#and that fleece that sticks to your fingers

[sourpeachsayshi]

(size kink mention; drug use mention - all characters are 21+)

midnight snack {feat. you (yuji's best friend) x older brother choso}

it's late when you sneak into choso's room, finding your best friend's older brother wide awake and glued to his screen playing a video game. you softly knock on his door, and he quirks his brow in your direction in acknowledgement.

upon your arrival he speaks into his headphones, notifies whoever he is playing with that he'll be right back.

he knows exactly what you're here for - can tell from how you shyly gaze down at your feet and bite your bottom lip. he tilts his head towards his bed, "come in," he states sweetly, "shut the door behind you"

you do, as always. anticipation sending shivers all over your body.

you sit down on the edge of the mattress, eyes focused on his large frame motioning towards you. he practically meets your height when he kneels right in front you, the smell of weed sticking to his skin, his eyes a little red from the joint he smoked earlier.

the rings on his index and middle finger sparkle when he hooks them both underneath your fleece shorts, his eyes widening as a smile ticks his lips.

"making it easy for me, huh. you in a rush or something?" he teases.

"I left my underwear the last time. yuji found it while he was doing laundry..."

"I know, I told him it belonged to a friend. I still have it in my drawer," choso admits, looking up at you from underneath his shadowy lashes, and noting how your nipples are also poking through your tank top.

"so, is this how you sleep next to yuji whenever stay over?"

your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"he doesn't care," you insist, "he doesn't...pay attention to this kind of stuff..."

"or so you think," choso chuckles, arching forward so his warm breath is fanning across your pulsing cunt.

"it's true-ue...ohhh," your eyes flutter close, you tummy coiling at choso's tongue gliding over the source of your pleasure.

"uh-huh," he laughs in a slightly condescending tone, "try to keep it down this time, sweetheart. I'm still in game..."

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 1 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, breeding kink and lots of it, fingering, oral (f! receiving)

WC: 2k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 1998

Your head rests on Eddie’s thigh, cheek pressed against the cotton sweatpants serving as his pajamas. His fingertips dance along your shoulder in comforting circles, the other hand digging into a bag of peanut M&Ms and dropping several into his mouth at once. 

Harris is sleeping in bed, his little eyes having drifted closed halfway through his second bedtime story. You’d laughed softly, kissed his forehead, and closed the door as quietly as you could. 

On the TV screen, Phoebe Buffay prepares to give birth to triplets while Joey’s learned that his sympathy pains are actually kidney stones. 

The candy shell crunching ceases as Eddie speaks over the characters’ dialogue. “You ever think about that?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the monitor. 

“Having three babies at once?” You wrinkle your nose, tugging the fleece blanket up a bit higher. You adjust your position so you can see his chocolate-smudged lips. “Only in my nightmares.”

Eddie laughs, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his doe eyes. “N-No, just, like…having a baby?” His front teeth scrape his lower lip nervously while he awaits your response. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I mean, I definitely want to have kids with you. And I know Harris is dying for a sibling to play with,” you add teasingly, though your words are true. He’d come home from school last week claiming that his friend Joshua’s mommy was having another baby, lamenting that it wasn’t fair because Joshua already had a sister. “I can’t wait to add some more Munsons to our little family.”

“Okay, yeah,” Eddie nods, swallowing thickly. “So, um, what exactly are we waiting for?”

The question makes you sit up, pushing yourself with your palms, so you can look him in the eyes. “We’ve only been married for a few months…” you trail off, unsure what to say next, but it doesn’t matter because Eddie leans in and silences you with his lips on yours. Tiny, passionate kisses, his smile rendering him unable to draw them out longer. 

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he murmurs, nose gently bumping yours. Four fingers are tucked behind your ear, his thumb delicately grazing your cheek. “There’s no rush, ‘kay? No Baby Munsons until you’re totally on board.”

“What if I’m ready, too?” You kiss him, body buzzing with nerves just from having this conversation. An excited giggle slips out, and you drape your arms over his shoulder to straddle his waist. “What if I want to start trying?”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs; he swears he’s hit the jackpot with you. “Then I say…to hell with those pesky birth control pills.” He kisses you again, peppering them all over your face and neck. “C’mon, Sweetheart. Let’s make a baby.”

It’s a few weeks later when Eddie breezes through the apartment door after work, kicking off his Reeboks in the general direction of the hall closet. His weary expression shifts to a joyous one when he sees you walk out of the bedroom with a knowing grin on your face. 

“What’s that little smirk for, hmm?” he teases, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him. An autumn chill sticks to his leather jacket; you shiver as the cold fabric brushes your bare arms. “And where’s the other troublemaker?”

“Harris is at Wayne’s for the night,” you tell him, stepping back slightly and briefly lacing your fingers with his before grabbing something from the back pocket of the jeans you immediately changed into after work. “This little line means that I’m currently ovulating,” you quickly explain, not wanting him to confuse it with another important test. 

Eddie’s grin could split his cheeks in half. “So…so that means…” his eyes shine bright with anticipation. “It’s baby-making time?”

You giggle at his phrasing. “Yes, Eddie,” you confirm through peals of laughter. “It’s baby-making time.”

Eddie’s lips crash onto yours in an instant. He groans into the kiss, hands instinctively grabbing your ass to pull you closer. Your own fingers grasp his jacket by the zipper teeth, tugging it off of his body and letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. His hands snake underneath your sweater, eyes widening when he touches supple skin rather than the underwire of a bra.

“Mhm,” you bite your lower lip and nod, gasps of pleasure caught in your throat as his thumbs brush against your nipples, giving them a small tweak. He grins at your reaction, more than satisfied to be catching you off-guard. 

“Y’know,” he muses, not straying from your breasts, “I won’t be able to be so rough with ‘em once I knock you up. They’ll be extra sensitive, and I gotta take care of my girl.” The sweater is a hindrance, burying the treasure he so desperately desires, so you shed it without a second thought.

He stares at your bare torso for a moment, enthralled with your body even after all this time. Like a vampire lusting for blood, his teeth sink just below your areola, nipping and sucking sloppily until the underside of your breast is dripping with his saliva. “C’mere,” he growls, taking a breath and leading you into the bedroom.

You’ve never seen Eddie this hungry for you; his lips and tongue and hands trailing along your curves and leaving goosebumps in their path. It’s as though he can’t decide where to touch you and with what.

All articles of clothing–both yours and his–are long gone by the time your bodies tangle in the bedsheets. The only word you can manage is his name, so you whisper it over and over again. 

Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. 

His body towers over yours, middle finger gliding up and down your folds, gathering your slick and rubbing deliberate circles on your clit. Your trembling legs fuel his own passion, his erection flush against his tummy and leaking pre-cum. 

“You need me inside you, Sweetheart?” Eddie coos, letting his finger drift down towards your wanting hole. When you nod pathetically, unable to string together a sentence, he laughs. “I’d normally make you beg, but seeing as you’re gonna be carrying my baby, I’ll let it slide.” He lays down, hissing at the glorious pressure against his cock. “In fact, I’m gonna make sure my girl gets everything she needs tonight.”

Soft lips wrap around your swollen bud while his middle and ring fingers stretch you deliciously. You buck your hips, using his face to draw you towards what you suspect will be your first of multiple orgasms. 

The only sound lewder than your wanton moans is the schlick of his fingers pulsing in and out, soaked with your arousal. You let yourself float away, relishing in the comfort of his control. 

“F-Fuck, Eddie…” you sputter, arching your back and hooking your grasp into his curls. He smiles against your pussy as you clench around his fingers. 

“Thassit, honey.” He breaks his rhythm for a split second to encourage you, resuming his pace like he’d never stopped. Maybe it stems from his musical prowess, or maybe he simply knows your body that well. You love this man, and you swear you’ll do anything to give him a baby.

You come undone moments later, taking everything you need without hesitation. Eddie lowers you from the high and kisses down your thighs, your arousal smeared on his pursed lips.

“Need you to do me a favor,” he says, shifting his body so his eyes gaze directly into yours, pupils blown out with lust. “Need you to bend your legs and hold onto your knees. Can you do that for me, Sweetheart?”

You nod, bringing your knees to your chest and hugging them tight. Eddie’s breath hitches, taking in the view of you, glistening and on display just for him.

“Fuckin’...perfect…” he groans, running his hardened length along you, slowly pushing in. “Gettin’ to watch your pretty pussy cream my cock…shit…’s my favorite fuckin’ sight, I swear.” He grips your hips so tightly that it pinches a bit, pain indistinguishable from pleasure.

He’s entranced in a way you haven’t seen before, despite the multitude of times he’s already had you in this position. Your eyes fill with emotion when the realization hits: you and Eddie could make a baby right now. A little being that’s half-him and half-you. 

“‘S everything okay?” he asks, one hand moving from your waist to gently brush away a rogue tear slipping down your cheek.

“Mhm,” you answer, laughing and crying at the same time. “I’m just really happy that this is for real. No more pretending; we’re actually doing this to expand our family.”

Eddie swoops down to kiss you, a few soft pecks punctuated with a long, intimate embrace. “I love you so much.” He says it as a promise, not a simple statement. “You’re mine and I’m yours, and I never want you to forget that.” He resumes thrusting, pulling almost all the way out and leaving just the tip inside you, before sinking back in. The movement draws a whine from deep within you, and he wears it as a badge of honor. “That’s my girl, my sweet girl, gonna have my baby.”

Sweat trickles down the bridge of his nose and drips onto your chest between your breasts. He bites his lip in determination. “Shit, ‘m close already,” he mumbles, smiling as he adds, “kinda wish I didn’t have to cum so we could stay like this, but, uh, that would defeat the purpose, huh?”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you giggle, which only further spurs him on. “You get tighter when you laugh, fuck, babe.” But he’s laughing with you, stopping for a second to get his bearings. “I gotta stay focused! Trying to make a baby over here!” His palms flex on your knees before gripping them again.

“I’m sorry!” You’re not, and neither is he, the two of you soaking in the comfort of being with the person you trust completely and love wholeheartedly. 

“Okay, okay,” he says, wiping perspiration from his brows with the back of his hand. “Let’s get back on track.” His thrusts resume slowly as he once again grows harder within your walls, gradually quickening in pace. 

Everything is overwhelming; the way he feels inside you, the sweetly possessive hold he has on his legs, the unexpected comedic interlude, the potential to create a new life. Passion sweeps you up into its embrace and you come with a strained cry of your husband’s name. 

“Want your baby, Eddie. Please.”

Eddie’s brown eyes shine at your desperate plea. He nears his own climax, hair sticking to his forehead and his guitar pick necklace thumping against his chest. “‘M right there, Sweetheart; you’re milking my cock so good.” His biceps tremble as he gives a final few pistons of his hips, spilling into you harder than he ever has before. “Fuck, gonna give you a baby, take it.” 

You shiver when he growls the last two words, savoring the movements until they abruptly stop. With panting breaths, Eddie slides out of you. 

“Don’t move,” he gently commands, holding up one finger and using the other hand to hold his softening dick. He scrambles for a free pillow and tucks it underneath your hips. “Helps ‘em swim faster,” he sheepishly explains. “Or, like, hit their target a little better.”

“Hit their target?” You ask through a bemused grin. “Is that the proper medical terminology?”

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully, returning to the bed and nuzzling into you. His frizzy curls tickle your chin when he rests his head on top of one breast. You both lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. 

“Can’t wait to see if it worked,” he muses while fighting a yawn. “Whatever happens, it felt special, y’know?”

You know. Your hand flutters over your abdomen; Eddie drapes his over yours soon after. The two of you fall asleep wrapped up in one another and an intoxicating blanket of hope. 

--

[vanderilnde]

Unhinged battlefield surgeon reader and the extended metaphor of surgery as the most intimate form of love (with medical inaccuracies).

ghost/reader

-

Ghost got shot and his shredded kevlar had swallowed most of the shrapnel.

Though one bullet, thankfully, ate a way through and wedged itself in his abdomen.

He’s the only member of the task force you haven’t operated on. Always a little too tactically inclined and apt for your liking. Never with any grave injuries—just a ruddy bullet graze or a broken femur—neither of which you could get your hands on. 

Surgery was the only way he would ever notice you. When Soap was in post-op, gauzed and inebriated on painkillers, Ghost reverently nodded at you in thanks. When Gaz got shot and you coordinated a walking blood bank, gingerly asking Ghost if his blood type was a match. It wasn’t, but you already knew that, because his personnel file was a parsed-over sheet branded into your brain—but he leaned down, the fleece of his balaclava grazing the husk of your ear, and asked you to repeat your question. 

“Type one SGW,” someone says. A less-experienced medic, your subordinate, his first time downrange. Ashy and blanched in the face as he straps Ghost to a stretcher. “Signs of peritonitis are present.”

You’re already wearing your gloves, splitting a hand on Ghost’s chest. His breaths are irregular and short-winded under your palm, turbulent, like a second heartbeat.

You take a moment to grasp the papery flutter of his eyelashes against his mottled skin. It’s lace-like and scythe-like, disappearing under the crude shell of his macabre mask. And upon your excited fingers catching on the hem of his balaclava, the baby-faced medic stops you with a hand bent around your wrist.

“His face,” he slips an eighteen-gauge needle into Ghost’s bulging forearm. “That's not confidential?” 

Irritation threatens to supersede your anticipation. You shrug his hand off of you, snarling, “I need to BVM him. Would you rather he die?”

The medic’s eyes widen. He sputters out apologies, mousy, and shuffles back. Busies himself with something else within the babel of organised chaos and medevac. 

The pads of your fingers idle under the lip of Ghost’s balaclava. Slowly, you peel off his mask and feel your soul get eclipsed. He steals your breath, flips your world, and drenches you in ice-cold water. He’s beautiful in a way so specifically masculine. His face striated with lesions and gossamer-like scars, one running through his mouth and hefting up his upper lip, travelling towards his cropped hairline. Disappearing into his awkward cowlick.

Ghost’s hair is trimmed to his skull. There’s slivers of skin peeking through nicks and notches as a result of shaving himself over a ceramic sink. His breath struggles past his thin lips, puckering them. His eyes oscillate under his eyelids, his crows feet leathery and creased. 

“Doctor,” another medic says, calling for your attention. “How should we proceed?”

You place an ambu bag on Ghost’s face. Your fingers on his dimpled jawbone, your other hand pumping air into his lungs. It’s electric. You’re giving him life, you’re his God, you’re swelling his lungs like a second-hand kiss too taboo to be direct. “Any exit wounds?”

Ghost gets turned onto his side and has his shirt torn through. You subsist on the heat that pools under your cheeks, sticking your thighs together. His blood congeals into the spindly hairs of his chest, thickening as it disappears below his pants. The other surgeons flit their eyes over the sinews of his back, answering, “No.” 

It shouldn’t excite you. Really, it shouldn’t. But the thought of being inside Ghost—of coalescing with him, of being closer to him than anyone ever before—it excites you. For once, you’re not invisible to Ghost. For once, he’s at your mercy. On your table and bleeding out. In need of your deft hands, in need of your attention. 

“I’m doing a laparotomy.”

“But–”

“That wasn’t a question.”

A scalpel is quickly dropped in your hand. You use it to dig a divot in Ghost’s skin, slicing a transverse incision that opens him up and spills him onto your hands. You cut through his cutis and off-white subcutis, slicing his abdomen wall, the fibrous sheet of tissue. Blood leaks out of him how rain dribbles down a window. Pearlescent and beady. 

“Gimme suction,” you mumble. “And keep it out of my way. I’m removing the bullet.” 

Off the fringes of your vision, the other surgeons exchange wary glances. Any protests they have rot on their tongue, stuck under the boot of their chief resident. A tinny, thin sound peals out in the heli, the clang of you throwing your scalpel into the kidney dish. 

Gently, as if you’re holding glass, you slip your fingers into Ghost and slowly spread him open. It’s intoxicating. As if you’re splitting a mango open with your thumbs, the blood of it sluicing down your arms. Sweet and sticky. There’s a grotesque sound emanating from it—like when boots press in on a muddy ground. Ghost is all slippery and rubbery as your fingers search for a hot, eroded bullet. 

“Any luck, Doctor?” 

Your hands catch on gilded metal. You grasp it and pull yourself out, toss it in the kidney dish. You’re handed another instrument and start slice-wise swishes, closing him up. Sewing him back together like your own doll. His chest shudders under your fingers, rattling like wind-chimes. Your sutures are deep-seated and tight, strung out, because you don’t want to stop touching him. Because if you stop, he might unfurl again. Fall all over the place. Over the floor and over your pants and you can’t have that happen—you need Ghost full, thanking you properly for your work when he wakes up. 

You’re finished, rubbing your ichor-stained gloves together. You still feel the phantom layer of your hands under Ghost’s skin.

It’s so intimate—holding him and piecing him back together. Carefully, attentively, lovingly.

[irkimatsu]

So llike just had the idea of; Husk fell asleep at the bar and reader finds him and puts a blanket over him. He starts purring and they are overwelmed with the need to pet him so they do which causes more purring and him to sleepily nuzzle their hand. When they pull their hand away the purring slowly dies down so they start petting him again. <3

The fluff train continues! About 1k words of GN!Reader taking care of a tired, overworked Husk. Someone please let this man rest I beg of you.

---

How does he sleep like that? It can’t possibly be comfortable.

You know it’s not his fault, really. It’s a combination of overwork and alcohol that causes Husk to constantly pass out standing up, his head resting on the bar. Surely he’d be in his bed if he had the choice.

You wish you could do something. You’ve tried on multiple occasions to rouse him from his sleep, but he never budges when he’s this far gone. You can’t move him, either; he’s just dead weight like this. Any attempt would only leave him on the floor, which would obviously be even worse. 

Instead, all you can do is keep him company when he’s passed out. You’re sure he doesn’t notice your presence; he’s never brought it up while awake, anyway. Still, it makes you feel better to not leave him alone for the whole night.

Tonight is like so many other nights. While most of the hotel’s residents have long since gone to bed, you’re sitting up at the bar with an unconscious Husk. You’ve always been a bit of a night owl, so it doesn’t bother you to not be in your own bed.

Despite the dire circumstances that led to his falling unconscious again, Husk seems surprisingly peaceful. He at least had time to fold his arms on the bar and rest his chin on them, rather than face-planting onto the bar with his neck bent at a horribly uncomfortable angle. His wings are folded in and relaxed, and his tail is hanging low and gently swishing, the feathers lightly brushing against the floor. His hat fell off when he passed out, so you picked it up, dusted it off, and placed it on the bar for him to retrieve when he woke up.

You rarely see him without his hat, so you often forget what he looks like without it. Hair-like fur is bunched in the middle of his head, sticking out in wild directions. Does he ever brush it? Perhaps he doesn’t feel the need to when it’s always under the hat anyway.

It looks so soft… you wonder what it’d be like to comb your fingers through it.

Husk stirs slightly in his sleep, but he’s not anymore conscious. He only grumbles and shivers before slumping against the bar again, his eyes never opening.

Come to think of it, it’s an awfully cold night tonight, and for reasons you don’t quite understand, the poor man never wears a shirt…

There’s a blanket laying on the lobby’s couch, so you step away just long enough to retrieve it. It’s an off-white fleece, and incredibly soft; of course someone like Charlie wouldn’t cheap out on her guests’ comfort. You bring it back to Husk and drape it over his back. It doesn’t cover him much at first due to his wings, but he reflexively pulls them in until the blanket settles over his shoulders.

You return to your stool and resume your nightly watch over him. Is it just you, or does he look more relaxed now? You could swear his eyebrows are less furrowed, and his mouth isn’t turned down quite so much.

Most tellingly, if you listen closely, you can hear the faintest hint of a purr rumbling from his throat.

It’s not the first time you’ve thought of how handsome he was, and the removal of his hat is only strengthening your opinion. He may be a grouchy old man who’s dealt with too much bullshit in his life to ever let his guard down again, but that only intensifies his care for the other residents, tough as that care may be. You know he means well, and only wants to spare you and the others from screwing up your own lives as badly as he did.

Yet, a softer side does shine through the near-perpetual anger sometimes. A side that’s been learning when you don’t need your mistakes rubbed in your face. When he simply lets you speak or remain silent after a hard day, giving you a soft look and encouragement while realizing it isn’t yet the time for advice… that’s the Husk you want to know more about, and the Husk you currently see sleeping in front of you.

God, the fur on his hair looks so nice… you can’t help yourself anymore. You run your fingers over it, just once, lightly enough to not wake him (as if he can be awoken from this state). It’s even softer than you imagined, feeling just like cat fur instead of human hair. You give his head a few more strokes, thinking about how nice he’d look if he’d brushed it, maybe slicked it back…

You could swear he’s purring more loudly now.

You’ve already started sating your curiosity, so you may as well keep going. Still keeping your touches light, you stroke your way behind his ear, then to his cheek. Your fingers sink into the fluff as you gently scratch the skin underneath.

He leans his head into your hand and nuzzles.

You pull your hand back in shock, not expecting his response. Have you woken him after all?

His frown deepens as he settles his chin back into his arms, and his tail gives a frustrated lash. His eyes still aren’t opening, and his purring goes quiet.

He’s stopped moving for a while, so you take a chance and scratch his cheek again. He responds in the same way, leaning into your hand and purring louder than ever. Since he seems to be enjoying it, you place your other hand on his other cheek and scratch him there, too. After a few scratches, you cup his cheeks in your palms and scratch behind his ears.

He’s purring like crazy now, tilting his head slightly to make sure your fingers are rubbing just the right spots. His tail raises into the air and waves, and his claws flex against the wooden bartop.

“Husk…” you whisper.

He whispers your name back and slightly opens his eyes. You immediately pull your hands back as if his face was suddenly scalding hot.

“Where am I…?” he murmurs groggily before his eyes close again. “My knees fuckin’ hurt…”

“You should go to bed,” you tell him, pointedly ignoring what you’d just been doing to him. “The bar was supposed to close hours ago.”

“Ugh… finally…” His mouth opens wide in a feline yawn, and then he stands up. The blanket starts to slip from his shoulders, but he catches it and wraps it more tightly around him. “This yours?”

“I got it from the couch,” you say. “You can keep it.”

“Good. It’s fuckin’ cold… no wonder everything fuckin’ hurts…” He yawns again as he walks out from behind the bar. “I need a day off… was havin’ a good dream… hate wakin’ up from good dreams…” He doesn’t acknowledge you further as he shuffles off to bed, grousing to himself the entire time.

Perhaps, even while he’s alone, his “dream” will pick up where it left off.

[niki-phoria]

⋆｡°✩ celebrating spooky season with enha

includes: various halloween adjacent scenarios, lots of fluff lol, forgive me if some of these are a little repetitive

a/n: inspired by this prompt list by @novelbear !!

gn reader (no pronouns used)

⋆｡°✩ heeseung

heeseung startles beside you when a loud crack of thunder interrupts your previously quiet apartment. a soft chuckle escapes you as he presses himself against your side. “don’t be such a scaredy cat,” you tease, reaching over to reassuringly pat his thigh. “relax. it was just some lightning.”

“i’m not,” he whines, though you don’t miss the way he startles when yet another flash of lightning illuminates your previously dark apartment once more. “it’s just… i’m not a fan of thunderstorms.”

you gently tighten your hold around his body, tugging heeseung even closer to you. he leans back against your chest, curling even further into your side. your touch is gentle as you rub a comforting hand against his side. “i’m sure the storm will pass soon.”

