#ten stitch blanket

[emeraldthesilent]

The yarn is garbage but it's too pretty to hate

(Yarn is red heart boutique but I've heard similar complaints for similar yarn in other brands)

The pattern is free, I personally use ealachan's modifications.

[theprojectpile]

Update on the ten stitch blanket WIP! I've reached orange!! I'm going in a rainbow order and I'm using up most of my left over yarn. This yarn I'm using right now is scheepjes colour crafter which is super soft acrylic DK weight, but the rest of the blanket is worsted or heavier, so I wound the cake so that I can hold two strands at the same time.

[daughter-of-ophelia]

How to Knit a Mitered Corner WITHOUT Wrap and Turns - part 1

I found the original directions for the mitered corners in the Ten Stitch Blanket very confusing (I frogged it four times), but this tutorial is supremely helpful

[brkmydrms]

An update on the Ten Stitch Crochet Vacation Blanket.

[uncanny-tranny]

Something kind of funny I never anticipated about crocheting with longer hair was pulling out a piece of my own hair out of my project that I somehow crocheted into it

[ahauntedcowboy]

having to take a break from my crochet projects because my wrists aches OOF

[winkwonkwankwenk]

Pillow Princess - Nanami x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

SFW/NSFW

☆*: .｡.Summary .｡.:*☆

Nanami comes home from work pissy, raises his voice at you, and then has to make-up for it.

Nanami pushes the front door open, fist clenched around his briefcase. Meeting after meeting, his boss had pissed off his entire department- leaving him to deal with their complaints the rest of the day. Now he was finally home but the stress of the day still weighed down on him like bricks on a weak foundation. 

“Honey, I’m home.” He fumes while fumbling with his tie. “Dammit!”

Your hands gently move his aside, undoing his tie in seconds. You’ve had plenty of practice since most nights he comes home so exhausted he passes out on the couch. Normally he smiles a little when you help him, but today a frown is stitched onto his face. You pout, trying to cheer him up with a delicious dinner but he picks at his food, eyes glued to his phone as he works overtime.

“What happened to keeping work at work?” You mumble, thinking back to the rules the two of you had set when you had moved in together.

“I’ll be done in a minute.” He doesn’t even look up at you, too busy typing away.

“It’s been ten minutes-”

“And I’m still not fucking done!” His hand slams down on the table, shaking it so hard his plate slips off of it and shatters on the floor.

His eyes widen when he sees the tears welling in your eyes, he’s never raised his voice at you before. Tears flood your face as you storm off, your feet slamming against the steps. He calls out for you but you don’t answer. You spent hours making him the perfect roast just for him to knock it away. You even got his favorite bread rolls! You had done everything in the house the way he likes it with the hopes of having a relaxing night with him only for his mood to dampen your spirits. You slam the bedroom door and curl up under the plush blankets on your bed, bursting into tears. Why did you think tonight would be different?

Nanami leans back in his chair, hand dragging down his face. He owed you an apology, but words weren’t enough. He pulled his coat back on and the last thing you heard before falling asleep was the front door closing. You wake up to a gentle knock against the door, eyes swollen from crying and head pounding. The door creaks open as Nanami peeks in, a charcuterie board in one hand and a bottle of Rosé wine in the other. His eyes soften as you turn away, arms crossed over your chest. 

“May I come in?” It’s his bedroom too, but he doesn’t want to invade your personal space. 

“...Yes.” You pull the blanket around your shoulders, eyes on the soft carpeted floor. 

Nanami sets the board down on the nightstand, filling two glasses with the wine and softly sitting beside you. You accept a glass from him, sniffling and sipping. The bubbles pop in your dry mouth, the sweet scent making you let out a low hum. He smiles, kissing one of your hands.

“I’m sorry about tonight, I know I haven’t been…myself.” He leans in, hands intertwined with yours as he covers your knuckles in kisses. “I took off work tomorrow.”

You nod.

