. Every curve, every freckle, every sweet spot cataloged in his fastidious mental map.

“I can smell it,” Will said, sniffing the crook of his own elbow and grimacing. “Ugh, it’s on me.”

“You can’t say anything,” you said. “Not yet.”

“What do you think is going to happen when I get back to the cabin smelling like I fucked Catfish,” Will said.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, tipping your nose toward your armpit.

“Speak for yourself,” Will said, scrubbing his chest with a handful of long grass. “I need a shower.”

“You can take that back with you,” you said, nodding to the deer.

“What’s left of it.” Will rolled his eyes, shouldering the carcass, setting off through the woods still buck-ass naked.

“Put on some pants!” You laughed, calling after him. “Before you get poison ivy on your dick.”

Ironhead’s pronouncement had set something off inside you, something you had tried to keep at bay until now. Hope that something you had wanted for so long was finally coming to fruition. But you knew the odds better than anyone, something like a third of all pregnancies ended in miscarriage within the first weeks. You didn’t feel pregnant–no nausea or fatigue or unusual sensitivity–you worried that might mean something was amiss, but there was nothing you could do. You took your time getting up, surveying your body for any strange, new sensations. You set off yourself for where your clothes were stashed before returning to the house for a shower and a long nap in a proper bed.

You were woken by the sound of fighting, growls and snarls and pained whimpers, and ran out to the porch to see what was the matter.

Redfly had his teeth in Catfish’s haunches, fangs tearing through flesh as Catfish whimpered in pain, he squirmed and broke free, rolling over to show his belly in submission only for Redfly to pounce on him again. You ran to stop the fighting, but Will caught you by the waist to hold you back.

“Let it happen,” he warned, holding you in his vice-like grip.

“What did you do?” you screamed, trying to push him away. “Let me go!”

You beat your fists against Will’s chest futilely as the fighting went on. Enraged that he had gone to Tom after you had explicitly asked him not to, even before you had a chance to talk to Frankie. But there was no other explanation; Tom was too oblivious to your needs and desires to have figured it out on his own.

You figured that Will was jealous–jealous that you had gotten the child you wanted without him and he wanted to punish you for it. And poor Frankie was caught in the crossfire.

Benny’s huge gray wolf bounded out of the woods to see what was the matter, inadvertently charging headlong into the scuffle. As Redfly snapped at Benny, warning him to back off, Frankie managed to get far enough away to shift back, holding his hands out, still bleeding, lying naked in the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said frantically. “I’m sorry. Jesus. Just tell me what I did.”

Will let you go and you ran to Frankie, falling on your knees beside him, using the end of your nightgown to put pressure on the deepest wounds.

Tom shifted back, his eyes just as sharp and dangerous as his wolf’s. You returned his gaze in kind, refusing to look away first.

“She’s fucking pregnant,” Tom said, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm. “You stupid asshole.”

Frankie’s face softened, his mouth falling open as he turned to you.

“Oh.”

Benny pulled himself up on the porch steps, still recovering from the effort of the shift, both hands knotted through his hair, eyes wide at the realization.

“I’m an uncle.”

“Dumbass,” Will rolled his eyes, smacking his brother lightly on the back of the head

You sighed, looking down as Frankie watched you with concern.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you said.

“Oh,” Frankie gasped again, eyes wide as the news finally sank in.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said, helping Frankie to his feet, supporting him on the way up to the house. You took him to your bedroom and made him lie down so you could examine him.

Most of the wounds were superficial, scratches and nips, but there were some deep punctures on the backs of his legs and hip that would need stitches. You cleaned the wounds and got most of the bleeding stopped.

“Hold still,” you instructed.

Frankie was laying on his stomach while you did your best to stitch up the ragged wounds on the back of his legs. It had been a while since you had to break out your suture kit, which was surprising given Benny’s penchant for letting his MMA opponents tire themselves out by using him as a punching bag before overtaking them.

“This is ridiculous,” Frankie moaned. “I should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” you said.

“So what happens next?” he asked, the anguish apparent in his voice as much as he tried to hide it.

“We get you wrapped up and put you to bed,” you warned. “You’re going to be feeling this for a few days.”

You tied off the last set of stitches and did your best to cover the area with gauze and medical tape.

“I mean with the baby,” Frankie said. “Are you going to keep it?”

“Of course I’m going to keep it,” you said, ripping a piece of tape with a little more force than necessary. “What kind of question is that?”

“Oh,” Frankie sighed, and despite the obvious pain he was in, you felt his whole body relax under your hands. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you teased, slapping his bottom gently. “You think I would have fucked you if I wasn’t willing to have your baby?”