“i know,” he nods. shifting slightly, you turn to look out the window. raindrops fall in waves, leaving long streaks as they roll down your windows. 

you reach up to brush your hand through heeseung’s hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands. he lets out a soft sigh at the comforting feeling, relaxing further into your touch. “why don’t we stick to horror comedies next year?” 

“yeah,” heeseung sighs. his grip around your waist tightens slightly as yet another low rumble of thunder interrupts the previous silence. “that sounds like a great plan.”

⋆｡°✩ jay

your eyes remain fixated on your tv screen, watching intently as a figure steps out of the darkness. the score is foreboding as it slowly begins to pick up. anticipation slowly continues to build as the soundtrack continues picking up - growing louder and more intense with each passing moment. 

the movie finally reaches a climax when the killer suddenly jumps out, accompanied by a scream as he slashes his knife into the main character’s arm. jay gasps at the intrusion; he instinctively placing a hand on top of his chest over his racing heartbeat. 

you do your best to stifle a chuckle underneath your breath as you shift slightly to be closer to him. “are you okay?” you whisper. 

“yeah,” jay nods. “it was just a stupid jumpscare.”

“come here,” you murmur, opening your arms in a gesture for him to join you. jay doesn’t waste a second, moving across the couch to lay his head against your chest. you smile as he relaxes his body against yours, letting you wrap your arms around him completely. “is this better?”

“much better,” jay hums. you lean down to press a kiss against the crown of his head before finally returning your attention to the still-ongoing movie playing on the screen.

⋆｡°✩ jake

your feet sink into the mulch as you wander throughout the pumpkin patch. the breeze blowing through the air is just cold enough to chill your bones, making you tuck yourself further into jake’s hoodie. the fleece - although comfortable - does little to warm you from the autumn air. 

you eagerly scan through the various squash surrounding you in search of the perfect one. pumpkins of various shapes and sizes are littered around the field, though none of them catch your attention enough to make you pause in your hunt. 

“babe,” jake calls from nearby. he’s kneeling down in front of a large, orange pumpkin sitting on the ground. it’s already been cut from the tangle of roots it had grown from. “what do you think of this one?”

jake shifts to the side to make room for you to kneel down beside him. rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie, you run your fingers against its smooth skin. small patches of dirt stick against the pumpkin’s skin; it’s shape is nearly perfectly spherical. “it looks good,” you nod, reaching over to pat its side. “it should be big enough to carve.”

“i thought so too.” he reaches around the pumpkin, lifting it up from the ground in one smooth motion. “come on,” he grins. “i can’t wait to get started.”

⋆｡°✩ sunghoon

sunghoon leans over your shoulder, silently observing each of your movements as you carefully drag the knife back and forth against the thick skin of the pumpkin. your countertops are all but completely covered in pumpkin innards; seeds scattered about decorate your kitchen. 

you wrap your hand fully around the knife, gripping the covered blade tightly in your fist as you readjust your hands. but before you can continue your carving, sunghoon reaches out to catch his hand in your own. “careful,” he murmurs as he moves your fingers out of the way.

“this is harder than it looks,” you mutter. your fingers occasionally slip against the thick pumpkin skin, the innards making it difficult to keep your grip around the knife steady. 

“i know,” sunghoon chuckles. you pause, taking a step back to check your progress. the pumpkin has been scraped as clean as possible and large chunks have been successfully cut out but the design is barely legible. 

“here,” his hands feel soft against yours as sunghoon reaches around your waist. he places his hands over yours before he begins gently guiding your movements. “let me help you.” 

⋆｡°✩ sunoo

“hey, look!” sunoo smiles, pointing towards a nearby field. “there’s a corn maze.”

“do you want to go check it out?”

he nods, gently tugging you along towards the attraction. “let’s go!” 

your feet sink into the dirt with each step you take as you wander inside. stocks of corn surround you, openings leading towards various different directions. “let’s go this way,” you murmur, wandering down the left path. wind easily blows through the makeshift walls of the maze. shivers run down your spine, sending a chill through your entire body. 

sunoo furrows his eyebrows in concern when he notices the goosebumps arising along your skin. “are you cold?”

“a little.”

“y/n,” sunoo pouts. he wraps his hands around yours, wrapping your freezing fingertips in the thick fabric of his sweater. “you’re so cold. why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“i’m fine,” you chuckle, though it doesn’t deter him from slipping his hoodie off of his own body and all but shoving it over your own. the fabric feels nice against your bare skin; it warms you almost immediately. “why don’t we finish the maze and then we can go home and cuddle, okay?”

“okay,” sunoo hums.

⋆｡°✩ jungwon

smudges of face paint decorate your fingertips and hands as you carefully swipe the paint across jungwon’s features to recreate charizard’s appearance. your hands slip when he poorly stifles a laugh underneath his breath, causing a small smudge of misplaced orange paint to stain a larger area of skin than you were expecting. 

“stop moving,” you whisper. knees pressed against both sides of jungwon’s hips; your body hovers just on top of jungwon’s. you readjust your hold on his face, leaning back as you momentarily set your makeup brush aside. 

“i’m sorry!” he chuckles as he pulls back slightly. “i can’t help it. it tickles.”

“you’re the one who wanted to have a couple’s costume and now you can’t even sit still long enough for me to put on the makeup,” you let out a faux exasperated sigh. 

“i’m sorry, jagi.” jungwon moves to rest his hands against your hips, gently coaxing you closer once again. his fingertips slip underneath the fabric of your shirt just enough to brush against your bare skin. goosebumps arise in their wake sending shivers down your spine. “i’ll sit still. i promise.”

a soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lean in once again. “you better.”

⋆｡°✩ niki

you’re pulled out of your dreams to the feeling of soft kisses being peppered all over your skin. first it’s your cheek. then your nose. forehead. lips. “ki?” you mumble, eyes blinking open as you shift to sleepily look up at him. “why are you still here? don’t you have practice today?”

a soft smile graces his face as he reaches up to push a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. “i asked for the day off a few weeks ago. i wanted to spend halloween with you.”

“really?”

niki chuckles as he nods. “really.” 

you excitedly push yourself up to wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, tugging him down until your lips meet in a sweet kiss. smiles linger on both of your lips when you pull away. “how were you thinking of celebrating?”

“movie marathon?” he asks, reaching over to grab your tv remote. 

“sounds perfect.” you curl yourself against his body, leaning your head against his chest. niki’s arms rest comfortably around your waist as he switches the tv on. “so, what are we watching?”

he hands the remote over to you, leaning down to press a kiss against your temple. “whatever you want, love.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Valeria - Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @appreciatelove @the-wandering-lunatic @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @multifandomloversworld @harperdoodle @est1887 @prettyinpunk85 @thanossexual @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @sclitvdes @justreblogginfics @irishavengersassemble @keyweegirlie

It’s late when Angel makes it home, later than he intended to be. The house is already lit up and the porch light is on, beckoning him inside. He loves coming home to this, knowing that there’s someone waiting for him, someone who cares about him, who wants to hear about his day. He shuts the front door behind him, bending down to untie the laces of his boots before he toes them off carefully and sets them alongside your smaller ones.

He's been thinking of asking you to move in with him. It’s been almost nine months and he’s more than ready, the only reason he hasn’t done it sooner is because you’re a little skittish. You’ve told him before that you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hopes that you see you don’t have to worry about that with him. That he’s steady, that he wants a place in your life and he’s here to stay.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late.” he hollers as he treads through the hallway towards the kitchen. He knows you’re probably in there, sitting at the table running through your list of things to do. “We were talking about the food drive this weekend, Bish was worried we wouldn’t have enough bodies…”

He trails off, his hand coming to rest on the door frame as he surveys the sight in front of him.

“I found this on the doorstep.” You tell him, tipping your head towards the car seat and the diaper bag sitting on the kitchen table. “Along with those.”

You’re holding a baby.

She’s tiny, not more than a few weeks old, wrapped up in a white fleece blanket with yellow ducks embroidered into it. There’s a tuft of dark hair sticking out of her head, something that he recognises from his own baby pictures. His heart fucking breaks because he knows, he just knows that this is his baby.

“There’s a note.” You say, swaying from side to side gently as the infant begins to gripe. You hush her and she begins to sooth as you continue with the motion.

He edges towards the table, his fingers picking up the envelop that’s already been torn open. He doesn’t begrudge you that, he would have done the same thing. There’s a letter and a birth certificate tucked inside. He takes them both and smooths them upon the surface of the table along side each other. He studies the birth certificate first.

Her name is Valeria and she’s three weeks old.

His fingertip trails down the paper until he reaches the line where both of the parents are listed. He sees his name scrawled by a registrar along side the word ‘Father’. He puts both of his hands on the back of his head as he breathes the word ‘fuck’.

“Don’t swear in front of the baby.” You murmur, your voice a low, even tone.

“Sorry.” He finds himself saying.

This is so fucking surreal; he can’t wrap his head around it. His gaze strays to the ‘Mother’ column and he sees the name Skylar Rixton listed. Who the fuck…

And then he remembers.

Sky.

The bike bunny he’d fucked a couple of weeks before he met you. She’d been tending bar for a few weeks, a friend of Jess’s. Things had gotten a little wild that night in the Clubhouse, he’d been knocking back tequila trying to drown out the self-loathing that was gnawing at his insides and she’d put herself directly in his path. He’s woken up the next morning with a scratched up back and Sky trying to tempt an encore out of him. He’d stopped it in it’s tracks because he could already see that she was getting attached and Angel didn’t do strings.

She’d taken off a couple of months later after he’d started seeing you.

He read the letter next, and it confirms his suspicions. She’d discovered she was pregnant not long after he’d met you. Decided to raise the kid on her own, then discovered it wasn’t as easy as she thought.

She’s your problem now, the letter said.

“I didn’t know.” He tells you as he raises from his seat at the table.

“It doesn’t matter.” You say, your head tilted away from him.

Your hair falls across your features so he can’t see the expression on your face. He realises that this is the other shoe, that the very thing he promised not to do to you is happening right now and he is powerless to stop it.

“Angel, you need to take you daughter.” You tell him.

Your voice is soft, but he can still hear the hurt in it. It feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest because the last thing he ever wanted was for you to become a casualty of his recklessness.

You’re careful as you hand him the baby. He reacts instinctively, shifting the weight of the tiny infant until she sits comfortably in his arms, her fists flailing just a little.

“You’re alright.” He tells her, his voice kind as he starts to sway. “I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t realise you’ve left until he hears the front door closing behind you. He doesn’t remember you saying anything, only the absence of your presence as he finds himself standing alone in his kitchen with his daughter cradled in his arms. He swallows hard past the ache in his chest, his eyes stinging because he knows he fucked up.

This may be the beginning for him and Valeria but it’s the end of him and you.

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[astronicht]

whumptober day 1: “how many fingers am i holding up?”

(I wanna do some of these for as long as i’m feeling it as a kind of fic amnesty! get back into the swing of writing without pressure u know! it might be exactly two it might be literally just this one who knows!)

F1 rpf | max/daniel | figure skating AU | 1.5k, rated T

(mild cw for an injured kid)

The coach is a fucking joke. He’s across the lobby from Max, who is tying his sleek black skates and waiting for Christian to show up in about thirty minutes, clutching a coffee even though he’s woken up at 4AM for the last forty years.

The coach nervously leans close to a little girl sitting on the benches in her skates, her boots and blades wet with slush. She has a sleek high ponytail and still has her bum pad strapped on over her leggings to break falls and a closed-off look on her little face. The coach says, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jackass. He’s obviously a competitive skater working as a coach part-time because he looks all of nineteen, but that doesn’t fucking matter. He’s the coach. He should know better. Max’s hands feel clumsy on his laces. He’s probably going to have to— Or the mum—

As Max is scanning the little crowd of parents at the tables, the door to the rink swings open with a blast of cool wet air and Daniel strides in. He’s got new boots on, Max realizes numbly. Daniel and the little girl are also wearing the same brand of leggings, hers in miniature. She is probably seven years old.

“Hey, you took a spill, huh?” Daniel says, because if he was on the ice he’d have seen it. He’s walking a little gingerly, slush sluicing off his blades onto the rubber floor; his feet are probably rubbed bloody inside the stupid new Jackson Ultimas.

Max gets up, walks over. Daniel sees him and seems surprised, or maybe Max is imagining it. Max does not say anything. He squats on his toepicks in front of the little girl, ignores the stupid fucking coach. Daniel says, “Oh, uh— Max is just gonna do a little concussion check, yeah?” Daniel doesn’t ignore the coach at all, smiles at him, says something, but he does somehow dismiss him a little. It’s easy to see, to Max, that Daniel was coached by Christian for a long time.

Max looks at the girl. She stares back, jaw tight. He tells her, “No counting, only follow my finger with your eyes. And now you talk to me, okay? Explain exactly what happened.”

The girl hesitantly starts to describe the double loop that led to the back of her skull smacking into the ice. Max moves his finger to her left, to her right. Her words are in the right order, not slurred, but her eyes judder a little following his hand.

“Daniel, give me your phone.” Max says, squinting at the girl and sticking his hand up. Daniel’s warm hip is right next to him, shifting as Daniel fidgets, his phone probably in his fleece because he never leaves it on the boards unless he’s on the ice. Daniel hesitates, maybe, but then his cold phone is being fumbled into Max’s waiting hand. His lock screen is some fucking beach, screen protector clouding up under Max’s warm fingertips. Daniel does not even like the beach that much. Max taps to make the flashlight come on from the lockscreen and tries to ignore Daniel relaxing beside him, like he didn’t want Max to be nosy about his stupid life.

Daniel does get three incoming texts while Max is watching the girl’s pupils react to the light, flinching down to a point the way they are supposed to. But maybe a little slow. Max frowns. It is all normal for skating, injuries and concussions alike, but it makes him feel a little sick, sometimes, when it’s the little ones. He doesn’t practice around kids that often anymore, but then again, if she’s here this seven-year-old is probably thinking about breaking into juniors, probably very serious.

The girl’s mum comes in through the other set of doors, the ones leading to the rest of the rink, the other sheets of ice that Max normally rents privately for a few hundred dollars an hour — a little cheaper in euros. Someone must have texted her; one of the other mums at the tables by the window to the rink, probably, not the coach who is almost hiding behind Daniel while Max takes care of his fucking student. Max should charge him.

Max straightens up and says to the mum, but looking out at the rink through the windows, “She has hit her head. I am of course not her coach so I cannot tell you what to do. She is not confused now but some of her reactions are a little slow.” He swallows. “So yes you could of course get her checked out at a clinic.”

The woman turns to the useless coach and starts asking questions. Max looks at the kid. “Okay, good job,” he says. “Take a break, try not to fall on your head like this.” Then he walks back to his seat. He looks down at his skates again. He can’t find his gloves.

A rustle and a shadow in the fluorescent lights: Daniel is coming to sit beside him on the cold plastic bench. Daniel sighs. It is early but he looks more tired than an early morning. He only got one Grand Prix invitation this year. The girl and her mum are gone, the doors swinging shut. Max swallows. It is normal, but also he hopes the mum takes the girl to the doctor today, just to see.

“Alright?” says Daniel, almost warily. “Doctor Maxy.”

Max rolls his eyes at him, says, “It is so annoying. Of course a head hit rattles you, so it is hard to tell when it is real.”

“Well, this time she’s definitely fucking concussed,” Daniel says, rubbing his face.

“Oh. Did you tell her mum?” Max asks, surprised. He watches his own hands clench on his knees. His gloves are in the side pocket of his skate bag like always, he realizes. He doesn’t reach for them yet.

Daniel blinks at him, eyes wide, shadows under them a delicate purple. “I… yeah, I told her what the kid said: that she'd blacked out when she hit her head for a second? Any time you black out, it’s a concussion, right? I don’t know if the mum like, knows that.” He squints at the doors. “Cunt of a useless coach though.”

“No it’s not always a concussion,” Max corrects. The girl did say that, he remembers, when he was making her talk so he could test how she spoke. “Blacking out for a second when you hit? Then I would've had dozens as a kid.” Daniel shifts beside him, laughs a nervous little laugh. His head is in his hands. “I have had enough already, my brain would be mush, Daniel. Anyway it is not even the real test, the finger and the eyes thing and the talking. It is just a DUI test. Geri did it to you once, I remember, at Cup of China 2017? I asked what it was because I of course had not seen it and she said she used to party pretty hard, run into problems with friends sometimes, and she thought it had to be about the same.”

Daniel rubs his face again. “Was I concussed?” he asks. “In 2017?”

“Yes, I think so. But it is hard to tell.”

“No, I remember, I skated in that competition.”

Max shrugs. “You won the gold, then I beat you at Skate America two weeks later.”

“Shit, yeah. I remember now. Yeah.” Daniel tips his head back. On the tvs above the rink doors, the receptionist is playing YouTube videos of last year’s Grand Prix series instead of the rink sponsorship reel. It looks like Italy, the senior pairs event. Max watches Sui Wenjing get thrown through the air in a near-perfect twist, land on one edge of one blade like a sharp and flying thing. He has always wondered what it feels like, to land something from six feet in the air. No matter how high he can get his quads, his triples, he of course skates singles.

Max can smell Daniel’s cologne, which he is wearing at 5:03 AM, his sweat, the stiff leather of his awful new boots. “Well, gotta get back out there,” Daniel says. “These babies won’t break themselves in.”

They both look at Daniel’s new boots, which are probably full of Daniel’s blood for no reason, because Max doesn’t think his old ones were really broken or that bad or whatever. His coach probably told him to switch. Max switches boots when he needs to, always knows when to judge it, always gives himself the full summer before the competition season to break them in and let them tear him up a bit.

“Okay,” Max rasps. “Say hi to Lando for me. Try to land your Salchow.”

Daniel stands with his hand on Max’s hair, ruffles it and shoves Max, making him laugh. The clenching thing in his chest releases a little.

“Don’t bump your noggin,” Daniel says quietly, rapping his hand on Max’s head, gentle.

“Too late,” Max jokes.

Max stays sitting there for a minute after Daniel gets back on the ice, trying to wait out the rush of adrenaline, his heart still slamming like it was him who fucked up a loop, like it was his pale mother at the swinging doors.

—

concept brought to u by me in @/garagegremlin’s texts like OKAY they’re like all singles skaters but max has the heart of a pairs girl

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Bonded Pair. - OCxGhost Backstory.

|| [Part Two ->] ||

pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x Simon "Ghost" Riley bonus: Moot!OC (Meabh "Pirate" O'Malley) x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish words: 2K~ cw: injury (nothing major or too explicit)

May 2020

“How long until the American comes?” Soap asks to Ghost’s right as the lieutenant is halfway through assembling their camp/nest for the foreseeable future.

“Laswell said he’d come before sundown.” Ghost muttered. 

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” Soap asked.

“I think you should start heading to your spot and setting up camp, instead of yapping. It’s gonna get dark soon. You don’t want to spend the night lying on a pile of sticks, do you?”

“Jeez, L.T., calm down.” The Scot quipped with a chuckle. “I have plenty of time!”

“You really don’t. Sun’s setting soon.” A voice called out from behind them, causing them both to turn sharply, already pawing at their guns. The southern american accent was the only reason they didn’t draw them or shoot at the source.

Whiskey stepped out from behind the treeline, setting her hands on her hips after slinging her rifle onto her shoulder. She was on the tall side for a woman, standing at 5ft8, and had broad shoulders and strong arms.  Her dark brown hair was tied back into the usual military-standard low bun, though a few loose strands of damp hair were glued to her forehead, and the lower half of her face was concealed by an Army green neck gaiter that was pulled up to her nose. 

Ghost wasn’t particularly keen on working with her. But at least she looked more capable than some of what he’d seen come from the US.

She wore the standard combat uniform he had grown used to seeing on the Americans: camouflage cargos trousers, jacket, and Kevlar with the American flag. To keep her warm from the unforgivingly rainy and cold weather, she wore a brown fleece jacket under her camo, which was zipped up all the way, covering her neck and the bottom of her gaiter. She had on tan fingerless gloves, tan combat boots, and a camo backpack over her shoulders, from which hung her helmet. 

“You’re the Navy SEAL?” Ghost asked in greeting as he approached her.

“That’d be me.” Whiskey replied evenly as she reached forward to shake hands with Ghost. 

“I’m Ghost, this is Soap.” He explained as they shook hands, eyes locked into a strong, unyielding eye contact. 

“Whiskey.” She replied as she let go of his hand and turned to shake Soap’s. Only for her eyebrows to knit together and then set dangerously low, darkening her hazel-brown eyes. “You.” She said as she pulled her hand back before he could shake it.

“Me?” Soap asked, his own eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

“You’re screwing my best friend!” Whiskey said bluntly as she pointed at him.

“Am no! I have a girlfriend!” Soap said while shaking his head, entirely convinced of 

“Yeah, my best friend!” Whiskey replied with a nod.

“No? My girlfriend’s name is Meabh and her best friend is Victoria.”

“Right. Victoria, who’s American and part of the SEALs?” 

“Oh shit!” Soap said in surprise as he looked at her. “You’re her?”

“Yeah I am. And you’re the piece of crap that-” Whiskey stopped herself, biting her tongue and pointing a finger at him.

“Woah, you’re nothing like Meabh said you would be.” Soap said with a dropped jaw. “What’s with the aggression? I dinnae do nothing to ye-”

“You did enough.” Whiskey hissed at him through gritted teeth, her hand shaking as she wagged her finger in his face. She seemed so pissed off at Soap, Ghost couldn’t help but wonder what the sergeant did.

Ghost was watching the whole scene go down, the entire situation sending some alarm bells ringing in his head, not because of the animosity… But because Whiskey was loud and feisty. And he already had Soap to deal with, and now there was another one?

He didn’t even want to imagine what comms would look like between them, how they’d talk his ear off.

Whiskey turned away with a huff, shaking her head. “I’m gonna go set up shop. I suggest you do the same.” She told the lads.

“Wait!” Soap said as he stepped forward toward her. “What’d I do? Why do you hate me so much?”

Whiskey looked back over her shoulder, eyes locking onto Soap’s. Then, she looked up at Ghost and, for a moment, Simon swore he was seeing right into her soul and her right into his. Whatever reason she was pissed at Soap, it was bad, and he could tell.

“Just get to work and don’t piss me off. Gonna have to deal with you for three weeks…” Whiskey grumbled about Soap as she turned and walked off, heading downrange to her own overwatch coordinates.

Soap exchanged a glance with Ghost as she walked off, before softly murmuring. “What was that about?”

Ghost shook his head. “Fuck if I know. Just do as she said and get to your campsite.”

“Yeah…” Soap trailed off and waved a goodbye at Ghost before he headed out to his camp, following after Whiskey’s trail.

-

Night 1: 2000 hours

“I was thinking we take turns sleeping. 24 hours in a day, we could trade and do 4 hour straight of sleep.” Ghost suggested over the radio as he snacked on a protein bar.

“Copy that, L.T.” Soap replied, his voice chewed up, a clear sign that he was also eating.

“Sounds good to me.” Whiskey replied from her camp, her voice clipped and curt, even through the radio. “You can take first shift, Ghost.”

“I’d rather take last.” Ghost replied.