“Honey…please, how can I make it up to you?” He tilts your chin up and cups your face. “Do you want to go shopping-”

“I want my husband to hold me.” Your voice is choked, shaky as he pulls you into a tight hug. You bury your face into his neck, hot tears spilling from your eyes. 

His arms are big and strong, wrapped tightly around you in a bearhug that’s as warm as bread fresh from an oven. Nanami kisses away your tears, hands massaging your back and shoulders. You sob into his chest, drenching his shirt in your anxieties and insecurities. You shouldn’t be crying like this, he’s the one who was at work all day. If you had been a good wife then he wouldn’t be so stressed out in the first place-

“None of that.”

“N-none of what?” 

“Blaming yourself.”

“How’d you know?”

“Honey, we’ve been married for three years now, I know when you’re being hard on yourself.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear as he kisses your nose, “Tonight was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you. It won’t happen again, I’m sorry.”

A few minutes later, your head is resting on his shoulder as he leans back against the headboard and flips through movies. You nibble on the steak squares and fancy cheeses as you sip wine, giggling when your hair tickles his nose as he lays his head on yours. He tilts your chin up, kissing you, drinking from your mouth as you moan quietly. His hand dips under your nightgown, past your bra, groping your breasts sensually. Your breath hitches, body arching into his touch.

“I’ve been away from home far too long.” His tongue curls around yours as he taps the remote, romantic smooth jazz whispering into the room. Your mouth is sweet, the noises that leave it even sweeter.

“Setting the mood, Kento?” You tease as shaky breaths leave his lips, his eyes half-lidded as you kiss his neck. “Someone’s eager~”

“How can I not be when my gorgeous wife is sitting so prettily in my lap?” He leans his head back, giving you better access. “Y/N, I’m supposed to be treating you-”

“You can after I help you with this-” Your hand presses down on the massive bulge in his pants, “-I know you’re pent up…”

“I…haven’t had time to deal with it.” His breaths are heavy, labored as you stroke his clothed shaft. His adam’s apple bobs as his belt buckle clicks apart, your breath ghosting over his boxers. 

“Well if you’re off tomorrow…we have plenty of time, don’t we?” You pull his boxers down, a smirk sliding onto your face as his legs shake in anticipation. His precum leaks down his shaft and to his heavy balls, your thumb stroking between them as you suck his tip. 

He groans as you take him deeper into your mouth, gently holding your hair back as you gag around his girth. He trusts you to know your limits. You look so pretty like this, sucking his cock as if you’re starved. His abs clench when you press between his aching balls, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hips thrust up to meet your needy mouth, your throat tightening around him like a suction cup. You look up at him, vision blurred as you bury your face in his crotch. His cologne smells so…manly, musky even. You’re surrounded by bright wisps that run up his stomach to his chest, soft to the touch as you press right above his shaft. A strangled moan echoes from his throat, his cock jolting in your throat. Found it. You had gotten curious…looked up a few facts about the male body…learned a few ways to stimulate the prostate…

“Y/N~” His light eyes peek open as his grip on your hair tightens, hand gently tugging your head up. “Wait, wait, wait, wait- dammit~!”

His body spasms under you as he sprays thick ropes down your throat. You look straight into his eyes as you swallow, slowly slipping his cock out until his tip sticks to your tongue and sucking it until he stammers out a plea. You let go of his cock, watching it spring back and hit his stomach. He’s still rock solid, you had forgotten how strong his stamina was. His cock was right against your nose, reeking of his arousal and pulsing. His thumb stroked under your lip, wiping away his release.

“My turn.” He smirks as he unbuttons his shirt painfully slow, tongue tracing his lips as he hungrily stares at your thighs. “Be a good girl and spread wide.”

You lay on your back spreading as far as you can while shaking from anticipation. When was the last time he dicked you down? You used to have sex daily but then he got busy at the office and you had been stuck with a supercharged rose toy that never got the job done. He looms over you, muscles highlighted by the dim lights. His gaze sweeps down to your dripping cunt, fingers sliding down with it until they reach your sensitive bud. Your hips arch as your clit is sandwiched between two of his thick fingers, his tongue tracing wet circles around one of your nipples as he toys with the other. Your thighs try to squeeze together only to be held apart by two sturdy hands as his tongue trails down below your belly to your core.