“You could have had anyone,” he said. “You picked me. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you said, retrieving an ice pack to keep down the swelling. “It’s only been a few days. A lot can happen in the coming weeks; there’s no sense making plans until things are more stable.”

You covered him with a blanket, carefully sitting down beside him, combing your fingers through his dark hair.

“I mean it,” Frankie said. “I’m going to make this right. I’ll take care of you.”

Frankie turned onto his side, laying a protective hand on your belly. Your first instinct was to admonish him, but looking down at his big, brown eyes you realized you didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

“I know you will,” you agreed, placing one hand over his. “But not alone. We have our pack. And so will she.”

“She?” Frankie grinned up at you. “Like you said, it’s only been a few days.”

“I have a feeling.”

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Jamie's Halloween Challenge 2023

It's almost time for Halloween and no one throws a Halloween party like Tony Stark. No expense is spared and anyone who is anyone makes an appearance at the Avengers compound for the event. Tony also loves surprises, and he has plenty for the guests at this year’s event.

You (or your OC) is there as an invited guest or maybe you work for Stark Industries. Your choice. Your challenge, if you choose to accept it, is to write a sizzling Halloween story. It can be dark, scary, or just really sexy, but the goal is a smutty good Halloween read.

CHARACTERS: Reader insert or OC (your choice) x any of the established Avengers, their foes, or other important characters in the MCU. You can also select a character played by an MCU actor (i.e. Bucky Barnes or Nick Fowler, Charles Blackwood, etc.) Multiple partners are allowed. LGBTQ+ stories are welcome here.

PROMPTS: You must pick one and submit it with your character choices.

The Mysterious Neighbor: Your neighbor's house always seemed normal until Halloween night. You notice something strange and decide to investigate.

A Night in the Haunted House: I don’t know why you’re there when you’re supposed to be at the party. You tell me.

The Unusual Pumpkin Patch: One pumpkin in the local patch grows faster and looks different from the others. You take it home.

The Halloween Costume Comes to Life: Remember that episode of Buffy? You rented a costume and when you put it on, that’s who you are as long as you are wearing it.

Halloween Candy: Tony only buys the good stuff when it comes to Halloween candy. But be careful. There’s a reason there are no kids at this party. Some of the candies are a pretty potent aphrodisiac.

The Unexpected Visitor: On Halloween night, an unexpected visitor knocks at your door. It's not a trick-or-treater but something else.

The Disappearing Act: A drink at Tony’s party turns you (or your significant other) invisible for Halloween night. What do you do?

7 Minutes in… Where?: You know the game. Only when you and your significant other are locked in the closet for 7 minutes, you’re transported somewhere else.

The Frightening Feast: Tony has quite a spread at the party. Be careful. Each dish has magical properties.

The Portal in the Pumpkin: You carve one of the pumpkins Tony ordered, but this one turns out to be a portal to somewhere else...

RULES:

You must be 18 to write for this challenge and it must be legal to participate where you are.

While a smutty good story is the goal, no incest, underage characters, bestiality, or toilet kinks.

Dark stories are welcome. Bonus points if they’re scary.

Stories can be reader insert (preferable) but can be OC.

At some point in the story, your characters must attend Tony’s party, be planning to go to the party, or just come from the party. Bonus points if Tony makes an appearance, even if it’s brief.

You must send me an ask with your characters of choice and the prompt of your choice. `(Example: Steve Rogers x Reader and Halloween Candy)

Minimum word count is 1k words. The max length is up to you.

For this challenge, the fic must be brand new. No tie-ins to existing fics or series. No recycled stories.

Please add a “keep reading” function after 300 words and apply all needed warnings and labels to your fic.

You don’t have to follow me, just tag me in your posts and use the Hashtag #JamiesHalloween2023. If I don’t reblog your story within 3 days, please DM me.

DEADLINE: October 31, 2023

I haven't done one of these in a while and I don't know if anyone will want to participate so no limits on characters or prompts. Each story will be amazing.

Thank you!

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Santi is a bit of a self-righteous jerk here, but he’ll come around…

😁

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 3

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~3,000 Summary: Santiago doesn't like you playing happy family with his bestie.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 (below cut)

Notes: Again, I apologize for the lack of smuttiness. Soon. Soon.

Chapter Three.

Will was still asleep when you woke; his breath slow and even and deep. It was rare for him to deviate from his strict schedule; you couldn’t remember the last time you had caught him sleeping after the sun was up. You took a moment to savor the sight of him resting peacefully in the morning light before getting up. He stirred a little as your weight shifted in bed.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “I’m just going to the kitchen. Sleep.”