“Alright. Soap. Take first shift.” She demanded.

“Nae? I wanna stay up and speak to you about something.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Victoria, c’mon, I don’t even know what I did.”

“It’s ‘Whiskey’, Soap. I still outrank you and we’re still at work. Haven’t given you permission to call me by my name.” Her voice was so blunt and strong, Ghost found himself almost impressed.

“I’m sorry.” Soap ended up saying with a sigh. 

“Save your sorries. Go to sleep.” She demanded. 

“Aye, ma’am.”

It took a good half an hour or so, but soon, Johnny’s PTT was turned off, so, Ghost spoke up.

“Switch to 3, Whiskey.”

“Copy that.”

After switching frequencies, he finally spoke. “What’d he do?”

“Something he shouldn’t.”

“Cheated on your friend?”

“No. He’s stupidly devoted to her. At least from what she says.”

“Sounds about right. He talks about her a lot. Tires me.”

“Bet it does.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“Hm…” Ghost murmured. “Okay.”

-

Ghost was supposed to be sleeping. He really was. But with a new team member alongside them, he knew he wouldn’t be able to. 

Besides, he wouldn’t risk missing the shitshow of the other two bickering.

“So, how long have you and Meabh known each other?” 

“Longer than she’s known you.”

-

“How’d you meet?”

“On a ship.”

“Her ship?”

“No.”

-

“So how is it, being a Navy SEAL?”

“Fine.”

-

“So, how old are you?”

“Old enough.”

-

“Where are you from?”

“America.”

“Yeah, but which state? You’re obviously from the south.”

“None of your business.”

-

“You and Meabh ever work together?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Classified.”

-

At one point, Ghost couldn’t help but start to smirk at the way the conversation was going. All throughout Days 1, 2 and 3 of their watch mission, she answered Johnny’s incessant questions with nothing but nonchalant dryness.

He could almost guess what answer she’d give and what tone she’d use whenever Johnny asked another question. 

While she had been sleeping, the Scot had confessed he had wracked his brain thinking of reasons why she didn’t like him and had come up short… And that he wanted to make friends with her, for his bird’s sake.

But he wasn't succeeding. She was cold and stubborn and curt with her answers, not giving him more than a few words at a time.

Even as the questions got more probe-y and personal… She gave him nothing. In a way, Ghost saw himself in her answers.

“What do you and Meabh usually do when you’re together?”

“Hang out.”

“Yeah, but what do you do? Go out for drinks? Go on holiday?”

“We hang out.”

-

“So what does Meabh tell you about me?”

“The usual.”

“Elaborate?”

“No.”

-

“How come Meabh has never shown me a picture of you?”

“I don't do pictures.”

-

“Why the mask?”

“To hide my face.”

-

It’s as the sun sets on Day 4 that she finally gets tired of playing nice:

“You know, Meabh described you as really cheerful and funny… But I don't see it.”

“Meabh sees the best in people. Don’t take it personal. She lies about you a lot too.”

“I’m not that bad, you know? I don’t know what your problem is with me but… I’m just trying to befriend ye.” Ghost can pick up on Soap’s annoyance in his tone of voice.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Whiskey replied.

There’s a long, long moment of silence before Johnny tries again.

“How often do you and Meabh talk?”

“Often enough.”

“I miss her a lot when I’m on missions… Can’t talk to her steadily…” Soap admits, this time a lot more sincere. “Do you miss her too?

“No.” She replies. 

“No? Do you not like her the same as she does you?’

“I do.” Whiskey tells him. “But I’ve got ways of communicating with her.” She announces. 

“How’s that? Sending a letter and waiting weeks for a reply? I’m not satisfied with just that. Need to hear her voice… and she doesn’t have signal out there in the ocean…”

There’s a sound from the radio, which Ghost can swear is a snort from Whiskey laughing. Then, she speaks again.

“Can you see my camp from where you are?”

“Yeah?”

“Alright well, take a look at this.” 

Out of curiosity, Ghost decides to turn his binoculars toward Whiskey’s nest too, and adjust the focus until she comes into view.

“It’s a real shame that you can’t talk with your girlfriend.” Whiskey said while waving a black radiotelephone in the air for them to see. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Ghost smirks at the sound of her sarcasm, shaking his head, already anticipating the dramatics that Soap would engage in.

“Wait, you’ve got a phone to talk to Meabh WITH?!” Soap’s voice is so loud and high-pitched one would think he just suffered the greatest betrayal.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been speaking pretty consistently with her the past 4 days.”

“No?!”

“Oh yes.”

“That’s it! I’m going down there, I want to talk to Meabh!”

“No you’re not, don’t you desert your post!”

“I’m not deserting! I’m going to you!”

Ghost has to turn off his PTT so he can laugh without them noticing. Soap had been talking about Meabh for forever, talking the ear off anyone who’d listen, raving about the girl and how much he loves her. At this point Simon feels he himself is dating her with how much he knows about her… 

And now, here was her best friend, showing him just how much higher she ‘ranks’ in the girl’s consideration.

Turning his binoculars toward Soap’s nest, he watched the younger sergeant slip out and, under the shadows of the rapidly approaching night, rush out behind the treeline, dashing toward Whiskey’s nest about 2 kilometers out.

“He’s really going over.” Ghost murmured into the PTT.

“I know he is. Meabh is laughing over it.”

“YOU’RE TALKING WITH HER RIGHT NOW?!” Soap shrieked into his own PTT. “Tell her to hold on!!! I want to hear her voice!!!!”

Ridiculous, Ghost thought as he heard Soap’s desperation. How ridiculous it was to be so obsessed with a woman. Girlfriend or not.

By the time he reached Whiskey’s station, after a few minutes, Ghost got to watch a flurry of limbs happening.

And, after a moment, Whiskey came back onto the PTT. “Ghost contact Laswell, Soap needs to be sent on medical.”

“What happened?”

“He tried to get the radiophone off me, so I broke a couple of his fingers… And his wrist. And kicked him in the balls.”

Ghost pressed his lips together to stifle a smile. He shouldn’t be as amused as he is… But God, is the situation hilarious.

“Rog.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Falling Snow And Heart-Shaped Waffles - Ryan!Ken X GN Reader

Title: Falling Snow And Heart-Shaped Waffles

Ryan!Ken X GN Reader

Additional Characters: No one else really?

WC: 3,500

Warnings: Nicknames, teasing, tiny tinnnny bit suggestive, Reader's human, Ken's human, post Barbie movie, clingy Ken?, Ken just loves you, very attentive Ken, mentions of sickness (none transpire in the fic), Ken's chest, mentions of food, a lot of fluff

You were softly awakened when Ken shifted in bed beside you, the arm around your waist tightening protectively. Turning around to face him, you cherished the peaceful atmosphere surrounding you, and Ken’s soft - adorable - snores that emitted from him. He slept soundly on his side, mouth slightly agape, his chest rising up and down. His blonde hair was everywhere, sticking out in random directions; it made you smile. Reaching out, you gently brushed his hair back away from his forehead, making him stir. 

Slowly, his ocean blue eyes fluttered open, a dopey smile gracing his features when his eyes met yours. “Good morning, babe,” He muttered, his voice raspy and rough with sleep.

You sighed, brushing your fingers along his cheek, marveling at the man before you. “Good morning, Ken.” Your fingers trailing to the back of his head, tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

Groaning lightly from your ministrations, Ken shut his eyes, moving forward to nuzzle his head into your neck, “Mm, you didn’t wake me,” He murmured, voice slightly muffled as he pulled you closer into him; legs tangling with yours, “I was already awake.”

“Sure,” You mused, carding your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, earning you another soft groan. “I totally believe you.”

Ken only hummed, his eyelashes tickling your neck as he pressed multiple sleepy kisses there, “I love you.”

You tried to hold back a giggle, your smile widening as you dug your nose into his hair, taking in the scent of coconut and vanilla; melting at his soft words. “I love you more, sweetheart,” You whispered, tightening your hold on him briefly before caressing his hair back and kissing his forehead. “Do you want some breakfast?” You then asked, “I can make your favorite.” You sang softly, only for Ken to pull back to look at you.

“Waffles?” He asked, and you nodded, his smile widening at the movement, “With whipped cream?” He added, becoming more excited as you nodded once more.

“Yep, as long as we still have some left over.” You answered, which caused Ken to cheer, his arm lifting from your waist to fistbump the sky; a small ‘yes,’ escaping him.

Sitting up in the bed, Ken followed, letting out a yawn as he rubbed one of his eyelids with the heel of his hand. You admired him for a moment, thick fleece blanket pooled in his lap, sun-kissed chest exposed; flexing as he raised his arms up in the air; he was the definition of perfection, and would be the death of you eventually. Biting your lip, glanced away, hopping out of the bed, and walking over to the window to open the blackout curtains. Your eyes squinted at the harsh sunlight before they lit up when you saw the fresh pile of snow resting on the ground, snowflakes falling gracefully from the sky. 

Whipping around, you sprinted back to the bed, jumping and landing on your knees, making the bed bounce. Ken chuckled at your behavior, his eyes flickering from your large smile to your eyes, seeing them sparkle. “Kenny, it’s finally snowing!” You cheered, watching as Ken’s eyes widened.

“Real World snow?” He asked, and you nodded, trying to peer over your shoulder out the window.

“Yeah! New plan, after breakfast, we’re building a snowman.” You spoke, your excitement sort of getting the best of you, but you didn’t care. You loved snow. Ken only smiled, eyes softening as you began talking about all the things the two of you could do out in the snow. “We could also have a snowball fight, or build a Mojo Dojo Casa House out of snow, it'll be so cool…”

Ken watched as you, adoring how you spoke so animatedly. Ken couldn't help but think about how stunning you looked in his plain, pink shirt from the day before and black sweats that matched his.

He was so glad that he went back to the Real World after a couple of months of finding himself. He had learned so much from Barbie and the others. Traveling to the Real World for the second time, permanently, he never expected to run into you while rollerblading. Literally. 

Perfect you. You really helped him a lot after he had become human. With learning about how the Real World worked in general, and making sure he knew enough that when you headed off to work Ken wouldn't starve but he also wouldn't burn your house down. For that, for you just being you, for loving him, appreciating him… He was forever grateful, and forever yours.

He was so in love with you.

Reaching over, Ken placed his hand on your cheek, causing your words to slowly trail off, meeting his eyes, as his thumb brushed along your soft skin before he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. You sighed into the kiss, eyelashes fluttering as you closed your eyes, leaning forward to deepen it. Pulling back, Ken chased your lips, a lovestruck expression on his face; drunk on you and your love.

“Let's go make breakfast, yeah? The faster we eat, the faster we can go play in the snow.” You suggested, watching as Ken nodded eagerly. Slipping back out of bed, Ken followed close behind, his hand instantly holding yours. He placed countless kisses on your hand as you traveled through the house to the kitchen. One there, you leaning forward, you reached over and turned on the radio that was on the counter. Raising your intertwined hands, you glanced up at Ken, who had already been looking down at you; admiring you as always, “Ken, I need my hand.” You gestured to your hand, looking from him, to your hands, and back, “I need both of my hands to make breakfast.”

Pouting, Ken reluctantly dropped your hand, “Okay…” He lightly groaned, only for you to reach up and gently pat his cheek.

“Help me grab the ingredients?” You asked, and Ken was on it. He loved helping you with anything that you asked. And for the next ten or fifteen minutes, Ken helped mix the batter and set the small table. As you were pressing the batter into your heart-shaped waffle maker, you felt Ken's strong arms wrap around you. He nuzzled his nose into your hair before resting his chin on the top of your head, a content smile on his face. Reaching out for the plate on the counter, you stop, your fingers just brushing it. Turning slightly to look up at him, you gave him a small smile, "Kenny, honey, could you grab that plate for me? Currently, I can't reach it." You asked, your hands covering his hands on your stomach.

A smile on his face, Ken reached over. Grabbed the plate, he slid it over toward you, wrapping his arm back around you. Plating the first waffle, you poured more batter in the waffle maker, closing it. Ken hummed, taking his chance to turn you around in his arms, "You're so beautiful." He muttered dreamily, his blue eyes staring into yours. His hands trailed down your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin under your - his - shirt. 

You felt like you were going to melt right then and there. Your cheeks began to burn as Ken continued to stare lovingly down at you. He leaned forward again, pressing his forehead against yours, you breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of him mixed with the sweet smell of freshly baked waffles. "You're too sweet." You whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, playing with his soft hair. Ken hummed again, placing a gentle kiss upon your lips; smirking lightly. It was short, but it was perfect. "You're beautiful too." You added, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. 

Opening his eyes, he looked down at you with an adoring - yet shocked - gaze, "You think I'm beautiful?"

"Of course," You chuckled lightly, "You're perfect." Leaning forward, you captured his lips again in another sweet kiss, relishing the warmth he emitted. "I mean that. I love you." You whispered, holding his cheeks between your hands.