“So wet…have you missed me that much?” He chuckles quietly as you whimper, his tongue tracing your twitching clit. “Don’t hide from me, let me treat this pretty pussy until it’s red, alright?”

His treat is torture, fingers swirling inside of you, stirring your juices as you squirm. He holds you down by your waist with his freehand, using his other to drag you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dance inside of you, spreading your walls apart and stroking them so fast you worry he’ll rub them smooth. He looks up at you as he holds your slick entrance open, slowly slipping his tongue in. He starts slow, he always does, but before you know it his face is buried nose deep in your pussy. He’s gripping your thighs hard enough to leave a bruise, imprinting his hands in your soft skin. God he wasn’t joking about you being wet, you’re soaking the sheets, coating his face in your juices as he savors your flavor. Sweet, your lower lips stick to his cheeks as he sucks and slurps your walls. 

“Nanami~! Nana-mmh~!” You try to warn him but he’s not listening, his eyes rolled back almost as far as yours. Pleasure explodes inside of you, walls clenching around his tongue as you cry out. “Nanami~!”

He licks up every drop of your juices until your pussy glistens from his spit, massaging your inner thighs as his cock painfully aches between his. You pant, gasping for air as you come down from the high of your orgasm. You haven’t came that hard in so long, and he’s the only one able to make a mess of you like this, the only one who knows how to slide straight into your G-spot and roll his hips so his tip caresses it. He’s the only one that knows how to kiss you, smear your taste across your face so you can know how delicious you are. He’s the only one that gets to fill your mushy mind with ragged breaths as he pants into your ear like a dog in the heat, a dog about to fill up his bitch. All you can do is wither under him, mmh’s and ohmyGodfaster’s spewing from your mouth.

“N-Nanami- na-na-nngh~” Good, so good, you’re melting into a puddle under him as he pummels your pussy.  

“So good, so tight for me.” He grunts as his thrusts stutter, he can’t last much longer. You're sucking him back in every time he tries to pull out even a little. Sweat pours down his body, making his bulging muscles glisten as he lifts your legs above his broad shoulders. Deep, he’s in too deep, too hot, too wet-

“NANAMI~!” He’s so big, hitting your cervix every so often and making you scream loud enough for the neighbors next door to hear. Again, you’re being hit over and over by each strong wave of pleasure, trembling under him from every orgasm. 

He’s in your womb, stirring your queasy stomach like he’s mixing cake batter. The outline of his massive cock pokes from your stomach, his eyes narrowing at the sight of it. Just a little more, a little more and he’ll fill you up so much his outline will fade from your puffed skin. He grabs your ankles, pinning them down above your head as his hips slap against yours. The bed frame creaks and shrieks under his weight, headboard hitting the wall so hard it leaves cracks in the paint. Your moans fuel each frantic thrust until all he can do is tremble while stuffing you full with his semen, so full it spurts out of your gaped cunt and drips onto the sweat-soaked bed sheets. Your lips link together, sharp breaths leaking from sloppy kisses as you slump under him.

“So beautiful,” he rasps against your kiss-swollen lips. His hand gently strokes your bloated stomach as he chuckles. “Should we set up a nursery tomorrow since I’m off?”

“Maybe.” You laugh breathlessly, your fingers intertwining with his.

He carries you to your lavish bathroom, carefully sitting you in his lap in the bathtub so he can stay warm inside you. Nanami kisses dark marks he left on your neck, lathering your body in soap as you drift off. You’re asleep after a few minutes in the warm water, softly snoring against his chest. He chuckles quietly to himself, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your angelic face. 

“I love you.” He whispers into your flushed ears, kissing your forehead.

Like my writing? Check out my Ao3!! This fic actually came from there and I decided to upload it here too.