You put on a robe and slipped out of the door as quietly as you could. In the main room Benny was sprawled across the sofa in his boxers, snoring softly. You started a pot of coffee–extra strong–before poking your head into the nursery.

Frankie was reclined in the chair with Luna on his chest, both of them fast asleep with near identical open-mouthed expressions.

“It’s me,” you whispered, lifting Luna carefully from her father’s arms. You would need to feed her soon, having gone all night without nursing, but for the moment they both seemed quite content to continue sleeping as you laid her gently in her crib.

Back in the kitchen you poured the coffee and finally caught sight of Santiago out on the patio. You slipped through the back door to offer him a cup. He accepted it wordlessly, staring out across the water.

“Did you sleep?”

Santiago shook his head.

“Come inside,” you pleaded. “Let me help.”

You reached for him, but he held up an arm to stop you. Ginger raged with possessive anger inside you and you took deep breaths to get her under control.

“Will told me there was a woman,” you said quietly.

“This has nothing to do with her,” Santiago said, looking out across the water as he sipped his coffee.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Whatever happened out there, put it behind you. You have to lead us now.”

Santiago stood silently for a long moment before speaking.

“Francisco is my friend.”

Like Will and Benny, Santiago and Fankie had a close bond forged by shared childhood experiences. Mexican wolves were rare, having been hunted to near extinction, and conflicts in middle America and in the States meant they were only getting rarer.

“I know that,” you said. “I would never want to come between you.”

“Do you even care about him?”

Your brow furrowed, it was a ridiculous question. “I gave him a child. Of course I care about him.”

“You took advantage,” Santiago growled. “Tom told me–Tom told me you asked for Will to sire your child. He said no.”

“Is that what Tom told you,” your nose crinkled into a snarl.

The gravity of his remains still resting not ten yards away was not lost on you, but just because he died didn’t mean you were going to turn him into a saint.

“Perhaps you’ve spent too much time among humans, you seem to have forgotten it is my right to choose my mate–”

“Bullshit,” Santiago tried to cut you off.

Ginger’s fangs and claws extended before you could control them, your eyes flashing amber.

“I spent ten years cleaning up your blood and shit and cum with no complaints,” you said. “I did it because you are my family. I would do anything for you. But the moment I want something from you everyone loses their goddamn minds.”

The boys had staked their reputations as warriors, and you had done your fair share of fighting alongside them, but it wasn’t your true calling. An alpha female’s status was measured more by her success raising pups. You desperately wanted children and had waited patiently for the mythical ‘right time’ until you realized Tom never had any intention of giving you your due.

“It was what I was owed and fucking Redfly was going to deny me?”

Santiago pressed his face close to yours, not backing down. Pope was still icy cold behind his eyes, even as Ginger made it clear she’d like to tear his throat out. Or fuck him, but definitely one or the other.

“Frankie is not your fucking consolation prize.”

“You look me in the eye and tell me that Frankie would trade that baby for anything.”

“He deserves the truth. You tell him or I will.”

Your hackles stayed raised even as he turned away from you. Pope would have never turned his back on anyone he saw as a genuine threat. It was disrespectful; Ginger was pissed. He stepped down from the porch, walking toward the docks.

You went back into the house with a huff. The boys’ breakfast could wait until you took care of Luna. In the nursery Frankie was just starting to rouse; he yawned and rubbed his eyes as you rubbed Luna’s belly with one hand to wake her.

“Good morning, sweet girl,” you cooed, lifting Luna out of her crib as she stretched, limbs flailing, unaccustomed to being put down without her sleep sack. “How was your night with papa?”

“She got me up around four for a clean diaper and some cuddling,” Frankie yawned. “I thought she might be hungry, but she wouldn’t take another bottle.”

“She had been sleeping through the night,” you said. “But I think I’ve spoiled her with on-demand nursing the past few days.”

You took a seat on the ottoman in the corner, pulling your nursing pillow into your lap, arranging Luna and opening your robe so she could latch. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable sensation, but far preferably to the ache of your swollen breasts.

“How is Will?” Frankie asked.

“Resting.”

“Shit got real bad out there,” Frankie said, rubbing his face with a worried expression. “It was my fault. I knew we wouldn’t make it to the ocean with that load–”

“Stop that,” you snapped. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. I mean it. It was not your fault.”

“It was my job to fly us out,” Frankie said.