Smiling brightly, Ken beamed confidently, "I love you too." He replied with such conviction, pulling you back into him as you finished making breakfast. 

~~~

"Kenny! Honey, you ready?" You called by the front door, finishing tying your boots. Hearing the soft thuds of feet, you looked up, watching as Ken walked over, fiddling with his blue gloves. You couldn't stop the smile that spread across your features at just the sight of him. Wearing a puffy, bright blue jacket, warm pants, and pink fuzzy socks; he gave you his charming smile. Resting your hands on your hips, you tilted your head to the side, "My, my, looking good, blondie." You cooed teasingly, watching as he blushed profusely, averting his gaze. Lacing his boots, you grabbed his pink beanie and blue scarf from the wooden shelf beside you on the wall. Ken fixed the gloves as you placed his beanie over his head, and wrapped his scarf around him. Your hand on his bicep, you reached up on your toes to brush his hair away from his forehead and eyes. Ken simply watched you do so, your touch sending shivers through his body, as well as a tingle that ran through his arm from your fingers. Shutting his eyes, Ken pursed his lips; immediately, you knew what he was asking. Letting out a breathy chuckle, you pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, a triumphant grin settling on his face. Stepping back to admire your work, smirking lightly. "So handsome and ready to head out into the cold."

Ken seemed to stand up straighter, puffing his chest out at your praise. An odd sensation settled in his stomach; it felt like butterflies. Taking your purple gloved hand in his, he interlaced his fingers with yours; mixing blue with purple. “Thank you, Y/N,” You giggled, gently squeezing his hand, and leading him out of the house.

Immediately, Ken's eyes widened as he stepped out into the snow. Now, he had seen snow before - though it was always plastic - he had never seen Real World snow before. And he was mesmerized by it all. He held your hand tight as he looked up at the falling snow, a grin forming on his lips as he watched the snow gently fall to the snowy ground; in awe.

Sprinting into the middle of the yard, you spun around, arms out wide as you stared up at the falling snow; a bright smile on your face, and a bit of laughter spilled out from you. A gust of wind blew past, chilling your skin, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you continued to gaze upward, completely entranced. Ken watched you silently, trying to soak in every detail of this moment, this magical scene. His heart fluttered, the way you laughed; carefree. It made his chest tighten with emotion.

"Isn't it pretty?" You asked as you slowed your spinning to a stop, a little bit out of breath, the smile on your face unmoving as you walked back over to him. 

"Yeah... Pretty." Ken agreed, but he wasn't talking about the snow.

Chuckling, you nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder. Moving further from the beach was totally worth it. You missed spending time in the snow. But you knew Ken loved the beach, so you made sure that you took him there whenever you could. When not working, you’d drive the two hours just to see Ken's smile and his eyes sparkle at the sight of the crashing waves. 

"Ken, I want to show you something." You said, tugging lightly on his hand, guiding him forward with you. Ken watched as you let go of his hand, and stepped back a few steps, before falling backward; starfished in the snow. 

A bit confused, but more so curious, Ken followed you. Falling down in the snow beside you. Looking over at you, Ken spoke, "This is nice," Ken spoke, making you laugh.

"That's not all," You began moving your arms and legs, creating a snow angel. Ken followed suit, mimicking your movements. After you were finished, you carefully stood before helping Ken stand up. "See?" You gestured to the two snow angels, "We just made snow angels."

"So cool," Ken answered, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. Looking down at you, Ken spoke, "What do we do now?" 

"Hmm," You wrapped your arms around him, meeting his gaze, "Do you want to build a snowman?" You asked, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Then let's get started!"

"How do you make a snowman?" Ken asked, watching as you crouched on the ground, gathering the snow in your hands. This type of snow was far from what he was used to.

"Here, let me show you." You gestured to the ground next to you. Ken shuffled over, his puffy jacket scrunching slightly as he sat down beside you. "Okay, first you get some snow..." You trailed off, shoveling snow closer to you with your hands, "And then you pack it all together into a big ball, round thing." You rolled the large snowball in your hands, it was probably no bigger than a watermelon. All the while, Ken was comparing Barbie Land snowmen to Real World snowmen.

But Ken watched you, his eyes slowly trailing from your hands, up the arms of your puffy, green jacket, passing your shoulders, and up to your face. Ken was trying so hard to pay attention to you, he really was. But no sound escaped from your moving lips. And as the snow fell around you, catching on your shoulders, the top of your yellow beanie, and the tips of your eyelashes; Ken couldn't look away. The snow seemed to fall in slow motion, glittering and sparkling around you - the sun hitting your frame just right. Ken was completely enraptured by you - surrounded by the frozen paradise. 

He couldn't take his eyes off of you. Your smile made him smile, and you looked so incredibly beautiful, as always. You were his everything, Ken loved you, and you knew that. It was evident in every little thing he did, and pretty obvious because he told you practically ten times a day. He just couldn't get enough of you. 

"Ken?" You called out to him, looking up at him after he took a bit too long to answer your question. The expression on his face made your heart skip a beat. His eyes were full of love; pure and unadulterated. "Kenny?" You repeated, feeling quite warm even as the snow began to dampen your pants, seeping onto your legs. 

"Hmm?" Ken blinked, for a moment, he was at a loss for words, they seemed to have died on his tongue. "Sorry, Y/N. You're just so pretty, especially in the snow," He apologized sheepishly, smiling.

You felt your heart burst, leaning forward, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. Kissing his cheek, you whispered softly, "Thank you." Pressing another, more lingering, kiss against his cheek; he sighed, happily overwhelmed by you. You pulled back, your lips curving upwards as he smiled widely back at you. "Well, while you were admiring me, I finished Frank." You continued, gesturing to the snowman.

Tilting his head, Ken frowned, confused, "Frank?" He asked, and you nodded, pulling off the beanie from your head and placing it on the snowman's.

"Yeah, I named him." Subconsciously leaning into Ken's side, "We don't have carrots, so we can't give him a nose. And I’m feeling a bit too lazy to find any rocks or sticks, so I guess Frank's not going to have a face or arms." You muttered with a laugh, "He has a killer hat though." Glancing up at Ken, you raised an eyebrow, "Do you want to give him a last name?" You asked, and instantly Ken's eyes lit up, and he nodded his head rapidly. 

"Horse." He answered simply, and you paused before agreeing. 

"Yeah, that's a great last name, Ken." You answered, your grin matching his, "Frank Horse."

Reaching up, Ken unwrapped his scarf and leaned forward slightly to wrap it around Frank the snowman. "I like Frank Horse," Ken grinned, sitting back, wrapping his arms around you once again, "And now he's perfect." He mumbled, as you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting the side of your face on his chest as you listened to his heartbeat; a small chuckle escaping you as he nuzzled his nose into your hair. As you let out a shiver, Ken’s eyes widened and he quickly pulled you up to stand with him. Looking down at you with the cutest face of concern that you had ever seen, he noticed that your eyes were beginning to droop and your breath had begun to swirl in the air. Tugging off a glove, he pressed his warm hand onto your cheek, and you instantly turned your head to nuzzle into it; pressing a kiss into his palm with your cold lips. "You're cold. Let's go inside. I don't want you to get sick."

Letting out a soft sigh, you reluctantly nodded your head, closing your eyes for a second. Opening them, they widened as Ken wrapped an arm around your back and under your knees, lifting you up into his arms; bridal style. "Ken!" You exclaimed, letting out a laugh as you looped your frigid hands around his neck, "I can walk, the door is only a couple of feet away." You spoke, but Ken only shook his head, a determined frown on his face.

"Nu-uh, I don't want you to get sick." He spoke as he began walking to the front door.

Gazing up at him, you sighed softly, not bothering to fight with him any longer; you knew he was stubborn, but he was too cute and you loved just being in his arms. Resting your head against his chest, you dug your cold nose into the side of his neck, making Ken suck in a breath.

Once inside, Ken sat you down on the small wooden bench, propping himself up on one knee as he helped tug off your snowy boots. You let him, your eyes half-lidded as you watched him unlace your boots, sliding them off of your feet and setting them with the rest of the shoes on the shoe rack. He then reached forward to unwrap your scarf before carefully unzipping your jacket, making sure the melting snow on it didn't touch you. You simply sat back and admired the man before you, a fondness spreading throughout your chest at how attentive he was being towards you. 

Once you were out of your winter attire, Ken did the same for himself before helping you up off the bench with an outstretched hand. "Guess we'll have to have a snowball fight tomorrow if the snow stays," You muttered, looking up at Ken with a sleepy smile. Spending time in the snow always makes you a bit tired. "I might take a small nap before making lunch. Do you want me to find that horse documentary I saw on Netflix for you?"

Looking down at you, Ken returned your smile, "Can I please take a nap with you?" He asked, and you chuckled, nodding your head.

Smiling wider, Ken led you upstairs and into your shared room. You laid back on the bed, unabashedly watching as Ken threw off his shirt - chest muscular and perfect - and joined you. Ken immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling the blankets over the both of you before reaching over you; shutting off the lamp on the bedside table. 

Gazing at you, Ken's blue eyes shifted over your features; your soft lips, sparkling eyes, the wisps of hairs framing your face. Letting out a deep sigh, Ken grinned, "I'm the luckiest guy in the world."

"Oh, Ken," You gasped softly; melting from his words, not to mention the way he was looking at you, leaning up to gently brush your nose against his, "I guess that makes me pretty lucky too."

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you sighed; hands pressing into the warmth of his skin. Ken shivered slightly, a deep hum resonating from him - he loved it when you touched him - pulling you further into his chest, and lowering his head to nudge his nose into your soft hair again, inhaling your sweet scent; spellbound.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself fall deeper into the warmth of his body, taking a few moments to enjoy the peaceful silence around the two of you. A quiet yawn escaped you, causing Ken to tighten his grip around you, holding you close. 

Leaning forwards, he kissed your forehead, whispering, "I love you…"

Pressing a kiss to his chest in return, you sighed, "And I love you, Ken."

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Two

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

A flurry of correspondence is exchanged between yourself and Lieutenant Nixon, unleashing an unexpected torrent of emotions inside of you.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5051

--------------------------

You were mending one of Miss Isobel’s blouses in the servant’s hall when Lieutenant Nixon’s reply arrived with the afternoon post. Mr. Atkinson, the butler, set it on at silver tray at your elbow and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’ll take it up when I dress her for dinner, thank you Mr. Atkinson.”

It was all you could do not to stare at it, struggling to maintain your focus on the task at hand lest you stick your finger with the needle and have to remove a blood stain from the white silk. The excitement was foolish, you knew. There was no need to feel such a thrill at his response other than the confirmation it brought of his continued survival. Yes, that must be it, you were simply glad to know he was alive and well enough to write back.

Finishing the last of your weak and bitter tea, grown cold while you worked, you stood to tend to Miss Isobel. Carrying the tray up the stairs, you ducked into the linen cupboard to slide the letter into the pocket of your dress, stashing the tray inside a pile of sheets before heading into her room. The envelope fairly burnt a hole in your skirt through the family’s dinner, and then later the staff’s, before you had a moment to yourself to tear into it while secreted away in your bedroom.

The giddy grin on your face should have registered as an early warning sign but your duties dictated that you immediately store the letter in a safe place before returning to see Miss Isobel undressed for bed. As you carefully brushed out her hair, you mulled over Lieutenant Nixon’s request for tactile objects. With the departure for Scotland not scheduled for another few days, perhaps there was something meaningful you could send him from Lydiard.

“You’re a tad distracted this evening.” Miss Isobel’s sharp voice cut through your thoughts, and you tensed, offering her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry Miss, lots to prepare for the trip that’s all. Is there anything else?”

She let out a dramatic sigh and shook her head. “Since you can’t save me from this wretched trek, no. That’ll be all.”

Excusing yourself with a curtsy you stepped out, closing the door behind you quietly before making your way downstairs to bed. The answer did not come to you until the next morning when you were out walking Dash, his usual route abbreviated by the necessity to pack and prepare, but your eyes fell upon one of the last remaining trees in bloom. Reaching up, you snapped off a sprig carefully, tucking it into your pocket before chasing after the dog as he decided to try moonlighting as a sheep herder. A large tuft of white fleece snagged on the hedge caught your eye once you had corralled the unruly Cavalier and you smiled brightly as you plucked it free.

Pressing the sprig of blossoms between two sheets of scrap paper, you tucked it into the middle of the copy of War and Peace you had borrowed from the Viscount’s library some months ago. Your progress had naturally been slow, given your limited amount of free time, but you were enjoying the story all the same. You had intended to write your reply to Lieutenant Nixon that evening but Miss Isobel, for all her complaints about being forced to journey to the ‘empty wastes of Scotland’ was as particular as ever about what she wanted to pack.

It was the same story the day after that, leaving you just enough time to throw together a bag for yourself. You would have to write him from the train, apparently, or perhaps Scotland itself.

Animals and children always seemed to feed off the energy around them and so, as you were desperately trying to rush Dash through one last walk before departure the next afternoon, the keyed-up dog decided to take a running leap into the lake in pursuit of a duck he’d seen limping along shore.

“Dash! Dash, come!” You cried after him sharply, but he chose not to listen as the water soaked into the layers of his coat, his legs slowing as the bird handily outswam him into deeper waters. “Dash!” Your tone took on a desperation before, seeing no alternative, you kicked off your shoes and waded in after him.

The lake wasn’t terribly cold, but it was by no means clean – inhabited as it was by all forms of waterfowl. You were lucky enough to know how to swim, though your heavy servant’s dress was by no means suited to the task. As the small dog’s head bobbed and disappeared under the water you kicked faster, quickly scooping him up into your arms and bringing him back to shore. Shaking in terror he burrowed into your elbow, and you went to kiss his head before wincing at the stink radiating from both of you. “You really outdid yourself this time, didn’t you Dash.”

There had been just enough time to bathe the dog and change your clothes, the reek of lake water still on you as you boarded the train. It ended up working in your favour, however, with the rest of the staff giving you a pair of seats to yourself and at last a chance to reply to Lieutenant Nixon.

Sealing it with your collected articles into the envelope, you wrote the return address of the estate of the Earl of Selkirk, the families first destination, on the back and allowed yourself a proper rest for the remainder of the train ride. Upon disembarking, your eyes scanned the station for a post box, and you nipped through the crowd to slide your letter through the slot before returning to your duties.

Scotland was another experience entirely, one where you were permitted to act solely as Miss Isobel’s lady’s maid rather than taking on housemaid duties, affording you more opportunities to read, write to your father and brother, and explore the countryside.

Certainly, you had jested to Lieutenant Nixon that it was a land of ‘mist and misery’ but in truth the landscape was awe-inspiring and filled with a rugged beauty. You had only ventured outside of Wiltshire once in your life, to accompany the family to London during the last summer season of 1939, so travel was still very much a novelty to you.

Miss Isobel managed to occupy herself, despite her earlier pessimism, with Lord Douglas-Hamilton’s son James who was convalescing after a rather terrible crash during flight training with the RAF. It was near the third week of July by the time you – no, Izzy – received a response from Lieutenant Nixon and this time you easily slipped away to your single bedroom to eagerly tear it open and read it straight away. The thrill of receiving it rivalled, if not outmatched, that you felt when mail arrived from your brother.

You could not help the fond grin that pulled at your lips at Lieutenant Nixon’s concern for your…the family’s… safety. It seemed the 101st Airborne no longer had need of the field hospital they had built in Lydiard Park and the British army was in the midst of renovating it to become a German prisoner of war hospital camp. All manner of fencing topped with barbed wire and watch towers were being installed to ensure the security of those within and without. There were naturally some misgivings, but the land had been requisitioned and therefore it was quite out of the Viscount’s hands.

Several soldiers were slated to be posted inside Lydiard house from October onwards as an added level of security, one that you had chosen to take heart in. All that aside, it wasn’t as though they were going to be keep healthy prisoners on the grounds – only the ill and injured, so that would give you all a fighting chance if it came to it. Nonetheless, you were very touched all the same by his concern.

It was hard to ignore, however, the flirtatious tone of his letter, a sharp pang of jealously striking you at descriptions of things he and Miss Isobel had undoubtedly gotten up to. You had, after all, fixed her hair for dinner afterwards. While Lieutenant Nixon bemoaned the near miss you were nothing but grateful. It would have been disastrous for Miss Isobel and him to come face-to-face now, what with letters sent in her name she had no knowledge of. Of course, that would eventually come to pass, but you were banking on more time to come up with a resolution to it all before then.

Feeling thoroughly batted about by the myriad of emotions summoned by this latest missive, you were somewhat relieved to tuck it away as the clock downstairs chimed. You hurried out to join the game keeper, Mr. O’Connell, on the walk he had invited you to join him on whilst he planned a stalking trip for the family tomorrow. You had yet to secure a piece of heather, as you had promised to do for Lieutenant Nixon, and with a letter awaiting a reply, you ought to get on it as soon as possible.

The move between the two estates was far more of an ordeal than it needed to be, with a great deal of the difficulty arising from Miss Isobel’s sulking at parting from James Douglas-Hamilton. Confident there would be someone to catch her wandering eye at the next locale, you did your best to coddle and encourage her, once again struggling to comprehend that you were the same age as the girl.

As the days of murdering small birds and large deer ticked by with no response from Lieutenant Nixon, you began to grow anxious. Did you perhaps slip up in your latest response? Put too much of your own character into it? Or maybe it was the touch of melancholy that had seeped into the ink at the end as you were signing off. You really ought to write in the sunshine, it tended to lend a happier tone to your letters.

Your mood was altogether too dependent on his correspondence. Correspondence that he was not even aware that he was having with you. The housemaid who stood in as a lady’s maid, pending the day when Miss Isobel would finally choose just one man to love for the rest of her life. Signing the name of your mistress whilst your words betrayed ever deepening feelings for an American Lieutenant who most likely had forgotten your name by now. At what point had this service you had begun doing for him become something of such meaning to you?

To your combined relief and frustration, it turned out that the entire village was experiencing a problem with the post, something that the Royal Mail assured the Viscount Falkland they were working on immediately, but it took several more weeks for his response to arrive, in an envelope from the Ritz, just as the family was being ushered into vehicles to drive to the station in mid-September.

You quickly slid it away in your pocket, thanking the footman who’d handed it to you, before loading Dash’s carrier into the footwell and jumping into the back of a car yourself. The train was cramped and hot, most likely overbooked judging by the crush of humanity at the end of the cars, and so you were forced to sit next to a stranger with Dash’s carrier perched on your knees.

You tore into the envelope savagely as though your actions might make up for the lost time while the post had been mishandled.

A future. A future that could never be yours. But one that sounded so sweet. Tears blurred your vision until you blinked them away, sighing softly as the train slowed and pulled onto a siding yet again. It felt like you had barely made any progress since leaving the station despite re-reading Lieutenant Nixon’s letter three times.

Your seatmate was slumped against the window, sleeping deeply, thankfully unaware of the tears that were rolling down your cheeks, fresh ones quickly replacing those which you furiously wiped away. This was not your story. Could never be your story, particularly not when it was all based upon a lie. How had he become so sweet and dear to you? Lieutenant Nixon was impossibly charming and witty, perhaps you really never stood a chance at remaining unattached. You should have never read his second letter.

The train cars jostled to a halt with a series of bangs, Dash shuffling restlessly in his carrier on your lap in response to being woken. “Sorry, boy.” You whispered quietly, sniffling a little as you tried to rein in your emotions.

However badly you had failed to keep your personal feelings separate on the matter, the man still certainly deserved a reply. With space so limited, you began by preparing the envelope, sliding your collected feathers inside, before taking a stab at the letter itself.

You pulled back your pen with a ruthless shake of your head, eyes once again growing damp. This letter was unusable. You had simply devolved into pouring your heart out onto the page. Gone were all traces of The Honourable Isobel St John. All that remained was a working-class girl from Swindon punching high above her weight. There was no way you could actually send it, but you had gotten off to a good start, so you could hopefully salvage portions of it. A savage yawn suddenly overtook you and you sighed, tucking the pages into the prepared envelope and setting it on top of Dash’s carrier.

Perhaps you would be better prepared to finish this Herculean task after a rest. As if to lend a helping hand, the train jerked back into motion, the forward progress along the track rocking you comfortingly in your seat as your eyelids began to droop heavily.

They did not open again until Miss Beauchamp squeezed your shoulder gently. “Wake up, we’ve arrived.” She hissed and you startled up in your seat, eyes searching frantically for the letter which you had carelessly left out in the open. “What the devil are you looking for?” She muttered impatiently, grabbing Dash’s carrier from your lap.

“There was a letter, I had a letter on top of the carrier…” You stuttered, still not quite awake but system also flooded with adrenaline.

“Oh yes, Miss Isobel’s letter. Mr. Stevens took it to post along with some letters the Viscount was working on, it’s all taken care of. Now come on before the train leaves.”

You stared at her, eyes wide with horror, rooted to the spot, until she physically grabbed you by the elbow. She hauled you through the car and off the train in time to see the ever-helpful valet sliding a stack of letters through the slot of the post box. Your blood pressure plummeted, knees beginning to buckle beneath you as black dots appeared in your vision. You were vaguely aware of Miss Beauchamp shouting your name in alarm as you staggered toward a nearby bench, barely maintaining your grip on consciousness through sheer force of will.

The rest of the staff jumped to all sorts of conclusions – you were overheated, overtired, overwrought. Perhaps you were coming down with something or had bad news regarding your brother. You were barely able to voice the words to assure them you were fine, and you could feel Miss Isobel’s scornful glare as all attention was directed on ushering you into one of the waiting cars to return you to Lydiard and up to your bed to rest.

The words in that letter had not been meant for consumption by anyone and now they were in the dutiful hands of the Royal Mail, making their way to Lieutenant Nixon. If only they could suddenly develop another postal delivery issue, but you had never been such a lucky person. Shock ran deep, immobilizing you in your bed, rendering you unable to eat, to cry, to see any solution to this mess you had made.

You should have never read his second letter.

--------------------------

Read Part Three

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

[trashpandacraft]

i mentioned the other day that we seem to have acquired some spinning wheels, and when i get my hands on a new wheel, i like to sit down and try spinning a few different ways on it to see what it feels like. thought that someone might be interested in a visual overview of how fibre prep/drafting style changes your yarn.

so that's my bobbin, and there's woolen on the left, worsted on the right, and semi-woolen in the middle.

one and two are both true woolen yarns—i made a rolag on some hand cards, and spun it long draw. one is a little chunky, and would probably be a light worsted weight after being plied. it's super soft and squishy, and a little irregular. (the bobbin collapse you're seeing isn't due to the yarn, but to a little criminal who thought he'd stick his claws into it while i wasn't paying attention.)

two is laceweight, or would be after it was plied. i'm not sure why you'd want to do this other than seeing what a new wheel is capable of—putting in enough twist to keep such a fine yarn together loses a lot of the squishy loftiness that you see in thicker woolen yarns. it's squishier than other laceweight, but also more fragile.

three and four are semi-woolen, and were spun long draw with commercially prepared top. three would probably be fingering weight when plied; four would be laceweight. this is sort of my default spinning style, and what i spin the most of—commercial top is readily available, and i love long draw. i love having twist all up in my drafting zone.

finally, five and six are worsted, or as close as you can get without combing your own fleece. commercial top, spun short forward draw. five plied up would probably be a light fingering, and six (again, plied) ranges from laceweight (on the left) to cobweb (on the far right).

one of the interesting things to me about this is the way that you can see the fuzziness of the yarn just fall away as we move closer to worsted. it's especially clear on top of the bobbin, right under the brackets—that little halo of fuzziness just disappears as you move to the right, and the yarn gets shinier (tho that part's more obvious in person). the worsted yarn is firmer and smoother in the hand, and much sturdier than the equivalent weight of woolen—i had to really back off the tension for the woolen laceweight, but the much-finer worsted lace was happy enough at the same tension as the thicker worsted was.

[raccoonspooky]

Girls Rule Boys Drool

Billy Lenz x Reader 4.6k words. Rated E!(Oneshot. Billy POV. Horny insanity and onesided phonesex wahoo. A very bizarre jerkoff sesh!)

(Summary / first few paragraphs beneath the cut!)

Read on ao3!

Billy’s not sure where he is.

He remembers…. cold, then broken glass and an open door. He remembers closet… — sticking his arms in a big jacket while it was still hung on a hanger. Metal felt bad against his palms. He left the hanger in the jacket after unhooking it from the rack, and then footsteps sounded in the hall. Strange.