Reblogs appreciated!!

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[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee

CW: Whumper turned caretaker, injured whumpee, defiant, restrained, angst

[Previous] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next]

Whumpee awoke in their enemies infirmary.

An IV was pricking their arm and the lights were dimmed. They twitched as their wrist ached from the handcuff binding them to the bed.

"You're awake? I was getting worried about you." Whumper hummed, sitting by their bedside with a large cup of coffee. Whumpee shakily rose their hand as the handcuff clinked.

"This isn't necessary." Whumpee tiredly mumbled.

"My my, you've been awake for ten seconds and already making demands." Whumper chuckled. "But I'm afraid we're not on that level of trust yet, I can get you something for the bruise."

Whumpee tried to sit up, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. 

"I'm a w-wounded prisoner. It's not like I know my w-way around here-" Their voice hitched as their arm gave in as they collapsed. Whumper was quick to pull them up and put a pillow behind their back.

"Easy now, you're still healing. -And don't downgrade yourself, you could still pack a punch, I know how you were trained." Whumper scolded, fixing the blanket around them.

"How could you possibly know that." Whumpee squinted. Whumper ignored their question and waved someone over; they were handed something whumpee couldn't see from the bed. Whumper moved towards them whumpee tried to scamper as far as the handcuff could go.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not going to hurt you." Whumper lulled, placing a plate with a full meal on their lap. "Look, it's just a peace offering."

Whumpee's face flushed with a hint of pink as they lowered their shoulders. Hospitality was the least they expected from their enemy's leader. "You're feeding me?" Whumpee tilted their head.

"Of course I'm feeding you. I saved your life, I'm not going to waste it all by starving you. Gracious, eat your dinner." Whumper scoffed. 

"This is dinner? How long did you sedate me?" Whumpee suddenly perked up.

"I didn't sedate you, you were exhausted. That's just how long you slept. Now eat, you'll feel better." They nudged, taking their wrist and putting a plastic fork in whumpee's hand.

"If I didn't know any better," Whumper chuckled, "I would guess your beloved team wasn't feeding you either-"

Whumper felt movement and grabbed whumpee's arm before they attempted to plummet the fork into whumper's neck. They glared at each other as Whumpee was panting and pouring with sweat.

"Sweetheart, that is a plastic fork you're holding." Whumper glared.

"I know. But it's got three sh-sharp points and that's good enough f-for me." Whumpee grunted, still attempting to stab them. Whumper grabbed their collar and yanked them mere inches away. Whumpee pushed and tried to back-peddle as whumper held their collar.

"That was a cute try." Whumper whispered in their ear. "But you don't have the strength to fight just yet, little lamb. Should have eaten first." They plucked the fork out of Whumpee's hand and released them. Whumpee fell back and winced, holding their wound as it pulsed. They could feel the stitches underneath their shirt, staying intact at least...

"You honestly can't believe you'll keep me here like this! I don't want to be here- I'm not your pet to tease!" Whumpee shouted at them.

"You're not my pet. If you want to be that way, then sure; you're like a lamb running for the cliffs that I have to keep pulling you away from." Whumper straightened their jacket and rubbed their neck.

"You're only keeping me alive so you can torture me later, I've told you from the start I won't ever give up my team-"

"-No." Whumper cut them off.

Whumpee suddenly quieted and closed their lips. "... What do you mean no?" They quietly asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, your head is so full of lies it sickens me to know what they've taught you! You want to know why I stayed by your side all day? You woke up throughout the night and cried yourself right back to sleep!"

"I wasn't crying!" Whumpee sobbed, covering their face and fell silent. Whumper shut their mouth and leaned back, realizing they had corned them. "I'm sorry. I uh ... I'll give you some space. I'll come check on you later." Whumper quickly stood. They craned their head back to see whumpee was now curled on their side facing away from them.

Whumpee flinched when they heard a "clink" as the handcuff fell off their wrist. It was a feeling of pure light and relief. It was a surprising gesture, even for the stunt they pulled with the now-revoked plastic fork.