“And it was Tom’s job to keep you all in line, not the other way around,” you said, stroking Luna’s dark curls with one hand. “You told him there was too much weight?”

Frankie nodded.

“And he told you to fly anyway? Tom messed up and Tom paid the price. You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is. The way things were going, it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Frankie protested feebly. “It’s not right.”

“I loved Tom, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t see him clearly. He was a sad man who liked hurting people.”

“I hurt people,” Frankie said, his eyes fixed on the baby in your arms.

“Maybe so, but you don’t like it,” you said. “Redfly liked it, Ironhead likes it–”

And for poor Benny it went without saying. He liked hurting people and he liked getting hurt, took joy in it, even. If not for Ironhead watching over him he might have self-destructed before he had a chance to hit his growth spurt.

“Hell, even Pope likes it when he can convince himself a person deserves it, but you don’t like it. You’re different. That’s why I didn’t want you out there; it’s harder on you than it is on them.”

Luna finished nursing and you handed her off to Frankie, draping a burp cloth over his shoulder. Frankie rubbed her back and pat her on the bottom. You combed your fingers through his bedhead.

“You want pancakes?” you asked.

“Pancakes sound good,” Frankie said.

In the main room, Benny was sitting up, blinking sleepily as you went to the kitchen, mixing flour oil and milk and the last of the eggs.

“Is that coffee?” Benny asked, sniffing the air.

“In the pot,” you instructed, pointing.

Benny pushed himself off the couch and stumbled to the counter. He took the pot off the burner and started chugging.

“Jesus, Benny,” you shook your head in disgust as he set the pot back down on the burner.

He stumbled over, wrapping his arm around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Hmm, where’s the bacon?” he murmured, the warmth of his breath tickling your ear.

“Out of bacon,” you said.

“Sausage?” he added hopefully. You shook your head.

It was a miracle that your week’s supply of groceries had lasted as long as they did when they had left you with no transport and no money. You hadn’t had much of an appetite, but managed to eat just enough to keep your supply up for Luna. She was at an age where she was beginning to experiment with soft foods, but breastmilk was still her primary source of nutrition.

“I guess I’ll have to eat you up,” Benny growled, his hands snaking into the folds of your robe, pressing his mouth to the crook of your neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin.

“Stop it! Go see if your brother is up,” you instructed, shrugging him off. “And if he wants to join us at the table for breakfast.”

Benny grumbled, slinking back to the sitting room, picking his t-shirt up off the floor and pulling it on over his head. He went to the bedroom to rally Will as you poured the batter into the frying pan. Benny helped Will get settled and you instructed him to set the table with plates, silverware, butter, and jam.

At that moment, Frankie came out from the nursery holding Luna at arms length, her spit up coating his beard and the front of his shirt.

“Mi tesoro, juegas con tu Tio Benito,” he said, handing her off to Benny. “Papa necesita bañarse.”

All the parenting books said that when a child was being raised bilingual each parent should speak to them exclusively in one language, so as Luna picked up new words, she would learn to babble to you in English and to Frankie in Spanish. It was supposed to help her keep the two languages separate.

You had tried learning some Spanish from Frankie and Santiago back in the day, but you had long-since lost your ear for languages. Having been separated from your pack at a young age, you felt strongly that Luna should be connected to both of her lineages, but still, it annoyed you that one day they would have conversations without you.

“What happened to the burp cloth?” you said, moving the skillet off the stove and grabbing a towel to wipe Frankie’s face.

“The little stinker held it in until I went for un besito, and then,” Frankie gestured to himself.

“Nice work, Spitfire,” Benny laughed, bouncing Luna on his hip. She giggled excitedly, sticking out her velvety, pink tongue. Miraculously, she had stayed mostly clean despite the havoc she had wreaked on her father.

“Give me your shirt,” you instructed, holding the neck away from Frankie’s face as he peeled it off carefully. “Go get cleaned up.”

You tossed the shirt into the laundry basket in the kitchen as Frankie went through the bedroom to the shower.

“Ack! None of that,” you said, swiping the mug of coffee Will had managed to sneak while your attention was on your daughter. Will tried to protest, but as soon as he started up he grimaced and held his side.

“You’ll thank me later,” you said, dumping the dregs of the pot down the sink and returning to the stove.

“I’ll take you into town after breakfast,” Benny called from his seat on the couch, bouncing Luna on his knee. “So we can restock.”

“You don’t have any money,” Will reminded him. “Pope’ll take her.”

“I’m not sure that Pope and I are on speaking terms,” you warned, setting the first plate of pancakes down on the table. “He said Tom told him. About us. Got all sanctimonious about it.”