Hearing someone else makes his mouth taste like metal. His tongue feels dry like he’s licked a freezing pole and now he’s stuck to it while the frigid air bites at his cracking tongue. The jacket he wears is heavy and there’s a thing across his shoulders that feels stiff and it tickles the back of his neck with a cold bite. Coat’s big, but feels small at the same time. He doesn’t like it. Inside’s soft fleece, like a kitty cat’s underbelly. Like a blanket. He shivers and he grazes his palms against the inside of the jacket, giggling because it feels like a kitty cat. He’s wearing a kitty cat. Big, big kitty cat.

In the closet, Billy curiously kicks at a woman’s shoes and he wonders why the kitty cat has only two high heels. Shouldn’t there be four? Footsteps enter the bedroom and his vision tunnels.

Coat feels even worse while wet.

Splatter was hot, hot but it's quickly cooling to tar-like thickness that’s going cold in his hands. He rubs his hands on his pants before he shrugs the coat off of his shoulders. It falls over a lump on the floor. Big man. Funny moustache. Billy smooths a finger and thumb over his upper lip and he tries to imagine what facial hair like that would feel like. He almost wants to pet it, maybe it feels like a caterpillar? He peers down, and Billy sucks a string of drool back into his mouth. Some falls onto the moustache man’s face and the corpse sputters, his eyes shoot open and Billy shrieks, screaming before he stomps on the man over and over and over until all the fun gurgling stops, and now it's a sticky squelch.

He mimics the gurgle, enjoying the way such a noise feels in his throat. He leaves the room, still gurgling before he’s clicking his tongue, the noise cuts sharp into the air. He raises his arms up high and he steps as wide as he can, stepping on every other step as he goes downstairs.

Somewhere in the house, the phone rings, and Billy skids on his heel as he whips around, eyes wild and manic as the noise pokes holes into the top of his skull. He feels the ringing in his skin, it makes him sway on his feet, bouncing as if dancing to the abrupt demand of the ringing phone. Blowing a raspberry with his lips, Billy makes his way to the phone with a scuttle. He picks it up and the voice he hears is tinny, nasally. She asks if a “Mister Hayworth.” is home and Billy crinkles his nose, he breathes heavily into the receiver. In and out. Slow.

She says something about how she’s calling to congratulate the mister on a charitable donation to so and so, and she needs some information for a plaque. Plaque’s a funny word. Billy verbalizes the “Kh-” into the receiver, testing the weight of the word on his tongue. He repeats the consonant a few times, and then he adds a rumble to his breathing. The woman’s tone turns hard. He doesn’t hear her words, he only listens to the sound of them and then he’s throwing her words right back to her, high-pitched and with an added breathy moan.

The phone line goes dead with a dull hum and Billy cackles, giddy that miss nasally voice didn’t like his impression. He thought it was pretty good, but he doesn’t care about her opinion.

Come to think of it, the only opinion he cares about is yours. He remembers you with a sudden bolt of clarity and he flutters his fingers, spreading them out to feel the joints in his hands stretch. You always trickle back into his thoughts like a slow bead of blood that builds from a pinprick wound. Little bite of pain mixed with warm and wet. You settle like a weight in his chest, his lungs feel tight but the air in them feels bubbly and airy. It makes a giggle crawl out of him and it feels like a spider in his throat.

Keep reading!

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

the echo (or the answer) - a werewolf au (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC)

Summary: Jeremiah Bellmoral is alive. He has taken Ronnie to bate the Alphas into a fight. But will his plan succeed?

Pairing: Alpha!Jake Seresin x Human!OC (Ronnie Bradshaw)

Word Count: 16,542

Warnings: bellmoral being a creep, blood, injury, violence, fighting, gore, angst, parental death mention, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ONLY MINORS DNI (size kink, fingering, slight breeding kink, belly bulge, unprotected pinv, creampie, multiple orgasms, sex while injured)

FOUR | FIVE | SIX

-> likes are great but comments/reblogs are even better!

-> thank you to my werewolf love @blue-aconite for beta reading. for helping me with ideas. for encouraging me. for being an amazing friend and creative mind. i am eternally blessed by you. thank you.

-> this is the end, my babies. it has been a wonderful, crazy, sometimes intense ride. thank you all for reading. for engaging with my content. for commenting and reblogging. your love for this series has made me love it all the more and has filled my days with such joy. so please, feel free to come into my askbox at any time with questions, with ideas, with thoughts. i love to hear them all. my love to you all.

It started to rain. The dark sky rumbled and cracked as it finally released the heavy weight it had been carrying upon the world. This deep in the woods, Ronnie could hardly feel the rain. But she could hear it. 

The droplets of water pattered softly against the hemlock, spruce, and adler leaves that made up the canopy above. At another time, she would have found the atmosphere calming. The gentle sounds of the rain, the tree trunks stretching before her for miles, the fallen pine needles soft beneath her as she leaned back against a tree. If she had a book and a thermos full of hot coffee, it would be a perfect relaxation spot. 

Except she was far from relaxed, calm, or safe. Pale blue eyes watched her every move. Blood dripped from the wounds that marred her face. Her shoulder and hip screamed in pain just sitting there and breathing. 

Jeremiah Bellmoral still crouched in front of her. Very much alive and very much amused by her horror. Elbows on his knees and long fingers threaded together as he observed her with a tilt of his head. Not watched, observed. Like she was a specimen in a jar. 

He was supposed to be dead. He should be dead. Jake had the power of the Alpha, won it in the challenge against Bellmoral. Tore it from the wolf who did nothing but hurt him and his pack. And that could only occur when the other wolf was completely defeated. Ronnie couldn’t wrap her head around how he could possibly be before her now.

It made it hard to move, hard to think under the calculated, pale gaze of what was surely a ghost.

“Your fear…” Bellmoral whispered as he reached out to her, Ronnie flinched as he ran his finger along her jawline — collecting the blood that wept along that edge. “Smells so sweet.”

He pulled back his hand, pointer finger coated in crimson. Then he put the digit to his lips and tasted it with a groan. Ronnie clenched her jaw tight as her stomach turned.

Get out, run, don’t let yourself become a part of his plot, every instinct inside her screamed as he leaned back on his haunches with a face-splitting grin. She knew she couldn’t just start running. He was clearly faster and stronger than her. If she had any chance, it would be to attack him with something first. Catch him by surprise to give herself a head start. Only the pockets of her fleece were completely empty save for some lint, and it seemed that Bellmoral had taken every stick from the clearing. 

As he continued to stare at her, lips now stained with her blood, she tried to move her hands imperceptively on the ground in search of something she could use. Anything. 

Her eyebrows jerked up as her fingers caught on the smooth edge of a rock. Just behind her back in front of the tree trunk she leaned on. She glanced up at Bellmoral’s face to see if he noticed, and maybe he did. His head was tilted to one side, his smile fallen from his face. Shit. She needed him distracted if she was going to do this. The more she felt around the rock she could tell that it was buried in the dirt — it was going to take time to dig it out without being able to look at it. 

So no matter how much she didn’t want to, she started talking to Jeremiah Bellmoral. 

“How did you — ?” She coughed to clear her throat, her voice sounding underused and horse. “Jake’s the Alpha…How’re you alive?”

“I am the Alpha!” Bellmoral roared as he pounded his fist into his chest, then he repeated, quieter. “I am the Alpha. Your mate…Was too weak to finish the job. Left me barely clinging to life — gave me these.”

He ran his fingers along the litany of raised scars on the left side of his face. Ronnie’s nails dug into the dirt around the cold stone.

“But it was enough for the power of the Alpha to go to him. No need to fret, no need to fret. I will be getting it back soon. The power that is rightfully mine, that is wasted on that ungrateful scum.”

This made Ronnie pause, even as she continued to dig out the rock. It was bigger than she first thought. Good. 

“How’re you going to take it back if Jake and Bradley are going to kill each other?” she asked. 

Bellmoral shook his head at her. “I really thought you were supposed to be smart. You know — you know — I read a few pages of that little book of yours. What did you call it? The Blue River Pack: A Werewolf History?”

A shiver ran down her spine, her blood turned cold. He had been in her house. In her room. Without anyone noticing. She dug into the dirt just a little bit faster, the scrape of her nails more frantic. 

“So — So tell me what you wrote, about the Spirit of the Alpha.” 

“It’s — It’s the embodiment of werewolf strength and power. It grants the wolf with the ability to hold control over the Betas in their pack and — and turn humans into werewolves with a single bite,” Ronnie explained quietly, eyes trained on Bellmoral’s filthy boots. “It was given as a blessing and a curse to Augustine Bradshaw and it’s passed down from firstborn to firstborn. Or taken in a challenge.” 

“But-But, have you ever thought about what would happen if an Alpha were to die with no firstborns…And no challenge won?” Ronnie’s brow furrowed as Bellmoral crawled closer to her. “You see, your family isn’t the only one with ancient texts left for the generations to follow. I found that if that were to happen — the Alpha Spirit then goes into the wolf most worthy of its power. Called a True Alpha, because-because they received the power without birthright or fight.”

The rock finally broke free of the dirt. Ronnie had to resist the noise of success she longed to make. It was as wide as her palm, flat and sharp. The ridge dug into the fingers of her left hand. Finally. 

She adjusted her grip on the stone as she said, “So when Jake and Brad kill each other over me…The Alpha Spirit will go to you?”

“See, there you go.” Bellmoral smiled as he gestured at her, both palms turned towards the sky — a few raindrops slipping through the foliage to land on the pale skin. “Now you’re getting it. The Spirit, the power, is mine. By birthright and by the divine. The Moon Goddess…Chose me for a reason. All of this — these six months of torment and your mate running wild — was just a test. Soon, what is mine will be mine again. And you…Veronica Bradshaw…”

She pushed herself back against the tree as he reached for her. As his hand wrapped around her throat. 

“Will be able to do nothing but sit back and watch as your life gets torn apart. But really you won’t be able to blame me. They killed each other after all…And maybe…You’ll find some comfort in my embrace when this is through.”

Ronnie screamed as she lifted the stone and brought it down hard onto Bellmoral’s head. He made a sound of surprise as he fell back, his grip on her throat disappearing as he clutched his bleeding face. As soon as he was out of her line of sight, she scrambled up from the ground and took off at a sprint.

White spots danced in her vision but she didn’t care. She needed to get away. Get somewhere safe, find Jake or Brad and explain what was going on. This wasn’t how she wanted any of this to go down. But none of that mattered anymore when lives were at stake. She couldn’t let Bellmoral’s plans come to fruition. Even if that meant telling her brother in the worst way possible that she was mated to his rival. 

But she barely made it past the edge of the clearing before Bellmoral tackled her to the ground. All the air was forced out of her lungs as she hit the hard earth with a thud, Bellmoral’s entire weight on her back as she struggled and writhed to get away. She managed to roll over onto her back, the rock she had managed to hold tightly in her left fist raised to hit him again. But Bellmoral had learned his lesson. He grabbed her wrist with a snarl and squeezed until there was an audible pop. Ronnie cried out as a sharp pain went down her left arm, fingers falling limp and the stone plummeting with them. 

“You are proving to be — “ Bellmoral rose to his feet, leaving Ronnie stunned on the ground, holding what was surely a broken wrist lightly. “More trouble than you’re worth, Veronica Bradshaw.”

He took hold of the front of her fleece and began dragging her back into the clearing. She struggled feebly, booted feet digging into the dirt as she repeated: “No, no, no!” 

She gasped as Bellmoral suddenly yanked her to her feet before him, lifting her until only her tip-toes were touching as he bared his sharp fangs at her. The stone's mark on his forehead and face was already beginning to heal. She whimpered, bottom lip trembling as she tried to lean away from him. 

“Maybe I should just rip out your throat.” This only made her struggle more, feet scrambling for purchase as her uninjured hand scratched at his forearm. “Leave you here for Jake and your brother to find. Fighting over your dead body will surely end in the same result.”

“No,” she sobbed softly as she tasted the salt of her own tears on her lips. 

Bellmoral perked up, ear turned towards the west. Then he turned back to her with a grin. “Your mate approaches — drawn by your call.”

He set her down on her feet and retracted his hand. She wobbled unsteadily, broken wrist cradled against her chest. Her stomach heaved as reality set in. She couldn’t stop this. Jake was so close that Bellmoral could hear him. Bradley was surely not far behind. His plan was in motion and there was no stopping it.

“If you try to warn him, I will attack…And he’ll watch as I finally get a real taste of your blood.” 

After that, he disappeared into the woods. Leaving Ronnie trembling in the middle of the clearing, unshed tears blurring her vision. She could still hear the rain. Pattering against the canopy, rare drops landed softly on her skin. Mixing with the dried blood on her face. She stared out at the trees infinite before her, like a silent audience to her tragedy. Bystanders who just stood there and watched as everything fell apart. No warning. No guidance. 

Just silence. 

For a moment, Ronnie wanted to scream. It expanded in her chest and filled her throat until there was nothing left to do but open her maw and unleash her shriek upon the world. Her defiance. Her pain. Her call for justice. Her call to a goddess of the moon who had now joined the audience. Who seemed to withhold all Her blessings from a daughter who sat on the fringes of the world She resided over. But the scream got caught in her throat. Threatened to strangle her as she screwed her eyes shut, tears pouring down her cheeks. She gasped and gurgled around it as she fell to her knees.

Do something, she pleaded to the trees, to the goddess above.

Just silence. 

Through blurred vision, she saw a large, golden wolf break through the treeline. Despite everything, the fear and the pain of her injuries, relief flooded her veins at the sight of him. Released from her in a sob as Jake shifted before her. Behind him, the rest of Red Sky followed after — noses upturned as they sniffed out anything suspicious. 

“Jake!” she cried as he came to his knees before her. 

They crashed into each other like tectonic plates that formed entire mountain ranges. He pulled her into his chest with an arm around her shoulders, his other hand threaded into the tangled hairs on the back of her head — holding her to him with that gentle strength. His heart was beating erratically, his shoulders heaved as he assured himself that she was there. His hands snaked under her layers of clothes to feel her bare skin, clammy against his warm palms.

But then she hissed in pain when her wrist bent only slightly and he pulled back to look at her. He inspected her wrist first, eyes still glowing that deep crimson of the Alpha as he touched the delicate bones gently. The flesh was already beginning to swell and turn red. Then he looked up into her face, fingers trailing along the edge of her jaw coated in dried blood. He took in the state of her. The claw marks on her face, the tear streaks in the dirt coating her cheeks. And she watched as his expression darkened. As his lip curled and that crease formed between his brows. 

“Who did this to you?” he whispered, voice trembling with barely there restraint. 

“I…” For a moment, she considered telling him the truth anyway. Anything to save him, to save everyone. But then she saw Bellmoral’s white eyes flash somewhere in the distance just over Jake’s shoulder and she relented. “It doesn’t matter right now. Can we just go, please?”

“No, we’re gonna find whoever did this.” Jake looked over his shoulder at his pack. “Fan out, they couldn’t’ve gotten far.”

The pack trotted into the trees and Ronnie desperately wanted to call out to them to stop. But she couldn’t. Bellmoral was out there somewhere. And how could she explain without telling the truth, without giving some warning?

Jake helped her get back to her feet tenderly. And as soon as she was stable, he wrapped her up in his arms again, pressing firm kisses into the top of her head. She sagged against him, let him take the brunt of her weight. If only for a moment. The danger was still real and ever-present, but she needed just a moment. A moment of respite, a moment to think, even. She needed to find a way to save Jake, save Bradley, and save herself. But how could she? She was just one person, one unpowered, unsupernatural person. 

“S’okay, little one, I’ve got you,” Jake whispered as he ran his hand up and down the length of her aching spine. 

It was only a few hours ago that she would have given anything to be with him. But now the only safe place for him was miles away from her. 

“Jake…” She pulled weakly away from his chest. “Take me home, please.”

Wherever home was. The hostel? The house in Marnmouth? It didn’t matter as long as he got both of them out of there. 

“Okay, if that’s what you want, Ronnie,” he replied.

“Please.” 

She couldn’t help the urgency that slipped into her tone, making Jake pause as he looked down at her. It was hard for mates to hide things from one another. He knew her in a way no one else could. There was something, deep inside, that revealed her truest feelings to him. Being only human, it was something she couldn’t experience herself — that connection to him. Her father described the bond once as a place in his heart that was solely Carole, that whispered to him what she needed and what she felt. Ronnie was sure Jake could feel the anxiety roiling around inside her, the urgency, the horror.

“Who did this — ?” Jake started to ask, but was interrupted by the sound of yelping in the trees. 

He turned, holding Ronnie behind him as the pack ran back into the clearing.

Closely followed by the entirety of Blue River — absolutely massive in comparison to Red Sky — Bradley at the lead with his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. Jake’s grip on her tightened and for a moment, she was frozen. 

God, this wasn’t how she wanted this to happen at all.

Bradley skidded to a halt. He looked so much like their father in wolf form. Deep chocolate brown, with no fur growing from the pink scars that littered his face and neck. Pete and Bob were hot on his heels, Bob towering above all the other wolves in the clearing. Pretty soon, all of Red Sky was corralled and surrounded on all sides by Blue River wolves. 

And Ronnie never felt so hopeless. She promised they wouldn’t get attacked again. But it was because of her that this was happening. If she had just told Bradley sooner. If she just wasn’t a coward. None of this would be happening. 

Over Jake’s shoulder, his grip on her waist tight, she watched as Bradley shifted back into human form. His cheeks were bright pink, his eyes fiery red as he approached the two of them with stomping steps.

“Get the fuck away from my sister, Red Sky!”

Bradley spat the pack name like an insult. Jake stood his ground, his arm tightening around her with a low growl. But Bradley wasn’t going to stand for it. She could see his perspective clearly. Entering the scene to see his sister bleeding and hurt, in the presence of the rival Alpha. The wildcard. The threat. It was only logical that he would jump to the conclusion that Jake had done this to her. 

Bellmoral’s plan was working perfectly. 

Bradley collided with Jake, his growl loud and menacing, and it all happened in a blur. One second she was standing behind Jake, his touch affirming and strong against her, and the next she was falling back.

On instinct, she reached to catch herself. Then she felt the already fractured bones in her wrist crunch and she shouted, gargled and broken in her throat. It hurt all the way up to her elbow, like a freshly forged knife was dragged along the nerves. Ronnie let herself fall back onto the pine needles with another cry of pain, right hand cradling her left against her chest as her head swam with nothing but white-hot agony. The canopy of leaves above shifted and swirled as her mind fought the pain, her stomach swooping. 

“Ronnie!” she heard Jake call as she willed herself to stay awake, to grit her teeth and bare it. “Get out of my way!”

Bellmoral was watching, somewhere in the distance. In the back of her mind, she wondered how he was able to cover his scent from all the werewolves present. Not a single one of them, even the ones who would be familiar, seemed to know that he was anywhere near them. He was watching and waiting and puffing up with pride at the way it was all falling into place. 

She needed to get up. She needed to stop this. But it fucking hurt. Everywhere. All at once. 

Ronnie couldn’t let that happen. She just couldn’t. It didn’t matter that she was just human. That everything hurt. That she had no power and no strength. It was all up to her now. Even with a broken wrist and so much fear.

Rolling onto her good side, she pushed herself up onto her elbow, forcing herself to move despite the discomfort.

Bradley was pushing Jake back, away from Ronnie. Just another thing that was going exceptionally well for Jeremiah Bellmoral. She was injured. Jake was her mate, her Alpha, and Bradley was getting in the way. He was keeping Jake from protecting her, comforting her, helping her. He didn’t know it, but he was pouring gasoline on an open fire that was already more than willing to burn the world down to get to her.

Ronnie sat up completely, gasping when she noticed that she was starting to lose feeling in her hand. That couldn’t be good. Reuben and Mickey knelt down on either side of her, keeping her upright with gentle hands on her back. 

Jake’s roar echoed through the trees; Ronnie felt it ring her soul like an ancient bell. And when she looked up, he was shifted into his wolf form. His hackles raised as he stared her brother down with eyes red as blood. Bradley muttered something about killing him for hurting his sister, then he too shifted back into his wolf form. This was the first time she had seen them together. She knew Jake was smaller than Bradley, not by much, but he was leaner — muscles well attuned to fighting rippling beneath his golden fur. 

Ronnie knew that Bradley had never fought another wolf in his entire life — not for real. But he was bound to be stronger than Jake with the size of his pack. Every Beta under his control giving him strength. Something that he more than doubled Jake with.

“No! Stop! Please!” she shrieked as she tried to get to her feet. 

To get between them somehow, make them stop. But as soon as she knelt on the ground, one foot planted to propel her into the impending fight, a set of muscular arms circled around her waist and lifted her off the ground. She shouted as she struggled against their strong grip, her mind turned to the worst. Bellmoral forcing her to watch. But when she looked back, it was Jake’s second-in-command, Javy, pulling her away to safety. 

He dragged her back just in time.

Jake lunged at Bradley first. Growls, barks, roars, and the snapping of great teeth filled the air. It was a haze of gold and brown fur as they moved around the clearing. Rolling and biting and clawing at one another. None of the other wolves attacked, knowing that this was a fight between the two Alphas and the Alphas alone. 

Ronnie went limp in Javy’s arms, heart seized in her chest — refusing to pump her precious lifeblood to the rest of her body. It was happening. She wasn’t able to stop it. She really would just sit back and watch as her life was torn apart. As her brother and her mate killed each other over what they thought was the right thing, over her. 

She could see, across the clearing, that Dylan and Natasha were trying to get to her. Get her away from Red Sky and back where she belonged. But they were stopped by Pete and Bob, and for a moment she was grateful. And looking over, she saw that she was surrounded by her pack.

Her pack. Not her family’s pack. Not her ancestor’s pack. Not her legacy’s pack. Her pack. Her own. 

And it was up to her to save it. Just her in her human strength. In her human wit. In maybe her kindness and truth. Her father always said she was human for a reason. And maybe this was it.

Suddenly, a yelp echoed sharp and clear through the canopy. 

Jake lay on the ground, his great wolf body heaving with the effort to breathe. Bradley stepped back from his prone form, posture proud. Ronnie heard the sob she released before she even registered that it was her that made the noise. Wrenched violently from her throat like a rusted nail from stubborn wood. An answer to her mate’s cry of agony. 

Bradley turned to her with a shake of his head, looking nearly surprised when he saw her crowded on all sides by Red Sky wolves instead of Blue River. Jake still lay on the ground, soft whines escaping him as he pawed at the earth. He looked like he was about to get up, lips pulled back from his sharp white teeth as another Alpha looked at his pack. 

The strong arms holding her back released her before she even had to tell them to. Ronnie walked slowly into the clearing, her own injuries forgotten — numb — as she padded across the pine needles. The rain was coming down harder now. More drops slipped through the foliage to wet her cheeks, make her tears disappear with them. The wind howled through the trees. Its own wolf’s call.

Bradley looked expectant. He thought she would come to him, thank him for saving her, and tell him to take her home. But she didn’t. She walked right past him without sparing a second glance. His massive, furry head turned to follow her movement with a noise of confusion.

Everything felt so slow, as she walked up to Jake’s massive golden form. A single red eye followed her as she knelt down by his head. There was a large gash that started at his neck and went down to his chest, rendering the muscles of his shoulder asunder. Crimson blood poured out onto the ground, but she could see that the wound was already healing. Ronnie placed her good hand on his face and he stilled, his breathing less ragged as he pawed gently at her leg. 

“It’s okay, my Alpha,” she whispered softly as she stroked his furry face. “We’re okay. You and me.” 

Behind her, Bradley growled with a stamp of his massive paw. 

Pete took a step closer, speaking calmly and clearly as he said, “He wants to know what’s going on.” 

“Can you stand?” Ronnie asked, hand hovering over Jake’s gaping wound. 

He huffed but lifted his head. And, as Ronnie slowly rose back to her feet, so did Jake. He had to hold up his front left paw so as not to put any weight on it, and she found it fitting as she held her left hand against her stomach. Bradley growled again, insistent and impatient.

But any of the agitations on his wolfish face disappeared once Ronnie turned to face him. A sad, understanding sort of smile tugged at her cracked lips.

“We’re mated, Brad.” She didn’t fumble for words, she didn’t even feel any fear as she looked directly into her brother’s chocolate brown fur and beaming red eyes. “And I accepted him — because I love him.”

A hush fell over the world. Nothing but the sounds of rain and Jake’s labored breathing filled the air. 

“I knew as soon as he walked into the tavern that night. But I — I was scared to tell you. I almost rejected him I was so scared. And…And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. That I let it go this far. I just — I didn’t want you to hurt them.” She looked over to Red Sky, huddled together like Roman soldiers ready to take on attack, and when she looked back to her brother, she couldn’t help the way her chin quivered. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

Jake moved in closer to her side, now able to put weight on his leg, albeit gingerly. She felt his blood-matted fur brush against her shoulder and it brought her some comfort. Even as she stared into Bradley’s shocked wolf face. Felt the eyes of every Blue River wolf trained solely on her. 

“But I…He was chosen for me by powers beyond our control. At first, I didn’t understand it. Why we would be mated. But I — I choose him, now. I-I irrevocably choose him. Over Blue River. Over the packs’ history. Even over you. Even if you hate me. Because I love him. And I belong with him. 

“So if you’re gonna kill him.” Ronnie took one step forward, placing herself between Bradley and Jake. “You’re gonna have to go through me first.” 

Just silence. 

The audience was gathered to witness the final tragedy. The unhappy ending. Antigone’s brother left unburied and her betrothed doomed to death for his father’s mistakes. The trees, the goddess, the wolves wait on bated breath for the news to come to the hard-hearted king. Everyone is dead, and he would be left to live out the rest of his days praying for the end.

But then applause resounded before the tragedy was finished. A continuous, monotonous, clap clap clap from somewhere deep in the trees. 