This wasn't the ruthless enemy whumpee was expecting; whumper speaks as if they know more about their own team than whumpee does. If they got trusted enough to freely walk around, they would get to find their own answers deep in the core of their enemies base. 

 Perhaps this was an opportunity.

[Previous] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[peachesofteal]

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. ���

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?” 

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him. 

“Last name?” 

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter. 

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.” 

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago. 

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses. 

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table. 

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers. 

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull. 

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything. 

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head. 

His girl. His. 

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass. 

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak. 

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him. 

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.” 

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know. 

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know. 

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”  

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”  

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open. 

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.” 

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now. 

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him. 

“Simon.” You whisper. 

He steps back. 

Your face falls. 

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t. 

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again. 

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family. 

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain. 

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price…  she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.” 

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw. 

“Fine.”  The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What?  You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.” 

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks. 

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away. 

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work. 

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder. 

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad. 

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His. 

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?” 

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage. 

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously. 

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.” 

“It’s not.” 

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open. 

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat. 

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed. 

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her. 

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face. 

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.” 

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.” 

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him. 

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad. 

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.  

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

[theprojectpile]

WIP Wednesday - Ten Stitch Blanket

I'm finally breaking out of the green/yellow phase! I love the red and dark purple. It's really giving rainbow 🌈🌈

Can't wait to finish this!

[f10werfae]

Pregnancy On The Brain

pairing: Lumberjack!Henry x Short!Shy!Wife!Reader

summary: Now that Henry’s successfully knocked up his precious darling wife, he has to keep an extra eye on her and their little miracle (Dom!Henry) (Emotional loving 🥹)

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated🫶

Disclaimer: 18+ / Lumberjack!Henry Masterlist / Henry Masterlist / Full Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Whas wrong sugar? What’s got my woman all teary” Henry frowned seeing his wife all upset in front of the mirror, her lips pouted and her face flustered. “I-I don’t f-fit into my d-dress anymore” Y/n whined seeing how the lemon printed dress barely made its way up her hips, stitches being ripped the harder she pulled on it. “Oi stop it, there’s nothin’ wrong, especially when there’s more of my bunbun to love on” Henry smirked groping the bits of skin Y/n was complaining about.

“B-but- well maybe I-I should e-exercise with you more?” She pondered looking up at him still visibly upset, in fact her chin was starting to wrinkle up from shaking so much, the new changes in her body clearly causing her distress. Henry could tell by the way her stutter started to make itself more visible. “No way. Precious things like you don’t belong on the heavy equipment sweetpea, you want exercise? Let me fuck your pretty pussy till ya sweat” He smirked bending down to nuzzle his nose with hers, his cock hardening once he saw her giggle n latch onto his bicep with both hands.

“T-That’s so naughty” She whispered cuddling the side of her face into his bicep, his other hand pulling back down the dress till it hit the floor, allowing him to play with her ass easily. “Listen while i’m out collecting log wood today, wan’ you to put on another pretty little dress that I bought ya last week, preferably the lilac one, n’ I want you to make somethin’ nice for us to eat when I get home. Can ya do that for me sugar bun?” He whispered running a finger up and down her cheek, his eyes having a dark glaze over them as he looked down at her.

“Mhm mhm! I can!” Y/n smiled happily, the ingredients for her cherry pie already listed out in her head, her cravings for it suddenly growing ten times in a mere few seconds. “Good n’ when I come home, i’ll have a surprise for ya” He grinned kissing her lips softly, before pulling away and grabbing his baseball cap, blowing kisses at her every two seconds as he walked towards his truck. Leaving his wife to her own special mission, the cherry pie.

“Oh I gotta get the cherries!” Y/n giggled slipping on her shoes, grabbing the wooden basket Henry had gotten her especially for her daily walks. Her face vibrant as she skipped down the secluded lane of their back yard, full of luscious fields, heading towards their cherry trees at the edge of the field. Her lilac dress flowing in the slightly cool breeze, her arms swinging the basket back and forth as she hummed a silly little tune she made up. Her eyes widening as she saw the amount of cherries on the tree, there were so many!