“Jesus,” Will moaned. “Why? Why should Pope care? Why would Tom even bring it up?”

“Because he’s a bitter son of a bitch,” you said. “And he knew Pope would take it personal. Like always.”

“What’s done is done,” Will shook his head. “I’ll talk to Santiago.”

“Thank you,” you said.

You loved all your boys equally, of course, but there was a particular ease in your relationship with Will. He was confident and honest, never one to sugarcoat or bullshit you; if he said he would do something he did it.

Frankie stepped out of the bedroom with a towel around his waist and a surprising lack of scruff.

“You shaved,” you said, blinking in surprise.

“Kid doesn’t like the whiskers,” Frankie said, scratching his chin where the skin looked red and irritated.

“She’s a baby,” you laughed.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I just wasn’t expecting you to have a different face,” you said, rubbing your nose to his. “Dame besos. Breakfast is on the table, go get dressed. There’s witch hazel in my bag, for your face.”

Benny had Luna in his lap, feeding her tiny bites. Will didn’t have much of an appetite, but drank herbal tea with plenty of honey. Frankie returned to the table and laid a napkin in his lap, happy to let Benny hold on to the baby for the moment. You were halfway through breakfast when Santiago finally wandered in. The mood at the table shifted immediately as he sat down without a word and started shoveling pancakes on a plate.

“You good?” Frankie asked.

“All good,” Santiago said, frowning.

You rose from the table and tossed your plate in the sink, harder than was necessary, taking Luna from Benny to retreat to the safety of the nursery.

Santiago followed after you, cutting off your path down the hall.

“Let me through,” you protested, shifting Luna to your hip. “She needs to nap.”

“Not until you deal with this,” Santiago said.

“I’m not doing this right now,” you hissed, keenly aware that Will, Benny, and Frankie had their eyes on you.

“What is going on?” Frankie said, coming to your side protectively. Luna fussed and reached for him as if she could sense your agitation. You let her go to him reluctantly.

Santiago shifted his gaze between the two of you.

“You tell him or I will.”

“Tell me what?” Frankie asked, gathering the baby into his arms.

“Nothing,” you said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Go finish your breakfast.”

Santiago offered you one last threatening glance.

“Pope, don’t,” Will said.

“She didn’t want you,” Santiago said. “She wanted Will. But Tom wouldn’t allow it. She only chose you because you were the easiest to manipulate.”

Frankie’s good-natured smile fell. He looked destroyed. It was awful.

“Is that true?” Frankie asked, his sad brown eyes shifting between you and Will.

You had no recourse to defend yourself. It was true you had asked Frankie to take you to bed because you knew the coke habit which he swore up and down was behind him meant he was the only one of them who couldn’t smell when you were heading into a heat cycle. And it was true that you had worried that he was a bit soft to be the father of your child. But it was also true that he had risen to the occasion. That his devotion to you and Luna had never wavered and his gentle nature made him a wonderful father. You were thankful now that things had worked out the way they had.

Will massaged the deep creases in his forehead with two fingers. “It is.”

“Jesus Christ!” Frankie shouted.

Luna, frightened, began to wail. Frankie shushed her gently, but his gaze was fixed on you. You wanted to comfort her, but you didn’t dare reach for her now.

“Oh, shit,” Benny laughed nervously.

Embedded deep in Frankie’s nervous system, Catfish’s hackles were raised and you could feel Ginger responding in kind. She wasn’t accustomed to being the focus of her mate’s displeasure and if you weren’t careful she’d break free from your control.

“I went to bat for you,” Frankie pointed an accusing finger at you. “I got my ass fucking handed to me on a silver platter and you fucking planned it that way.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Frankie,” you snapped. Catfish wasn’t exactly a golden boy, and he had taken far worse punishment for far stupider things.

“Is that why you wouldn’t marry me?”

“I did everything for you,” you spat, reminding not just Frankie but all the others. “I did everything you asked. All I wanted was a baby. It was what I deserved. What I was owed.”

You knew Frankie would be upset, that was his right, but his jealousy was unwarranted. They all knew from the beginning that you saw marriage as a stupid, human construct. It was your right as a wolf to choose who you mated with and when. Just because you had allowed Frankie to sire your child, it didn’t give him any more claim over you than the others.

“I should have walked away then,” you snapped. “But I didn’t, because this is my pack and I am not giving it up without a fight. I love you Frankie. I love our family. I wouldn’t change it for anything. All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to take care of you. Just let me take care of you, baby.”

Frankie brushed you off, taking Luna to the nursery. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

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