Ronnie’s heart dropped into her stomach. She reached out to Jake and tangled her fingers in his fur, gripping the golden strands tight. She had nearly forgotten he was hiding in the forest, waiting for his plan to unfold. But she had just thrown a wrench in it, brought it to a screeching nearly-driving-off-the-road halt. There was no telling what he was going to do now. And that terrified her more than anything else. The unpredictability of a man driven mad by the power passed on to him by his ancestors. 

Jake curled his body around her as the clapping got closer, as a gentle, hollow chuckle harmonized along.

“Leave it to you, Veronica Bradshaw, to find some way to ruin my plans!” His voice echoed through the trees, distorted, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. “The key — you were supposed to be the key!” 

“Ronnie, what the hell is this?” Pete asked as he looked around for the source of the voice. 

“I — “ she tried to explain. 

But Bellmoral cut her off. Somewhere in the trees. His wailing an echo and an answer.

“No! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go! We were going to be okay you and I…After you saw the light. After you saw that I was right all along. He was never meant to have it. It was always supposed to be mine. Which-which meant that you were always supposed to be mine, too. Don’t you see? Veronica?” 

Jake pressed around her tighter, growl rumbling low in his throat as his lips curled back away from his teeth. 

“And you…Jake Seresin. Ungrateful. Arrogant. Unworthy. I gave you everything. I gave you that family you always wanted, that belonging. On top of that, I gave you a power that you could never even dream of. And what did you do? You spat in my face! You danced on my grave — or at least, what you thought was my grave.” 

Bellmoral laughed, the sound ricocheting through the trees — making the few birds that had stuck around take off into the rain-filled sky. Jake went rigid around her, ears flat against his head that was tilted low to the ground. Nearly every hair on his massive body stood on end. Ronnie looked over at the small Red Sky pack as she placed a reassuring hand on Jake’s shoulder. Every single one of them was pale, eyes wide as they stared out into the trees. Like they were encountering a ghost. 

Their greatest horror. One they thought was long behind them. 

Bellmoral stepped into the clearing with a smile on his face and a tilt of his head. Ronnie could feel, as Jake somehow wound his body around her tighter, shielding her from Bellmoral, that every muscle inside him was wound tight. Ready to snap. Ready to fight or fly or stand paralyzed before the monster who had done nothing but destroy his life, mar and kill those that he loved. She pressed her hand more firmly into him. Jake relaxed only slightly beneath her touch.

“Ronnie, who is this guy?” Pete asked as the Blue River wolves fanned out, each golden set of eyes trained on this new threat. 

“Jeremiah Bellmoral,” she answered, voice shaking despite the strength she wanted to show; for Jake and Red Sky.

“A pleasure to meet you all, truly.” He looked around at the Blue River wolves with that Cheshire-cat grin. “I’ve been watching you for months and can I just say…You’re a mess. A mess that I sought to clean up.”

“It’s over, Bellmoral. Enough,” Ronnie snapped, a grimace pulling at her lips and brow.

Bellmoral jerked his head over to look at her, white eyes of the Omega shining. “Is it? Now more than ever — it’s clear to see that the Bradshaw line needs to be broken. I mean just look at him.” 

He gestured wildly at Bradley, his skeletal face pulled back in some expression like he was looking at a puppy with only three legs. Doomed to fall and fail as it teetered around the yard. Almost sympathetic, almost pitying. But there was a hidden malice, a rushing river just beneath the ice. The Blue River Alpha stiffened under the sudden attention, head raised and red eyes unblinking as he stared Bellmoral down. 

“I can practically see the silver spoon between his teeth. What has he worked for? For what has he toiled? Fought for? I know that — “ Bellmoral turned to look at Jake with lips pulled back into a smirk — whether it was at what he was about to say or the way the Alpha nearly flinched away from him Ronnie couldn’t tell. “Jake would agree with me. I heard you talking about him. It really is not fair. All Bradley had to do was wait for his dear papa to die, and then he got all that power, all those Betas, all that respect! While you, Jake, you had to fight tooth and nail for scraps. 

“Little Bradley here has everything he could ever want —  and when you want just one thing? His little sister as your own — as the Moon Goddess has ordained? He can’t bare it. He throws a tantrum. He blinds himself to the signs that were there! He refuses to see what was so clear.”

He turned on Bradley, taking a step closer as he roared, “How did you not see it, Bradshaw? How did you not know that your own sister had found her mate? Even I could feel it coming off her the moment she stepped out of that tavern four weeks ago! Sickeningly sweet and bright as the moon! Is it because you would rather keep your sister at a distance, keep her on the outside looking in? You would rather deny her any sense of belonging than let her leave your control — find her own place in this world.” 

Bradley snarled and snapped his teeth, great paws digging into the ground as he lowered his head at Bellmoral. Ronnie could see it, however — see the river beneath the ice, the malice under the pity. This was Bellmoral’s backup plan. Pull at all of Bradley’s strings until he attacked, playing him like a fiddle, or a harp, or some other instrument that could very well snap from misuse. And she knew her brother. Knew that those words would reach something at the core of him, touch all his insecurities and make him lash out in some attempt to defend his hurt pride. 

It was something she had done before, in their youth. When she really wanted to hurt him but knew she stood no chance against him physically. It was always in that way that siblings do. When she would say something so scathing, and then in the next hour walk close beside him to the corner store for snacks. Then at school the next day when someone said something behind his back she would threaten to knock their lights out.

She wanted to defend him now. Even after all he had done, all he had said. Even if, maybe, Bellmoral was even right. That didn’t matter. Because he was her brother. Her family. Her flesh and blood, with eyes that matched her own and a smile just like her father’s.

“Brad, don’t listen — “ 

But it was too late. Bradley roared before he dove at Bellmoral, who shifted into his wolf form in an instant. Prepared and ready for Bradley’s attack. Bellmoral’s wolf was nearly as big as Bob — but he was malnourished. His bones stuck out at odd angles, his once brilliant grey fur now matted and balding in places. His white eyes shown great and terrible as his teeth sunk into Bradley’s shoulder.

Ronnie cried out as Jake moved her away from the fight. Shoved her back as gently as he could until she was amongst the other Red Sky wolves. Mickey took her shoulder and pulled her in closer, his fingers dug into the spot where Bellmoral’s teeth had held her and she hissed against the pain. Everything hurt. Her shoulder, her hip, her wrist, her face, her heart. Maybe her heart most of all. It weighed heavy in her chest, spilled into her lungs, making it hard to breathe as she watched Bellmoral pin her brother into the dirt.

Bradley and Bellmoral grappled, teeth clacking and bodies rolling around on the ground. Blue River could do nothing but watch. A fight against their Alpha meant they couldn’t intervene. It would mean that they thought their leader weak, and none of them thought that of Bradley. None of them ever could. 

Especially Ronnie. And despite everything, a sob left her lips as Bradley yelped. A sound she knew so well, a sound she had heard throughout her life. Bellmoral had him pinned down by the throat, Bradley’s paws moving feebly to try and get him off. Ronnie took a step forward before she even realized she was moving, but Mickey and Reuben held her back. 

She remembered a time when they were as close as could be. When they would sit together on the roof of the pack house and watch the full moon with a kind of longing adventures were born from. When they would ride their bikes to school together. When he let her ride on his back through the woods. When they fought and forgave and hugged and cried and screamed and laughed. But then she went away to college and he stayed put. Then she stopped calling back home as much and he only texted when he needed something. Then she didn’t come home the last two summers, opting to find work in Seattle instead. Then when she graduated and moved back home, she didn’t move back into the family house. She took the hunting cabin their dad had built years ago. 

A rift chipped away at both sides. A symptom of growing up. Of wanting different things. Of being different things.

But he was her brother. She was born knowing him. She was born loving him. 

“Jake,” she called softly before she could put more thought behind her words. His giant golden head turned to look at her instantly. “Help him…Please.”

He stared at her for a moment. And she could see his reaction written all over his face. The fear at fighting Bellmoral again. The defiance at helping the wolf who moments ago wanted him dead. He was still bleeding, the wound Bradley gave him healing at a slower rate, he could barely put any weight on his leg. Ronnie glanced over his golden shoulder to see that Bradley had stopped struggling, Bellmoral’s lips pulled back as he watched the life drain from him — as he took Bradley’s death slowly. 

Ronnie looked back to her mate with a pleading quiver in her lip. “Please.”

Jake turned to the losing battle. 

And then he roared. 

Bellmoral looked up just in time for Jake to tackle him off of Bradley’s prone form. The previous Alpha of Red Sky stared down the one who usurped him, pale grey head hung low and eyes glowing white. They may have been talking to one another, but Ronnie couldn’t hear a thing. Only Bradley’s hacking as he got back to his feet. Jake and Bellmoral met with a furious growl, raised up on their back legs as they swiped at one another. But Jake was clearly weakened, his shoulder refusing to heal. He landed back on all fours with a yap of pain. But he had gotten his claws into Bellmoral’s face. The grey wolf staggered back as he shook his head, trying to clear the blood from his vision. 

Then Bradley came to stand at Jake’s side.

A laugh seemed to spill from Bellmoral’s red lips as he looked at them. The Alphas of two packs who had been warring for centuries. Standing together just to defeat him once and for all. Ronnie wondered, as she leaned against Mickey for support, if he was beginning to worry. If he was beginning to regret. 

It didn’t seem like it as he charged at them. 

He swiped at Jake as he went for Bradley’s throat with his teeth. But even wounded, the two Alphas together were too fast and too strong for him. In what felt like only an instant Bradley had Bellmoral pinned down at his waist. And Jake had his jaw clamped tight around the grey wolf’s neck. 

Then Jake began to pull. 

Bellmoral screamed. 

And with one final yank, the grey wolf was ripped in two. 

Jake arched up with the force of it, up onto his back paws as he pulled the top half of his body free. Leaving behind limp legs and entrails spilling out. Blood sprayed in every direction. Ronnie felt the warmth of it on her face as she stared wide-eyed at the scene before her. Jake spat out Bellmoral’s mauled neck. Bradley got off the rest of the body with a huff. 

Ronnie slumped against Mickey completely. A relief-soaked sob echoing in her throat as he steadied her. When she looked back up, Jake and Bradley were shifted back into their human forms. Their shoulders working as they breathed, as they stared down at the body at their feet. Bellmoral was back in his human form as well — shifted one last time in the Goddess’ mercy so they couldn’t be caught in death — torso separated from his legs. Eyes staring unblinkingly at the grey sky. Mouth still pulled back in a smile.

Bradley nodded, a subtle curt thing, at Jake and he nodded back. A thank you. An acceptance.

It was over. It was finally over. Red Sky was truly free. Maybe it wasn’t a tragedy after all. Maybe there was still hope.

A fractured wrist, the bones now held in place to heal back together by a thick plastic brace. Deep muscle bruising to the shoulder and hip. Four gashes to the face, one requiring stitches and the rest held together with medical glue. 

They told the doctors it was a mountain biking accident. That she was thrown from her bike when she snagged on a root. That they got her to the hospital as quickly as they could, seeing as they were pretty deep on the trail. Everybody believed it. Nobody even gave it a second thought. The injuries lined up. 

And it wasn’t like they would have believed the truth anyway. 

Ronnie was discharged around eleven at night with a pain medication ready to be picked up at the local pharmacy by morning, instructions to take it easy for a few days, and teasing remarks about being more careful on those biking trails. She smiled and thanked everyone for their help as she left, Jake’s arm secure around her waist. 

Blue River was waiting for them out in the parking lot. Gathered around their vehicles and sipping on beers that wouldn’t inebriate them in the slightest. They all perked up as the Red Sky Alpha and his new Luna approached.

Natasha was the first to meet them — an overnight bag clutched in her fist. 

 “Figured you might want some of your clothes,” she said as she handed the bag off to Jake. 

“Thanks, Nat,” Ronnie replied with a tired smile. 

She could see that her friend wanted to say more, but she kept glancing at Jake. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other under the weight of the power he put off. Ronnie gave his hip a squeeze as she looked up into his firmly set expression. 

“Go wait in the truck, okay?” she suggested quietly, and at his hesitance to leave her, she reassured him with another squeeze. “I’ll be okay. Just a few minutes.” 

Jake pulled away from her reluctantly with a curt nod. Then he stalked off towards his truck parked haphazardly in the spot closest to the door. Natasha instantly relaxed once he was gone. 

“Does — Does this really mean you have to leave?” Natasha asked softly. 

She refused to look Ronnie in the eye. Hands shoved in her back pockets. The tears caught in her dark eyes reflected in the fluorescent light of the parking lot. It felt like Ronnie’s ribs were too tight as she reached for her friend — but then retracted her hand. Natasha caught it anyway, reflexes fast as she snatched Ronnie’s fingers in her strong grip. She gave a reassuring squeeze as Ronnie took a shuddering breath. 

“If I could stay, if I could keep both packs, I would. You know I would,” Ronnie replied, eyes focused on their joined hands. “But I can’t. Red Sky is my pack now.” 

“I wish…I wish you would’ve told me.” 

Ronnie looked up at her then, at her rosy cheeks and soft little nose, at her dark hair slicked back into a bun and that sad look in her eyes. Reasons pricked at the very tip of Ronnie’s tongue. It all happened so fast. Everyone was showing animosity towards Red Sky. The less people that knew before Bradley found out, the better. But they all died in her mouth, turned to ash, to something sour. None of that mattered. Natasha was her friend. They grew up together. They worked together. Natasha always had, and always would be, a confidant and an ally. Everything would have been so much easier with Natasha at her side, so much lighter — someone to share the load. Tears gathered at the corners of Ronnie’s eyes as she squeezed her friend’s hand tight. 

“Me too.” 

“I knew that something was off.” Then she laughed lightly. “I thought it was because of Bob…”

Ronnie laughed too. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything, Nat.” 

The dark-haired she-wolf shook her head. “None of us made it easy, but…He’s your mate, ya know? And a really fine one at that, like, Jesus Christ.” 

They both laughed now. Little chuckles accompanied by shakes of their heads as Ronnie smoothed her thumb over the back of Natasha’s hand. The tears welled up anew, her chin quivering as she looked at her friend. At her friend from this point forward she wouldn’t see nearly every single day. It was all so eerily similar to when Ronnie went off to college. They knew they would still be friends after this. Still connected. But it was going to be different from then on. Morphed into something else. Something more distant. Something more nostalgic rather than present. 

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Ronnie said, voice wavering as her tears fell. 

“M’gonna miss you too.” 

Natasha pulled her into a tight hug, but minded her injuries. Then the friends parted, and over Natasha’s shoulder, Ronnie caught Bradley’s intense gaze from further down the parking lot. Natasha gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go of her completely.

Bradley was leaning against the back bumper of his Bronco. Arms crossed and body cleaned of the blood he had spilled. Bob and Pete stood on either side of him. His face betrayed no emotion, and that was somehow worse as Ronnie approached him. If he looked mad she could prepare for that. If he looked sad she could prepare for that too. But that neutral expression on his face, that blank stare, was nearly painful to her.

Pete met her first. She could see the tears clinging to his lashes just before he pulled her in for a hug. It felt like being hugged by her father. She clung to him tighter, buried her face in his neck as he felt his tears wet her shoulder. He pulled away, and Bob was standing behind him. The bespeckled wolf fidgeted with the edge of his flannel as he flashed her a tight smile. Ronnie smiled at him too. Knowing that Jake was watching, that he was still on edge, she reached out and patted Bob’s shoulder as she passed. Hoping that it would tell him just how grateful she was for all that he had done for her. Bob and Pete moved along, opting to talk with some of the other wolves, when Ronnie finally stood before her brother. 

There could have been an entire canyon between them, not just that tiny strip of cracked concrete. An entire continent. An entire ocean. Standing face to face with Bradley now, she never felt further away. She wanted to be close to him again. Like when they were kids and adventure was just around the corner. But she didn’t know if this was a canyon that could ever be crossed. A continent that could ever be charted. An ocean that could ever be tamed. 

Bradley finally broke the silence. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ronnie coughed, held up her braced wrist for a moment. “I’m okay. Just…Really tired.”

Just silence. Was this the tragedy she had been waiting for? 

“Bellmoral was right you know,” he muttered, eyes focused on the way his boot scuffed against the concrete. “About keeping you on the outside…Keeping you under my control.”

She took a half step forward, longing to comfort, but unsure if she could. “Brad — “ 

“Don’t try n’ deny it, Ronnie. You know it’s true, too. S’just — “ He huffed, uncrossing his arms to shove his hands in his jean pockets. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the words. “First it was Mom. Then Tom…And then Dad. I guess…I just didn’t want you to leave me.” 

He looked up into her face then and there were tears in his eyes. Ronnie tried to swallow around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. She felt her tears flowing freely down her cheeks, surely wetting the fresh bandages that had been put over her cuts.

“Fuck. M’sorry. For all of it,” he said. 

Then she crashed into him like a head-on collision. Her arms around his middle tight as she pulled him into her. As she buried her face in his chest. As she wept openly, like sorrow and relief all at once. He was stiff beneath her touch for a moment. Only a moment. And then Bradley caved in. Released. Melted into her hold. His own thick arms wrapped around her shoulder tight, his lips pressed into her hairline. The ocean had been crossed. The continent trekked over. The canyon closed together. Somehow, he felt closer than ever before. 

“You’re gonna be an amazing Luna, Ronnie Bradshaw,” he whispered to her as he continued to hold her, continued to love her. “You were born for it. Leading. Helping. More than I ever was.” 

She managed to blubber out between sobs. “We’re children of wolf kings.” 

It was what their father used to say at the end of pack meetings. On nights of the full moon. When he would sit them down and tell them stories about their ancestors. It was nearly a joke he said it so much. But now that he was gone, they came to some solemn understanding of the power behind it. The faith. The strength. The history. 

They were children of wolf kings. Destined for crowns that neither of them thought they could bare. 

Prying herself away from him, Ronnie sniffed back the snot that had clogged her nose and wiped tenderly at her cheeks — making sure to avoid her bandages. Bradley quickly swiped at his own face, looking around to make sure no one saw him. It made her smile. 

“Where’re you guys gonna go?” he asked, hands back in his pockets. 

“The hunting cabin,” she answered, “We sent a few wolves ahead to get it ready.” 

Bradley looked at her for a moment, a smile ticking up the corner of his mustache. “You really love him?”

“I know it sounds crazy. I barely even know him.”

“God.” He shook his head as he laughed, something like realization on his face. “You really do love him.” 

“I do.” 

They hugged again. And then Ronnie turned away. It felt final. It felt terrifying. It felt like walking into darkness and into the unknown. What was out there? What awaited her in the shadows, around the corners, just over the hill? What was in store for her in a world without her family at her side and an entire life to start over? 

But then Jake. 

Jake stood beneath the yellow light of the parking lot. Hands in the pockets of his jeans as he leaned against the side of his old beat-up truck. He smiled softly at her as she approached. He was her guiding light. Her steady shore. Her foundation and her architect. It didn’t matter what waited for her as long as he was there. He would be with her through everything.

Her mate. Her Alpha. Her love.

She fell asleep on the drive and Jake carried her inside.

The a-frame cabin was small, but nice. Jake smiled as he kicked the door shut quietly behind him. The space was so incredibly Ronnie. There were maps and pictures from her world travels hanging on the walls. With no space for bookshelves with the slanted ceilings, there were tall stacks of paperbacks and hardcovers lining the wall by the couch. Candles were scattered about that had been relit — unscented because they gave her headaches.

“Where’s the bed, little one?” Jake asked as he walked further inside, noting the small hallway further back and the short set of stairs that led up to the loft. 

“Upstairs,” she muttered, voice laced with sleep.

Her eyes were barely held open. She felt heavy in his arms, though his muscles didn’t strain. The only thing that kept her awake was the way Jake’s heartbeat directly into her ear. 

He carried her up the steps, careful not the jostle her too much as he came up into the loft where the slope of the roof was at its peak. Mickey and Reuben had made the bed, the linens freshly washed and warm as Jake laid Ronnie down in them. He pulled the soft blankets, flannel sheets and down-filled comforter, over her as she curled up on her side. Nearly like a cat. Her long, dark hair was still a tangled mess but she didn’t seem to care. She blinked up at him slowly. A soft, on-the-edge-of-dreams smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she reached up and touched his cheek. Just the tips of her fingers, the majority of her hand covered by the thick brace. Still, Jake leaned into her touch with a grin of his own. 

She hummed contentedly as Jake gently placed her hand back to rest at her side. 

He pushed the few hairs that had fallen into her face out of the way, tucking them behind her ear. Never before had she felt so comfortable underneath a gaze so intense. He could look at her like that for hours and she would never feel the need to hide. 

“Reuben said he left some clothes for me. I’ll be right back,” he said.

“I’ll wait for you,” Ronnie replied. 

“You don’t have to — “

“I’ll wait for you,” she repeated, a bit more sternly, her eyebrows set in a way that nearly made Jake laugh. 

The bed creaked as he rose from the edge and went back downstairs. Ronnie felt instantly colder without him there. Even though she was under the thick blankets and the heater hummed loudly in the background. Everything felt so heavy yet so weightless. Her eyelids slid shut despite her best efforts. Her body sunk further into the mattress; it felt like she was going to sink right through to the floor. But she was also floating. High up in the sky, above the trees, above the mountains. She was untethered as she teetered on the edge of sleep, detached, falling. Balanced on the edge of a knife.

But then the other side of the bed dipped. The covers pulled back for an instant and she shuddered at the sudden cold. But it was soon forgotten as Jake settled in behind her, pulled her back into his chest. He was so warm. She sighed deeply, some release, as she burrowed further back against him. His chuckle reverberated in her own ribcage. Jake was her anchor, her stake in the ground. Settling her in this plane of existence with a gentle grip around her waist and a soft kiss against her jaw. 

Pure bliss. Sunshine incarnate. This was what it must have felt like to burn. Complete joy and complete belonging. This was where she was meant to be. Happily drowning in a golden ocean of pure warming sunlight, wrapped up in the citrus and bonfire scent of her mate. It was like looking into a grain silo on her grandmother’s farm. Mesmerized by the colors and suddenly falling in, surrounded by that earthy scent of wheat that lulled until dying didn’t sound so bad. But as she lay there, held and loved completely, she felt she was coming more alive. 

“You love me?” Jake whispered into the place where her neck met her shoulder. 

Ronnie, though half asleep, could hear the question bubbling like lava just beneath. You love me despite everything? You love me after what you watched me do? You love me injured and covered in blood and terrified?

“I think I always have.” She smoothed her fingers over the arm curled around her waist. “Even when I didn’t know you. I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.” 

There was that calm confidence again. That assuredness the very foundations of the earth were made of.

“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Like I’ve loved you from the moment I started breathing, Ronnie.”

She smiled, a joyful noise humming in her throat, as sleep finally overcame her.

When she woke up, Ronnie wasn’t entirely sure it was morning. The sunlight streaming through the window above the bed was too bright, too powerful to be anything but brought on by midday. For a moment, she just basked in it. Too warm and too comfortable to move.

But the space beside her was empty. Cold. 

As she rolled onto her back, her fingers trailed over the rustled sheets. The indent in the other pillow. 

Was it all just a dream? The whole of it? Her father’s death. Going to live with Bradley while the dust settled. Finding her mate in the Alpha of Red Sky. She couldn’t decide if it was joy or sorrow that filled her heart at the possibility. To have her father back would be a joy beyond words. But to lose Jake to have him — that was a sorrow unmatched.

Then her broken bones screeched in a sudden pain that made her suck in a sharp breath. That was real. She lifted her braced hand to drape across her middle, fingers rubbing over the tough plastic in some attempt to soothe the discomfort. And if that was real —  that injury, that hurt — then the rest of it was real too. It wasn’t just a dream. It was a beautiful, yet dimmed reality. Loss for gain. Her father was gone but that was okay. He might not have been around to take care of her anymore, but she had her mate now. 

She had Jake now. 

But where was he?

Ronnie sat up slowly, a soft noise of effort slipping from her lips as she pulled herself to sit up against the wall. Every muscle in her body felt tired, used up, and sore. It took some great effort, like Atlas willing himself to shrug with the weight of the world on his shoulders, just to get herself upright. She rubbed at the sleep that still clung to her lashes. Her tongue suddenly felt heavy and dry in her mouth, like it didn’t really belong there. Opening her mouth to flex her jaw, she looked over to Jake’s empty spot in bed again. 

Where was he?

Somewhere inside, she knew he was close. He wasn’t too far.

But before she could will herself to get out from beneath the covers, Jake’s golden head of hair appeared as he came up the stairs. All the tension that had wound itself up in her shoulders suddenly relaxed at the sight of him. 

His soft smile. That lock of dark blond hair that fell against his forehead. He looked comfortable. Wearing a pair of sweats and a waffle-knit long sleeve, the clothes that the pack must have brought. Ronnie was glad to see him out of the bloodied flannel he had been wearing the day before. 

The smell of toast and eggs suddenly hit her and her stomach grumbled. He carried the breakfast, coffee, a glass of water, and her prescription bottle on the tray from her small dining table strictly used for decoration. But she didn’t mind in the slightest as he set the tray down in the spot he once occupied. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but she could feel it. The way her throat gurgled with underuse and overuse at the same. The first noise of some greeting barely escaped before she was trying to clear her throat. 

“Here,” Jake said as he snatched the glass of water from the tray. 