“Wow, y-you guys have all grown! Thank y-you so much” She said adorably picking a handful of sweet cherries from one branch, carefully grabbing her glass jar from the basket and plopping them in until it was full. “Well, I suppose it won’t hurt to taste one of ya” She whispered pulling out her blue blanket she always kept in her basket for emergency picnics, her several glass jars of cherries sitting snug inside the basket, while she lay down munching on her home grown fruits.

She still remembers the day she had complained to Henry about his poor eating habits and demanded he bought her seeds for her own plants; now here she was basically nurturing her own garden of babies, ranging from apples all the way to carrots.

‘That one looks like bonnie the rabbit’ Y/n thought looking up at the scarce white clouds flying overhead, her stuffed animal back home looking like one of them, then another looked like Henry’s axe and then one looked like a cherry. “Oh my phone, m-musta left it at home” She giggled realising, her hand reaching for the missing phone to try and take a picture to send to Henry. The warm sun gracing her face, distant sounds of birds providing a sweet lullaby, one which she slowly fell asleep to.

Meanwhile… Henry on the other hand was just about ready to head home, like clockwork he checked his babygirl’s location on life 360, smirking to himself to see that she had stayed at home like she said she would. Heading off back through the country in his pickup truck, he stopped off at a pharmacy by the gas station, picking up his surprise gift for his bunbun; one he knew would solidify their relationship forever. His body sweaty and hot, even though he was wearing baggy jeans a vest, his body painted with a light golden tan.

“Home sweet home” He whispered to himself, dusting off before going inside, remembering how much his precious wife despises their home being messy; Henry still smiles at the memory of her showing her domestic side, how she wouldn’t let him leave without breakfast and would always pack him lunches. Henry on the other hand wouldn’t let her go anywhere unless it was him driving her, after all what else was his purpose other than to look after his naive lover.

“Sugar pie, where are ya?” He shouted throwing his vest off to the side, his boots thundering against the creaky wooden floorboards, his steps leading him into the kitchen; the ingredients for her famous cherry pie laid out on the counter. But no Y/n. His nostrils flared seeing her iphone left beside the ingredients, who knows how long she’s been gone?

‘Did she really fuckin’ leave?’ Was Henry’s first thought, the veins on his neck popping out purely just from the thought, no wonder her tracker hadn’t moved once. Although the thought of her leaving dissipated once he saw Marly the cat coming inside from the fields, their backdoor was left wide open, the sunshine peeking in gratefully. “Ah the fields, the fuckin’ fields” Henry chuckled shaking his head, course she was out there, he knew how much his wife loved exploring the great outdoors; bringing him different coloured rocks and pebbles, watching giddily as he’d place them on the mantle as if they were to be treasured. And they were, because she got them for Him.

Walking out the backdoor he started off walking down the lane, the meadows further away shining green and healthily, but nothing deterred Henry from finding his little love.

Stopping at the start of the line of trees, he saw her, clearly snoring away on her soft picnic blanket; her basket full of jars of cherries beside her. Henry scoffed and smirked seeing just how silly she was, but he couldn’t blame her, not with her current condition. Looming over her figure, she whined and whimpered before opening her eyes fully, a sleepy smile gracing her lips when she realised it was none other than her husband.

“You fuckin’ scared me baby, didn’t know what ta do without ya, ya left your phone n’ everythin’” Henry whispered hunkering down onto his knees, watching as she slowly sat up, her face all puffy and sun-kissed from her nap. “m-m’ sorry I-I forgot it n’ I was too b-busy lookin’ at the clouds a-and”

“s’okay baby, your man knows, can’t blame ya for a little forgetfulness” He chuckled darkly, seeing how sleepy she still was, guiding her to hop onto his back while he gathered up her blanket and basket. “Missed you s-so much” She whispered kissing his back softly as he whistled a tune, “Ah was only gone for around three hours sugar” He chuckled walking down the smooth path, their large luxurious cabin coming into sight. “I-I know that, but I missed you a-anyway” She sighed rubbing her head against his warm back, her eyes threatening to close over once again.