He held it up to her lips as he sat down at the edge of the bed. She took it from him gratefully, taking a few sips to wet her throat. When she pulled the glass away, she smiled almost shyly at him. 

“Hi.”

Her voice came out as a croak that made her wince. 

But Jake didn’t seem to mind as he pushed her messy hair back away from her face. “Hey, little one.” 

“How long was I out for?” she asked quietly, not trusting her voice to get any louder. 

“About fourteen hours,” he replied as he reached over and grabbed the pill bottle from the tray. “It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Jesus — you should’ve woken me up.”

“No. You needed the rest. Still do.” He undid the cap and poured out two pills into his palm. “Take these, then I need you to eat.” 

Ronnie put up no argument. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself as she eyed the eggs and toast laid out beside her. She took the pills, tongue smacking against the grainy taste they left in her mouth. Jake watched to make sure she did it before handing her the plate and a fork. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” she asked around a mouthful of toast. 

How did he know just how she liked it? Golden brown and coated in a thick layer of butter. Classic and simple and honestly, in that moment, the best thing she had ever tasted. 

“I already ate,” he replied with a smile. “Breakfast and lunch.” 

She felt a heat rise in her cheeks as she took the coffee from the tray, leaving it empty. “Sorry.”

“S’okay. I didn’t mind. Got to figure you out a bit.”

“Yeah?” She sipped on the hot beverage. Black how she liked it. “What’d you figure out?”

“That you’re a huge nerd,” he said with a grin. 

Ronnie made a face, but couldn’t help but smile knowingly. “I….Am. Yes. I can’t deny it. What gave me away?”

“Well, for starters, you own at least ten books on Greek mythology.” Jake got up from the bed and set the tray on the floor, taking his place beside her with a sigh as he relaxed back against the wall. “And you have the other Lord of the Rings books. No one has those except huge nerds.” 

“Okay, okay, number one, sir — I have a degree in Classics and Linguistics so anything to do with Greece or Rome down there is warranted. And second…Tolkien was a master of his craft and he made a fascinating world. You should read it sometime.” 

“I’m not really a reader,” he chuckled lightly.

“I’ll read it to you then.” 

“I’d like that.” He smiled over at her warmly.

His presence was comforting, safe, and warm as she continued to eat. As she continued to feel like she was coming back to herself. Jake was a part of that now. A part of her that she could never reject or deny. Just as she was a part of him. She leaned into his side and it felt like a consecration. Something holy. Something divine. 

But it felt like anticipation too. A string about to snap. A storm looming on the horizon. A finger hesitating over the trigger. 

She could feel it in Jake most of all. As she set her empty plate on the nightstand and leaned back into his arm. He was tense. He nearly flinched away from her. Or towards her. She couldn’t tell. When she looked up into his face, his brow was pulled down in some agony, in barely there restraint. 

Picking her head up off his shoulder she asked softly, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah — “ 

He was cut off by his own sharp intake of breath when Ronnie put her hand on his thigh. It was supposed to be a comfort, but his reaction only made her worry increase. Like a weed in a crack in the pavement. She twisted her torso to look at him completely. His eyes were screwed shut, mouth turned down in a grimace. 

“Jake, are you sure?”

She turned to him further, nearly up on her knees to inspect him closer. And with her movement, her hand floated higher up his thigh. The soft whimper that tumbled from his mouth was enough to make her pause. His hand, which shook with some effort, shot out to gently take hold of her braced wrist.

His eyes slipped open and they were hazy, his blinking slow as he whispered, “Please don’t.”

Looking down at where her hand had been touching him, she expected some injury that just wouldn’t heal for reasons unknown. But she gasped softly at what she did find.

The outline of his cock, thick and heavy and hard against the fabric of his sweatpants. 

Ronnie couldn’t help the way her mouth popped open at the sight. The way a sudden heat and pressure bloomed between her legs. The first few chords of the string were broken. The first drops of rain were falling. The finger was beginning to squeeze the trigger. She looked back up to his face to find Jake already looking at her, his green eyes hooded but hesitant. And now that her pain medication was kicking in and her stomach was full, only one ache remained. One that surprised her still, that throbbed somewhere deep inside her chest.

She knew what it was and knew that Jake felt it too. Felt it stronger than she ever could. Had probably been feeling it for hours while she slept.

“Jake…” She lifted her hand to his face to make him meet her eyes. “How long’ve you been like that?”

“Since I crawled into bed with you last night,” he replied, voice strained. He swallowed something thick. “I — I got up a few times to take care of it myself, but…Nothing’s worked. It just — it won’t — “

He looked guilty. His eyes downcast and his hand moving to try and cover himself up. He refused to meet her gaze, opting to burrow into the palm still resting on his cheek. 

Ronnie’s grip became firm as she slowly, her body still sore and tired, pulled herself into his lap. Knees straddling his thighs. She settled down onto him with a huff, relief and effort, and Jake instantly reached out to hold her waist in a firm, yet gentle grip. Like he wanted her to stay but was prepared for her to go.

“It’s okay, my Alpha. It’s only natural,” she assured, her braced hand coming up to his other cheek as her right hand trailed down his neck and chest. “Our mate bond needs to be settled. Your body is telling you so.” 

She watched the way his chest heaved with shallow breaths for air as the very tips of her fingers ghosted down his chest and stomach. Watched the muscles there jump beneath his shirt. It made her core clench in some desperate cry to be filled, her slick dampening her panties as she thought of what was to come. The ache that had once been housed in her chest now nestled between her thighs. 

Jake took in a sharp breath, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater, tugging her closer. “Fuck — I can smell you.”

“Yeah?” she asked softly as her fingertips danced around the waistband of his sweats. 

“We — I shouldn’t,” he said, even as his hips bucked up into her touch. “You’re hurt. You need rest. I should…I should be able to control myself. But…Fuck. I need you. I can’t stop thinking about it. R-Ronnie…”

His head fell back against the wall with an audible thud when her palm came in contact with his hard length. His expression looked nearly pained as she continued to feel him, working him through his sweats. He was big. Bigger than any man she ever had before, which were few and far between. For only an instant, she worried about getting all that to fit inside her. About him splitting her open. Then she felt the muscles in his legs spasm and flex beneath her, one knee rose — forcing her to slide further down his lap. 

Her cunt, now burning with desire, nudged against his length and she gasped. All her worries were forgotten, replaced by her need to be filled by him. She was made just for him, designed and knit together in the most intimate way. Chest falling against his own, her hand moved to support herself against his shoulder. She nuzzled his cheek with her nose, a hum reverberating in her throat as his hands slid up the length of her back beneath her sweater. His breaths hot and heavy against her ear. 

“You can smell it — how much I need you too?” she asked and Jake nodded. She pressed her fingers to the center of his chest, just below his sternum. “Can you feel it, right here?”

“Yes,” he breathed, tugging her closer, pushing her hips down against his own. “It hurts. I can’t…” 

Ronnie kissed his cheek again, pulling him into her with a furrowed brow. She shushed him as he whined softly, his legs spasming beneath her again as she rolled her hips against the erection that had been paining him for hours. Having to bite back her own moan at the way the tip caught against her clit.

“I know, I know it hurts. But I want you. Want you to claim me as your Luna.” She drew close, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Make me yours. Completely.”

She tried to drag her clothed cunt against him again but he stopped her with a firm grip on her waist, mindful of the injury on her hip that she had long forgotten about.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he confessed, green eyes roving her face for any semblance of hesitance.

Ronnie pulled back to look him in the eye. Tone laced with that calm confidence that world leaders would envy. 

“You could never hurt me.”

Jake was on her in the next instant. His kiss hungry and bordering on desperate as his fingers tangled into her hair. It was like he was trying to drink from her very soul as he nudged her to lay back on the bed, lifting her effortlessly and gently. He slotted himself between her spread legs, urging her to wrap them around his waist with a broad palm on her thigh. Ronnie obliged him happily, heels digging into his ass to get him to move against where her cunt throbbed in time with her heart. 

Hands sliding over the back of his neck and into his hair, she made some noise of apology around his tongue in her mouth when her plastic brace knocked against his skull. Jake pulled away from her to laugh, breathless and shoulders shaking as his face fell into the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“I hate this thing already,” Ronnie grumbled, displaying her left hand briefly before letting it flop back against the bed beside her head. “I wanna touch you.” 

“You are touching me,” he replied, his eyes fluttering shut at the way her fingers traced over his bottom lip. 

“Wanna touch all of you. Hard to do with one good hand.”

Jake groaned as he surged into her again, like water on rock — his kiss powerful but gentle as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Despite just how hot and hard he felt against her, he still tugged at the hem of her shirt. Fingers dancing around the edge of the fabric with a kind of respect that left her breathless as he pulled away to mouth at her neck. 

“Please?” he asked quietly against her pulse. 

“Yes, yes.” She couldn’t say it fast enough. “I’m all yours, my Alpha.” 

Sitting up on his knees, he pulled her sweater up and over her head slowly. Like he was unwrapping something preciously fragile. They struggled to get her sleeve off around her brace and it made them laugh. But the chuckle died in Jake’s throat once he took in the sight of her. Laid out beneath him, having chosen to take off her bra sometime the night before, in nothing but those little shorts. Her nipples pebbled once exposed to the cooler air of the cabin. Her chest heaved beneath his intense gaze, but she didn’t feel uncomfortable or self-conscious. If anything, his attention empowered her as her hips rolled to relieve the ache in her cunt.

His calloused fingers trailed over her pale skin, between the valley of her breasts and down her stomach where the muscles twitched in anticipation. She gasped as the hairs on her arms stood on end, as her flesh pimpled beneath his ghostly touch. His eyes bled with the power he fought so hard for as he watched her body react to him. 

“Your skin’s like moonlight,” he mumbled.

Then he reached behind his back and tugged his own shirt off, discarding it somewhere in the small room. Jake was thick and broad. Body carved by years and years of hard work. His chest and stomach were muscled, covered in a thick layer of hair that only made him more inviting. Made him look soft despite all that power. Ronnie bit down on her lip as her eyes trailed over him, taking in the way his hips started a V that disappeared into his sweats. 

It felt like her heart swelled to a few sizes too big. It was surely about to burst out of her chest, snap into Jake’s waiting hand. She wanted to say something back. Tell him his skin was warm as the sun and his eyes reminded her of the Spring grain fields she saw in Italy. But the words never made it to her tongue. They were morphed, twisted, until they came out of her mouth in nothing but a moan as Jake kissed her collarbones. 

His tongue and his lips laved down the slope of her chest. While his warm palm enveloped one breast, his mouth latched onto the other. Ronnie arched into his touch with a gasp, fingers of her uninjured hand tangling in the strands of his hair. His tongue swirled around her nipple, sucked on the tender flesh until he released it with a soft pop. Ronnie jerked beneath him, hips working in some effort to feel anything against where she needed him most. 

“Mm, J-Jake?” she asked, a soft whimper quickly following as he dragged the attention of his mouth to her other breast. 

He hummed against her heated flesh, sounding completely content. 

“I need — mnh — I need you to touch me. God, please.”

She felt his smirk against the swell of her breast, heard it in the way he whispered, “I am touching you.”

“Touch all of me,” she replied and Jake groaned, loud and deep directly into her sternum. 

“God, I want to. All the time.” He rose back up to his knees, leaving her a panting, wreathing mess beneath him. “Wanna do this right — wanna make you feel good, sweet girl.” 

Ronnie whimpered at the nickname, at everything. She heard rumors and read tales about Alphas claiming their Lunas in the most brutal of fashions. Archaic and animalistic. But Jake was putting her pleasure first, even if it hurt him. She could see, as he tugged her shorts down her legs — past her bruised knees — that a wet spot was forming in the crotch of his pants. He was achingly hard, and kept that way by his instinct to fill her. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he took what he wanted with promises of making it up to her later. But that wasn’t Jake. That wasn’t who he was.

He was the kind of Alpha that risked his own life to save his pack. That kept his distance when she asked it of him, even though it pained him. That took the smallest room. That respected her enough and cared for her enough to wait until she was ready.

A high-pitched kind of sigh slipped past her lips as he pulled her shorts and underwear off in one go. Jake’s eyes now shown red as rubies as he drank in the sight of her, hands moving up her calves and into the crooks of her knees to prop them up — spread her open for him. He growled, eyes caught on the apex of her thighs. At her glistening cunt, at the dark thatch of curls that framed her. 

She squirmed beneath his gaze now, every sense heightened and attuned to the near-desperate need that filled her. Trying to press her thighs together in search of some friction, some relief, Jake’s knelt form sat in the way. Keeping her from that balm. She whined softly, her cunt clenching around nothing at the way he watched her. 

Reaching out to him in some attempt to keep her own fingers from slipping between her folds, she called, “My Alpha…Come here.”

He grinned as he lay back over her, forearms keeping him propped up as he kissed her sweet and slow. Gone was the hurried desperation, replaced by nothing but that strong love and longing that had been building upon itself for weeks. One of Jake’s hands slipped down her form, over her soft and bruised skin. Until finally the very tips of his fingers ghosted through the dark curls at the joining of her thighs. 

His hand dipped into her cunt and she grunted at the sudden attention, sudden relief, sudden white-hot pleasure. 

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” Jake muttered breathlessly, thick digits exploring as he teased at her entrance. 

“J-Just for you,” she replied, hands latched onto his shoulders, his grin pressed into the side of her neck.

His fingers passed over her clit and she gasped, hips rocking, trying to get him to touch it again. He moved back over the correct spot and pressed in, her head pushing back into the comforter as she clawed into his back. How could it possibly feel this good and he had barely even touched her?

“There?” he asked against the line of her jaw before kissing feather-light at the burning hot flesh. 

“Yes — there.”

Jake hummed as he began to circle her clit, rubbing slow and sweet in a way that made her lungs burn. That made her hands scramble for purchase. That made her back arch despite the dull pain that coursed through her at the action. But, of course, he sensed it — in that spot hidden deep within his chest. He pressed down with more of his weight, keeping her from straining herself. She wanted to say thank you, but all that came out was a wail as he added just a bit more pressure. 

“Sound so sweet, little one.” He inhaled slowly at her pulse point, hips rutting against her thigh. “Smells so good.” 

“W-What do I — smell like?” she managed to stutter out.

“Like lavender…And old book pages,” he replied, lips moving down the column of her neck, beard scratching at her skin. “Second one makes more sense now.”

She chuckled breathlessly, head spinning with pleasure as he increased the speed of his fingers. A quiet whine escaped her as he pulled his attention away from that little bundle of nerves, but it was short lived as the heel of his hand pressed down into it. Two of his digits instead focused on her entrance. 

“Oh.” 

The sound echoed around the room before she even realized. 

Jake pulled back to look into her face, all movements stopped save for the gentle nudge of his palm against her clit. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. It’s just…” Her braced hand lifted to cup his jaw as best she could. “It’s been a long time, for me.”

A heat rose in her cheeks as he smiled gently down at her. Red eyes of the Alpha so soft just for her. He kissed her once, twice, then pulled away to nuzzle her cheek. 

“I’ll go slow,” he said, then his hips jerked against her leg. “Need you good and ready for me.” 

Ronnie whimpered softly as he slowly sunk two fingers into her, nails digging into his biceps, sure to leave crescent moons in her wake that would fade before she got the chance to see them. He just rested there for a moment, let her adjust. Then he curled his fingers up experimentally and the sound she let out was something primal, something she had never heard herself make before. It made Jake groan, teeth clenched, as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her. Stretching her out with his palm grinding against her clit.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled, guiding him up to kiss his swollen lips. They breathed into each other as her hips rocked into his hand, her eyes barely able to stay open against the mounting pleasure. He curled his fingers up against her walls and with each breath, she was spilling some noise to him like treasured secrets. 

Her release was building in the deepest pit of her gut, hot and heavy and begging to be poured out. Her cup nearly filled to the brim. It was a feeling she never wanted to leave but so desperately wanted to take over the edge. 

“Jake…” she managed to pant out as some warning. 

“Can feel it, little one — squeezing my fingers so tight. Think you can take another?”

She sobbed something frustrated as he retracted his hand, but all of it was smothered into whimpers when she felt the tips of three of his thick digits prod at her entrance. Jake pushed back in slow, moving onto his knees between her legs so he could hold her down with his palm flat against her stomach. Keeping her from taking too much at once. Her walls spasmed around his fingers once he was down to the third knuckle, his thumb pressed into her clit and rubbing tight circles that eased the ache. Ronnie’s chest heaved, the stretch delicious as her hands fisted the sheets until her knuckles turned white. 

She cried, nearly a scream, when he flexed his hand. Head thrown back to expose her pale neck and eyes screwed shut. She felt so full, but she knew it wasn’t full enough. It wasn’t him. Jake moaned at the sight. 

“Fuck, little one — you look so good like this,” he breathed, flexing his fingers again and watching as she mewled. 

“Please, move, Jake — please, so close,” Ronnie babbled, rolling her hips as much as she could under his strong hold. 

He began to pump his fingers, never fully leaving her cunt as he curled them against some spot inside her she was never able to reach. She cried out as she was brought right back to that edge, as her cup threatened to overflow, as her pleasure became intense and burning hot inside her. 

“That’s it, sweet girl, that’s it,” Jake panted as he removed his hand from her belly, letting her ride his fingers at her own quickening pace. “Feel so good already — can’t wait to be inside this pussy. Claim you as mine. Have me dripping out of you.” 

Her cup spilled over. Wrenched from her with a scream and her back arched and her walls around his fingers like a vice — sucking him back in as he worked her through it. It made something like a sob get caught in her chest as she blinked up at the ceiling, trying to come back down from an impossible high. Her bones went limp, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. But Jake kept going, kept curling and pushing. He had slowed down to prolong her pleasure, but he was quickly getting back to that brutal pace. 

“W-Wait,” she whined, already feeling herself teetering on the precipice. 

“Just one more, gimme one more.”

A feeble sound of protest slipped from her parted lips as she burrowed her face into the wrinkled blankets. But she made no move to stop him as he leaned back over her, lips and tongue hot and heavy against her neck. The muscles in her thighs twitched in time with the press of his palm against her clit. 

She came with a soft cry, a moan directly in Jake’s ear, though it was just as intense. Just as brutal. Just as overwhelming. And when it all became too much, she grabbed weakly at his forearm and tugged. He obliged her, pulling his thick digits from her dripping core. Ronnie whimpered at the sudden emptiness. Eyes unable to focus as she gazed up at the wood of her slanted ceiling.

But then Jake took over her field of vision and she smiled. His hair was messed, dangling over his forehead from all her pulling. There was sweat on his brow and his lips were swollen and pink. He looked beautiful. Otherworldly. A true Alpha. 

Her fingertips reached and traced the line of his beard across his cheek. Jake’s eyes slipped shut at the gentle, barely there touch. 

“Hi,” she whispered. 

He chuckled lightly as he pressed his forehead into her own. “Hey, little one. D’you feel okay? Do we need to stop?”

“I feel more than okay,” Ronnie replied, fingers threading through the hairs on his chest. “And if you stop now I might cry.”

“Thank, God,” he laughed, relieved.

A sudden thought occurred to her. 

“You should know — I have an IUD,” Ronnie said, hooking her legs around his waist in some subconscious effort to keep him as close as possible. “But, I’ll…I’ll make an appointment to get it removed as soon as possible.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want — “ 

“I want to. God, I want to,” she insisted, pushing her forehead harder against his own. “Wanna be full of you, my Alpha.”

Jake growled. His hand, still wet with her juices, trailed down her front to ghost over her stomach. His cock twitched against her thigh. No doubt thinking about putting a pup inside her. And she wanted it. She wanted it more than anything. It was what she was made for, chosen for. To give him all the pups he could ever desire, to make his pack stronger, to pass his legacy and power on to. She longed to be full and swollen with him, with her Alpha, with his seed. 

But all of that would have to wait for now.

“Ronnie,” Jake whispered into her neck as he drove his hips into her own, his still-clothed length brushing against her. 

She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. His eyes, red as rubies, were hooded with desire, but reluctant. She pecked him on the lips once, twice, before nodding against his forehead. 

“I’m ready. Make me yours.”

Jake nodded back before jumping up from the bed and ridding himself of his sweats, revealing himself fully to Ronnie who still lay blissed out in the center of the bed. He looked like the muse of an ancient Grecian sculptor. All that muscle, that perfect V pointing down to his cock, erect and perfect. All held up by strong, thick legs. He was golden and hairy and all her’s and the thought of it made her smile. 

Crawling back into the bed between her legs, Jake grabbed his shaft and aligned himself with her entrance. The moment his tip stroked her folds, Ronnie gasped, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. Overwhelmed tears began to prick at the corners of her brown eyes as he positioned himself at the base of her core. Then he began to push inward. At first, it felt good, her mouth dropping open and eyes rolling to the back of her head. Then there was an acute and peculiar pain as she widened for the head. But all she did was grimace through the discomfort. She was made for this. It would only last a few minutes. It was the pleasure she would remember, it was Jake’s nearly pained face as he used every fiber of his control, it was the way she heard the sheets ripping beneath his clenched fists, it was the way everything felt like Jake and it felt like home. 

He paused halfway inside her, breathing heavily as he bumped his head softly against her own. 

“Alright?” he asked gently. 

Ronnie nodded, afraid what sound would come out of her if she did open her mouth. But a whimper fell from her lips as he continued to push forward. Oh, God, there’s more? Jake immediately stopped again. Eyebrows pinched in concern. 

“Don’t stop,” she croaked, taking a few calming breaths. “I can take it.” 

Jake nodded before he finished out his thrust, slowly, both of their breaths ragged. But he stilled once he bottomed out inside her. Ronnie continued to breathe deeply, head tilted back as she adjusted to his size. She felt stretched to the limit, filled to the brim. It was everything she ever wanted and too much and never enough. The overwhelmed tears that had been building in her eyes finally fell. But Jake wiped them away with ease.

One hand releasing from his arms, Ronnie swiped her hand between their bodies — fingers brushing over her sternum and abdomen. Until she found what she was looking for. 

The lowest part of her belly bulged around him. It made her moan as she pushed down on it gently. 

“Oh — fuck,” Jake hissed as he spasmed on top of her, fist pounding into the mattress. 

“My Alpha,” she whispered. “Feel so full.”

“F-Feel so good, little one, so tight. Shit. Could — Could come just like this,” he babbled, mindless, lost in the feeling of her. It made her smile. “Can I move? Unh, please?”

Ronnie nodded as she moved her hips slightly. “Please.”

He pulled out only the tiniest bit before grinding his hips back into hers. She made some noise like she’d just been punched in the gut. It felt like he was holding her heart in his hand, squeezing it to the point of bursting. She could barely breathe. He kept his thrusts slow and deliberate, not wanting to hurt her or go too fast.

“Jake,” she sighed as a heat bloomed through her veins, like the light from a freshly born star — white hot and spreading. 

“Feel good?” he asked, voice strained. 

Her hands on his shoulders, she could feel the tension there. The restraint. He was holding himself back. Holding back the beast inside him that longed to take what was his. Just for her. For her pleasure. For her pain. She put her hand on the back of his neck and forced him to meet her gaze — meeting him thrust for thrust. 

“Let go,” she told him softly, reverently, “Jake, claim me.”

He stared down at her for only a moment. Searching for any hesitence. Any uncertainty. But she knew he would find none as she kissed him soundly.

With a growl, he pulled nearly completely out of her, then slammed back in. The moan she released ripped from somewhere deep inside her. Ronnie brought him down to her for a teeth-filled kiss, sloppy and desperate and noises captured in one another’s throats. The now rough snap of his hips sent her rocking back into the mattress. Ronnie clawed at his back, moaning into his mouth, as she resisted the urge to close her eyes against the mounting pleasure. At just how good he felt as he pounded into her. She wanted to see every expression that passed over his face, every noise that came out of his mouth. 

She felt him twitch inside her as he bared his teeth, revealing his sharp fangs that she could never fear. Then he scraped them against the side of her neck, marking her as his and his only. His scent bloomed around her, citrus and bonfires, overwhelming her every sense. Made her dizzy as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

A cry tumbled from her lips, wanton and echoing, as she came around him. As her entire being became electric, a live wire, a roaring flame prepared to burn the world down. Jake’s thrusts became sloppy and rough, stunted as he roared — spilling his seed and coating her walls with it. He gave a few more short rolls of his hips, letting her milk him for all that he was worth. 

She smiled as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, as she relished the feeling of being his. In every sense of the word. Marked and stretched and claimed and filled with Jake. Her Alpha. His Luna. 

Ronnie’s eyes opened wide, however, when she realized he was still hard inside her. He hadn’t gone soft at all. 

“Shit, R-Ronnie…” Jake whimpered as he propped himself up further, looking down at the point where their bodies met with a furrowed brow. “It’s not — it won’t — “ 

She groaned as he started moving again. Her cunt so sensitive after just coming. She could feel his spend leaking out of her and onto the sheets. Jake planted his knees and drew her up into his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips. She choked at the change in angle which somehow drove him deeper inside of her — making him hit something that made her forget everything except his name. 

“Jake,” she gasped softly as she tangled her arms around his shoulders, pulled him as close as she could get him. 

“I can’t stop,” he replied, his hold on her hips tight as he thrusted up into her at a brutal pace. “Feels too — too good…”

“Jake,” she whimpered again. 

Ronnie came sudden and sharp and powerful. Another cry dead in her throat, turned into a choked moan that barely slipped past her lips as she buried her face in her mate’s neck. Then he filled her again with a soft oomf — one arm bracing her lower back as he fell forward onto his hand. Shoulders curled around her as he buried his face in her hair. 

He laid her back down on the bed completely, untucking her legs from around his waist and pulling out with a pained sound. All Ronnie could do was grunt at the loss. She now felt so empty without him. But she also felt so incredibly tired. So incredibly happy. So incredibly home. 

Something warm was pressed against her aching core and she hummed appreciatively. Then she was lifted, set back down where the pillows were beneath her head. 

“Rest, my little Luna,” Jake whispered to her as he pulled the covers over her naked form. 

“Wake me up if you need me,” she muttered back, eyes already closed and thoughts already drifting between awakeness and dreams. 

He chuckled. “You’d be awake forever if I did that. You’d go insane.” 

“What a wonderful insanity it would be, though,” she sighed. 

And then she was asleep.

“God, the fire really did a number on this place, huh?” Ronnie asked as she compared the photo Jake had handed her and the structure standing before her now. 

In the photo, the log cabin was beautiful. Made by Jake’s own two hands. Months, maybe even years of hard work. There was a front deck. Green tile roof. A chimney made of stone. She could just make out carvings in the stair posts. There was even a pair of rocking chairs sitting out on the deck. She had to wonder if he made those himself too. He probably did. 

But what laid before her now was nothing but a foundation, the chimney covered in scorch marks, and the still remaining pieces of the framework. The rest was all reduced to a black and grey heap. 

Jake heaved a heavy sigh, hand carding through his hair, as he looked at the place. At what remained of the home he built.

Then he said, around yet another sigh, “Yeah.” 

Ronnie slipped the photo into her back pocket before wrapping him up in a hug. He threw his arm around her shoulder, wide palm rubbing up and down the fabric of the flannel covering her arm. 

“Just think, we get to build this one together this time,” she said as she continued to look at the frankly pitiful remnants. 

But she could see the potential. What they could build together. The new deck with the new rocking chairs. The beautiful kitchen where she could cook hearty meals. The living room where the pack could feel at home. The bedrooms filled with the sounds of children. She leaned into him further as she grinned. 

Looking down at her, Jake smiled. “I like the sound of that.” 

“I’m only gonna do it though if you let me use the power tools.” 

“I’m not gonna let you use the power tools.” He shook his head.

“Oh, come on, please?” she whined, squeezing him just a little tighter.

“Just once,” he relented, and she cheered. 

The rest of the pack pulled up the long gravel driveway. Each of them ready to work. They hopped out of the bed of Frank’s truck with toolbelts and buckets and trashbags ready to haul the ash away. To make the place ready for the rebuild.

It was a symbol of a fresh start for all of them. For Ronnie. For Jake. For Red Sky. Gone were the things that held them down, that haunted them, that held them back. They were free. Free to move forward, free to forge their own path, free to grow and soar and be. Together. As a pack. As a family.

“Let’s get to work.”

werewolf!topgun taglist: @blue-aconite @darkestbeforethedawn16 @supernaturaldawning @illisius @hope-love-equality2 @wanderingdetectives @sqrlgrl22 @dempy @theforevermorereject @the-untamed-soul @emandems10 @xxshea-barnesxx @piceous21 @sopheeg @ollyoxenfrees @luckyladycreator2 @newlibrary @himbos-on-ice @gigisimsonmars @agentminnesota187 @indynerdgirl @mellark-studio @smoothdogsgirl @kkrenae @laracrofted @mayhem24-7forever @abaker74

[itchyeye]

~1.5k words of two small scenes from a larger wip au; elias upgrades jon’s wardrobe

In his early morning reverie, he failed to plant his smooth-soled workboot with enough resolve on the next rain slicked marble step and felt himself slip. He realized that rather than ascending the Institute steps, they were rushing up eagerly to meet his face. Before he had time to stick his arm out to try and break his short, wet fall, someone had grabbed him and pulled him back upright. His rescuer pulled harder than Jon's frame would have warranted, and he staggered backwards, catching himself with a hand against their chest.

It was Elias. His left hand was wrapped firmly around Jon's upper arm, his right held his large black umbrella over them both. He wore a knee length burgundy overcoat and black leather gloves.

"Alright, Jon?"

"Yes, thank you." Jon said dryly.  His raincoat swished under Elias' fingers. He made no move to free himself from his grip.

I should take my hand off his chest, Jon thought. He heard a bus pass over the street below them, its brakes squealing in their efforts against the slick pavement. I should say something and I should take my hand off his chest. He thought again. He cleared his throat. He flexed his fingers. The rain continued.

Elias took his hand off Jon's arm and gestured forward towards the Institute's main entrance. Jon turned, and Elias gracefully moved to switch his umbrella to his left hand to cover them as they walked up the remaining steps. Jon remembered a time two years ago when Elias had extended the same favor. It had rained hundreds of times since then. Thousands. And Jon still didn't bring an umbrella to work. He wondered, angrily and dimly in the back alley of his mind reserved for self flagellation, if he had been hoping it might happen again. That he might be rescued again. He scowled at the thought.

Elias held the door open for him and turned to shake the rain off his umbrella before coming inside. He walked past and around Jon to face him, placing the tip of his umbrella against the marble floor with a sharp, resounding tap<.

"Jon, it's freezing out there. Is this really the warmest thing you own?"

"What? Oh," Jon looked down at his grey ziptop fleece and tan Mackintosh, "Uh... I uhm. I run hot.”

Elias reached out his free hand and ran it down the length of Jon's lapel, pressing the (admittedly thin) fabric between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index finger. He tutted.

"Surely, Jon, we pay you enough to upkeep your winter wardrobe. This is positively Dickensian."

Jon felt the blood rush to his cheeks, "It's-- yes. I mean-- sorry."

Elias' mouth, already poised in a sly, easy smile, twitched up at the corners. "I'm not scolding you, Jon. There's no need to apologize."

"S-" Jon began. He shut his eyes for a moment and pressed his mouth into a line. God, he sounded so much like Martin when he stammered. "Yes, alright."

Elias' hand, still resting on Jon's lapel, moved up, his gloved fingers brushing lightly over his chest as it made the journey. He ran his palm along the full length of Jon's shoulder, from the side of his neck to the seam in his fleece. "Hm," he said.

"Hm?" said Jon, feeling the blistering heat in the tips of his ears.

Elias looked up from his hand, something sparking in his deep grey eyes. His next gesture he made so quickly and so naturally that Jon couldn't process the novelty of it until he had left. He raised his hand to the side of Jon's face, cupped his jaw, and thumbed his nose. His eyes crinkled, and he turned to leave.

"I'll see you on Friday," he called back, without turning his head, "Good morning, Kelly!”

Jon stood still and said nothing, his mind having gone utterly blank.

"Come in, Jon."

Elias' voice was clear and resonant through the hallway, as if he was standing right in front of him. Jon poked his head in through the door frame and saw him seated at his desk. He had a steaming mug sitting by his left hand. Jon approached with his two paper coffee cups. Elias turned toward him and his eyes widened in surprise.

"I brought you a coffee," said Jon. Idiot. He said to himself. Obviously you brought him a coffee. Why the hell else would you be carrying two coffees?

"Yes, I can see that," said Elias.

I wish I were dead, thought Jon.

"That's very thoughtful of you, thank you, Jon," said Elias with a smile, and reached for his cup. Jon handed it to him, trying not to feel that it was being taken out of pity.

"Dark roast, no cream, three sugars," said Jon, pulling out his chair. "Hope I got that right," he added casually, and then glanced down. There was a garment box on his seat. An elegant ivory garment box tied with a silky cream colored ribbon.

"You did," said Elias around the lid of his paper cup. Jon looked up and saw him sipping from it, watching him from over the shining gold rims of his glasses. "Open it."

Jon looked back down at the beautifully packaged gift. It was the kind of wrapping you had someone behind a glass counter do for you. Someone who had a selection of ribbons and an imposing set of shears to cut them with. No one had ever given him anything wrapped like that. Tentatively, he pulled the ribbons loose and gently lifted the lid. It came away easily, which caught him by surprise. The all-white packaging had primed him for the slow descent of an Apple product box. But no, the lid of this garment box, made of sturdy, carefully folded cardstock, came away easily from its base to reveal a swath of grey fabric.

Elias had stood and rounded his desk in the time it took Jon to open the box. He was right behind him, standing so close that Jon could feel his breath against his neck when he reached past him to pull the coat from its packaging. He reached out his other arm to hold it up by both shoulders, framing Jon between his outstretched arms, holding him in place with his chest against his back.

It was a long peacoat, made of heavy grey wool with matte black buttons and broad lapels that could be pulled up to protect your neck from the wind. My neck, thought Jon. The inner lining was a glossy black, embroidered with gold thread in a minuscule repeating pattern that looked at first like snake scales. As he stared at it, Jon realized that it was a field of eyes, each nestled perfectly against its thousand identical siblings, sewn so delicately and so closely together that they blended into a sort of netting if you unfocused your vision.

"Do you like it?" said Elias. He was looking straight out at the coat in front of them, but as they stood his mouth was so close to Jon's ear that he didn't need to raise his voice above a whisper.

"Well, it's not coffee," said Jon.

Elias smiled, and Jon could hear the shape of his mouth in his sharp exhale. "No, there I'm afraid I've been upstaged."

He moved, dropping his arms from around Jon and stepping back, holding the coat out in front of him so Jon could step into it. He did, letting Elias place it over his shoulder and smooth it down his arms. He stepped back again to admire his work. Jon brought his hands to the lapels, feeling down their length before moving to explore the pockets. It was pleasantly heavy, well structured but soft, and incredibly warm. It also fit him like a glove. Like it had been tailored for him. Jon turned to look at Elias' exceptionally satisfied face and realized that when he had passed his hand over his chest in the front lobby on Wednesday he had perfectly eyeballed his measurements.

"Well?"

"It's certainly not Dickensian."

"That was indeed my intention."

Jon lowered his eyes and spoke to Elias' oxfords. They were black and white spats, today, smartly contrasting his pale grey slacks. His socks were mauve argyle. "It's... beautiful, Elias. Thank you." He risked a glance up and quickly averted his eyes again. "I really don't know what to say."

"Thank you was sufficient, Jon," Elias hummed, "I'm very happy you like it."

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices!Series Part Eleven: One Day At A - Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @camelia35 @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @gracerosaleigh @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @corruptedcoffin

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

Part Three: Fair Trade (Feat: Miguel Galindo) - Miguel puts you in a tough position.

Part Four: Slaughterhouse Rules - Miguel feeds you to the wolves.

Part Five: Stay With Me - Nestor deals with the aftermath.

Part 6: Run - Nestor can’t give you what you need.

Part Seven: Partners in Crime (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus asks Coco to reach out.

Part Eight: What Happens In Reno - What you got up to in Reno.

Part Nine: Don't Give Up (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus takes Nestor under his wing and Coco reaches out.

It’s 2am in the morning and you’re asleep on Nestor’s bed, back where you belong. His sheets tucked neatly around you, an additional fleece blanket laid carefully on top because the thing with blood loss is, it makes you feel cold. Nestor’s been there, he knows what he’s doing.

Nestor’s sitting beside you, his back against the headboard as he reads from one of the books you’d left on your nightstand. He’s tried to keep a respectable distance but as always you seek him out. You’re tucked up against his side in the foetal position, the low rhythmic sound of your breathing in his ears. He thinks about the nights the two of you had spent apart and how he craved this, you back with him, in his bed.

You moan, shifting slightly and Nestor puts the book down on his end table because he can see your eyes flicking awake. You’re groggy and disoriented, you passed out in a hotel room with a dragon water stain on the ceiling and now your somewhere else, somewhere that feel familiar but not at the same time.

“Hey.” Nestor’s voice rumbles through your consciousness as you struggle to comprehend your surroundings. “You’re safe, you’re at home with me. Coco and Stitches brought you back.”

The words penetrate through to your foggy brain as your hand reaches for his, fingers entwining. You need something to ground you right now, everything is fluid, your thoughts ebbing through your mind like fast moving river. They flow through your fingers like water, slipping away before you can grasp them.

“I’m sorry.” You croak, your eyes burning as he squeezes your fingers to reassure you. “Christ Nes, I’m sorry. I…”

He shushes you, his hand cupping your face, his thumb ghosting over the bruising that mars your cheek. You look like hell, and he knows it’s only going to get worse over the next few days as you start to heal. His lips brush over the tears leak from your eyes, he can taste the salt on his tongue before his forehead comes to rest gently on yours.

“It’s ok.” He whispers as he looks into your eyes. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

There’s an honesty in his words and it touches something deep down inside of you. You’re wild, and messy, borderline feral. Anyone else would have called it quits after you’d disappeared but not Nestor, when he says he loves you, he means it. To him that means showing up, sticking around. He’s loyal to a fault, this man, ride or die.

“I don’t deserve you.” You murmur as the tiredness overtakes you again. It’s heavy, like a wave cresting over your head, forcing you down, shoving you under. You’re eyes are fluttering closed, you try to fight it but the comfort of Nestor’s presence and the weight of the blankets are too much, you can feel yourself slipping away.

“Yes, you do.” Nestor whispers into your hairline. “You deserve me, the same way that I deserve you.”

******************************************************************

It’s late in the afternoon when you finally make it out of the bedroom, despite the hours you’ve slept you still feel exhausted. You feel weak, barely able to force yourself out of bed. Getting changed is something akin to agony, you manage to strip off and toss your clothes into the bin alongside the dresser before taking the time to examine yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, a patchwork of bruises from the body blows Eddie had rained on you. You’d thought your face was bad, but your torso is a hundred times worse. No wonder you’re stiff and sore as hell. You take a minute to examine the stab wound, you’re appreciative of Stitches work, she’s cleaned you up nicely. So long as you behave and don’t make any erratic movements you should heal up well. You manage to slip into one of Nestor’s t shirts, the scent of fresh laundry clings to it and soothes something deep inside of you. Being here, around his things, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, it feels like home.

You lean in the doorway watching as he moves through the kitchen with his headphones on, head bobbing to the music. He moves with the gracefulness of a large feline predator, his motions fluid and in sync with the rest of his body. His long dexterous fingers caress the handles of the knives in the chopping block before he selects one and oddly it does something to you. Everything he’s doing is innocuous. He’s simply chopping spinach and mixing eggs but there’s beauty in the domesticity, it makes your pulse quicken, which in turn makes you dizzy.

When you collapse into one of the chairs at the dining table, he catches the movement, turning to face you, removing his headphones and setting them down on the counter. You know you look like a horror show but Nestor doesn’t seem to see it, he looks at you the same way he always has, with reverence and tenderness. Your mouth goes dry as you drink him in. It’s been over three months since you actually laid eyes on him and it makes your heart hurt to actually be sitting here in his presence.

His hair is loose, untamed curls falling over his shoulders, he’s wearing the Method Man t-shirt that David bought for him. It had been the last gig they had attended together before the accident. He opens the fridge and pours you a glass of orange juice before setting it down on the table in front of you.

“It’ll help with the weakness.” He tells you before returning the carton to the fridge.

He knows, of course he knows. He’s been here at some point, banged up, bruised and bloody. You sip from it gratefully and he gives you a look as you set the glass back down on the table.

“All of it.”

You roll your eyes before picking up the glass again and gulping it down. Nestor watches with satisfaction before taking the glass and putting it into the sink.

“You can take your medication after you’ve finished this omelette I’m making.” He tells you, gesturing at the various pill bottles on top of the microwave. “Taking them on an empty stomach will make you sick.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You tell him. “You don’t need to look after me, give me the day I’ll find somewhere…”

Nestor freezes, you see the tension in his shoulders before he fixes you with his gaze, his voice firm as he speaks.

“Rosa, I need you to stop running.”

He calls you by your first name, something he never does and it hits you like a gut punch because it means that something has changed, and you know that’s on you. He exhales as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I just need you to stay in one place and let me take care of you.” he tells you. “You’re injured right now; it’s going to take some time to recover. You have a place here if you want it…” His palm rubs over the back of his neck as he regards you, because the truth is, he doesn’t know what you want anymore. “Whatever is going on with you, I want to help but you’ve got to stop shutting me out, this thing between us only works if we’re honest with each other. If you don’t want that, if it’s too intense, that’s fine but you still have this place as a sanctuary, a place you can come to when the world doesn’t make sense.  That is unconditional.”

There’s a ferocity in his words, you can sense the honesty in them. This is Nestor putting his cards on the table because you can’t go on the way you have been, you realised that in Reno. So, you decide to tell him the truth, because you can’t go on pretending that things are ok anymore.

“What happened in the slaughterhouse, it put me in a backslide. There were things about Afghanistan that I don’t remember, my memories of that day are hazy, there are fragments missing, I made peace with that, it’s part of the trauma.” You pause, remembering how your therapist explained it back when you were still attending counselling. “However since that day, I’ve been getting flashbacks, nightmares, things that don’t make sense to me and I drive myself crazy trying to fit them all together. Sometimes I feel like I’m back there, reliving what happened to me and…”

You trail off, pressing your fingers to your lips to hold back the rush of emotion you can feel threatening to overwhelm you.

“I blame Miguel for it, I was ok before that. Things were good, I was in the best place I had been in a long time and it feels like he took that from me… “

You look at Nestor because you want him to see the truth in your eyes when you tell him the next part.

“I wanted to kill him Nes, I planned it, I fantasied about it, but whenever I got to the point of putting it into practice I couldn’t do it because I knew what it would do to you and that tore me up inside. The man I love and the man I hate, so fucking intertwined.”

“So, you left.” He said softly.

“Yea.” You tell him, focusing on the colourful fridge magnets that weren’t there before you left. “And it didn’t help. Everything is still the same. I’m still broken, still a mess, I still can’t sleep, things that didn’t used to bother me still do. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, I don’t know how to live with this.”

Nestor sighed before stepping towards you and sinking to his knees on the linoleum, his fingertips grazed your chin lightly, tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

“One day at a time.” He tells you. “We deal with it, together. One day at a time.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[zenonaa]

30, ikuzono 👉👈

Too quick, mumbled into your scarf

When Mukuro Ikusaba was fourteen-years-old, a freak snowstorm struck her squad’s camp on a mountain in the Sinai Peninsula. The Fenrir Mercenary Group’s search team didn’t discover them until three weeks later, by which time Mukuro was the only one who hadn’t frozen to death. 

Upon being questioned by her rescuers about how she survived, she stated, “I’ve trained heavily in this sort of environment.”

Growing up, she spent many winter evenings outside various bars and izakayas. She would stand and wait while Junko flocked between different establishments. The twins started doing this in elementary school and continued even after enrolling at Hope’s Peak. Even though they didn’t have to anymore. They no longer had to beg or steal or flirt to survive. They didn’t live on the streets.

Yet Junko still regularly drags Mukuro to alleyways fleeced with izakayas and bars.

“Stay here,” says Junko, bundled up in a white leopard coat that looks far warmer than Mukuro’s school blazer. Just seeing Junko’s Monobear earmuffs, commissioned from the Super High School Level Cosplayer, makes Mukuro’s ears burn with desire. Or it could be the onset of hypothermia.

Though the evening has only recently started sinking its teeth in, snow has been gushing down for hours. When Mukuro survived that snowstorm all those years ago, she fashioned herself appropriate wear from the camp’s supplies and growing pile of corpses. Here, she wears her school uniform. Short skirt. Shoes with thin soles. Shirt that becomes dangerously translucent when wet. She’ll endure this storm, like she has all the others, but it won’t be comfortable. At all.

“Please can I come in with you?” asks Mukuro as snow whips her face.

A scowl flits onto Junko.

“Don’t you remember?” Junko wags a gloved finger. 

At the same time, they say, “Mukuro-chan can’t accompany Junko-chan because she is far too ugly and smelly and has the charm of a slug.”

“That’s right,” says Junko, beaming. She pats Mukuro’s frigid cheek before strutting away, bathed in neon signs and red lanterns’ glows until she disappears inside a bar.

A sigh escapes Mukuro. Each time she asks, the outcome is always the same. Junko often says Mukuro isn’t as stubborn as a mule, but as stupid as one. Mukuro parks her butt against a wall and pulls her phone out of her blazer pocket. When she was with Fenrir, one of her comrades introduced her to a trademarked lettered tile game. The mobile app helped her improve her English, and whenever she saw a word tile with a letter and number on it, she remembered him fondly. Shame a landmine blew him to tiny pieces.

It’s a decent pastime, and the texture on her gloves allows for Mukuro to touch her phone screen without taking them off. However, as more snow falls, the screen starts playing up. Apps open and close without her doing the appropriate touches. Letter tiles ricochet off the sides of the screen. Grimacing, she puts her phone away and tucks her hands under her armpits, and she waits for her sister to return.

And she waits.

And she waits.

And she wai-

“Ikusaba-san?”

Mukuro turns her head an inch, working against the snow piled all over her. Sayaka Maizono blinks, dressed nice and cosy in a red winter dress with fake fur trim and a matching shoulder shawl. Her blue hair writhes in the wind, yet her wool beret perches firmly on her head. The pink scarf around her neck flutters elegantly. She looks like she’s from a brochure, while Mukuro resembles a snowman. Only instead of a carrot, Mukuro looks like she has a tomato wedged on her face with twin icicles sticking out the bottom.

It’s a wonder Sayaka recognised her. Or wanted to associate with her.

“Are you all right?” asks Sayaka, brow crinkling. Mukuro tries to open her mouth, but her lips have frozen shut. She licks at the join until they come apart.

Then she says, “Ick ine.”

Sayaka’s frown deepens as she steps up to Mukuro. When she raises her hand, Mukuro tenses. But Sayaka doesn’t hit her. Instead, she brushes snow from Mukuro’s shoulders and face. She sweeps it out of her short dark hair too.

Each touch feels like the caress of a blade. Mukuro’s nerves light up, and blood pounds between her ears. At any moment, Sayaka could dig a finger into her flesh, or try to sink her teeth into Mukuro’s pale neck. If she did, at least Mukuro would know what to do. She knows every counter to every attack, but when it comes to Sayaka’s soft hands, her mind draws a blank.

“There. Much better,” says Sayaka, smiling. “I can see your face now.”

If it had been Junko, she would have put a paper bag over Mukuro’s head instead. Mukuro’s heart thunders. Though Sayaka has taken her hands off Mukuro, they’re still standing close together. Too close. Snowflakes dust Sayaka’s eyelashes. Perfume, jasmine and earthy, weaves through the flurry of snow and stabs up Mukuro’s nose. The smart thing to do would be to shove Sayaka away, because if Junko discovered them, discovered how Sayaka could immobilise Mukuro just by stroking her cheek, then Mukuro would be deemed faulty. Useless. Disposable.

“Enoshima-san must be so happy to have a sister as dependable as you,” says Sayaka.

Mukuro stiffens. “How’d...?”

Sayaka cocks her head, lips curtseyed in a grin. “I read your mind.” 

When Mukuro touches her hands to her temples, as if checking whether her thoughts are leaking out from there, Sayaka giggles. It’s a small, delicate sound that Mukuro wants to grab out of the air and bottle.

“I’m joking. I have good intuition. You are funny, Ikusaba-san.” Sayaka gets her phone out of her coat pocket and frowns. “Ah, I have a meeting with my agent soon. I would love to keep you company, but I can’t be late. He told me off pretty badly last time.”

Her lips twist in thought. Mukuro’s gaze gets sucked into them.

“I hate to leave you... so this will suffice.” Sayaka unwraps her scarf and layers it around Mukuro’s neck. “There. It’ll almost be like I’m still with you.”

Mukuro strokes it gently, her face aflame. It’s almost like... an embrace. A hug. Junko would kill her if she knew. Sayaka may as well have laid a noose on her, yet she doesn’t want to remove it. Not yet. Stupid as a mule.

“I love you,” whispers Mukuro into the scarf.

“What did you say?” asks Sayaka, squinting. Mukuro twitches.

“I um... said... I... love... stew!”

She tosses her head back and barks out some laughter. In front of her, Sayaka stares, but then a grin eases onto her face.

“Another time, I’ll cook you up some nikujaga,” she promises Mukuro. “I’ll see you later.”

Sayaka wiggles her fingers then walks away. It takes only a few paces for the warmth in Mukuro to start fading. She fidgets with the scarf, staring after Sayaka. No one has ever given her something so soft, so pretty before. Then she realises that Sayaka probably only meant to lend it to her.

“W-When do you want it back?” Mukuro calls after her.

“Give it to me tomorrow,” Sayaka says before winking. “Over hot chocolate. Yuri Café, seven o’clock.”

The snowstorm consumes Sayaka. Her blue hair gives another flutter before vanishing along with the rest of her. Wind whistles in Mukuro’s ears as she takes off the scarf and tucks it under her blazer, holds it against her chest. Over her heart.

“You are so gay,” says Junko in her ear, her voice shooting razorsharp chills through Mukuro.

“I... I...” Mukuro stammers.

Junko laughs and rests an arm on Mukuro’s shoulder. “Relax, Muku-chan. I’m not mad. I’m ecstatic, in fact.”

“You are?”

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face. Seeing you awkwardly bumble and crash and burn is much funnier than me intervening. If I was to ruin things, it’d be like, totally unfulfilling and cheap. It’d be like if instead of my intellect and cunning, I used some nerd’s video to hypnotise people into despair. Cheap! Lame!”

Mukuro doesn’t understand the allegory, but she understands that Junko has let her keep the scarf. Junko leads Mukuro to the next street and dumps her outside another bar. As Mukuro hugs herself, she finds herself plenty warm enough without wearing the scarf on her neck.

Or it’s the onset of hypothermia.