“n’ I missed your pretty pussy-“

“My What!” Y/n’s eyes shot open at her husband’s vulgar words, his back vibrating from his chuckles travelling through, “n’ your tits and your-“

“Stop i-it that’s embarrassing and t-they ain’t pretty mister” She whined kicking her legs which were in his hands, his footsteps stopping abruptly with a deep sigh, “What do I gotta do to prove to you, that I think you’re fuckin’ sexy as hell, n’ I have to stop myself from whipping my cock out everytime I see ya smile” He grunted lifting her up a bit higher before continuing on down the trail, “W-whippin’ your wha out?!” She giggled loudly, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked at his face from the side.

Henry smirked turning his head to the side, capturing her lips with his, his tongue reaching out for hers but quickly retracting once she wanted more. The tease. “You’re such a m-meanie, no more kissies for you” She grunted moving back to rest against his back, his hand leaving her leg to reach back and spank her ass with a pop; her body jerking up with an excited squeal.

“Try that again sweetheart n’ we’ll see what happens” He growled finally stepping into the cooler cabin, setting her down on top of their counters, beside his plastic bag from the pharmacy which had her small present. “I-is my present in here?!” She said excitedly picking up the bag, only to pout when Henry pulled it away from her grumpily.

“I dunno if you deserve it honey, ya worried me today, had me thinkin’ ya left your man up ‘ere in the mountains” He ‘tsk’ed and caged her in with an arm on each side of her, his nose rubbing up and down her cheek sensually, her hands fisting his shirt desperately as she pouted. “I-I dunno what happened H-hen, I swear! M-m jus’ forgetful nowadays” She whimpered nuzzling into his chest like a kitten, her legs caged around his waist, her face dipping down to place kisses onto his neck and up his chin.

“Alright alright fine, since you wan’ it so badly” He smirked cupping her face and kissing her nose, his hands reached into the bag and pulled out the small box, a clearblue box. “Ya know what this is bunny don’t ya?” Taking out the small stick and twirling it in his hands, he passed it to his wife, who was visibly shocked and shaken at what he’d just given her. “A-a pregnancy test?” She whispered looking at the foreign object, was this the condition Henry was talking about?

“I wan’ you to take it for me babybun, see if we have our present in there already” He smirked nipping her lip playfully, his hand rubbing over the bottom of her stomach affectionately, her small gasps filling his ears. “I-is this why my dresses d-don’t fit?”

“Find out n’ see baby” He smiled taking her hand in his, and pulling her into their large bathroom, with a bathtub big enough to fit four people at the most. “W-will you stay with me? M-m scared” She whimpered pulling up the skirt of her dress, her face flustered at the thought of him watching her pee, but then again this wouldn’t be the first time. There’d been multiple times where he’d simply barge into the toilet while she was in there, just for his routine goodbye kiss before work.

“Don’t worry sugar pie, m’not leavin’, not now and not ever” He smiled, almost sickly, his hands holding onto hers, quite comical because his wife was simply peeing yet needed all the support possible. “Alright pass it over ‘ere” He said watching her finish up, the test still in her shaky hands. “N-no way it’s full of my pee” She gasped horrified putting it down onto the counter herself, turning to distract herself by washing her hands.

Those three minutes felt like utter hell for them both, with Y/n ultimately sitting on Henry’s lap whilst he was on the toilet cover, his voice softly shushing her small whimpers and nervous hiccups as she looked at the test left on the table. “S’okay pretty girl, daddy will look after ya both” Kissing her neck wetly he could already feel her pussy throbbing at his words, even during a nerve wracking situation like this, a life altering moment.

“Ya promise?” Holding his deep blue eyes, her own looked glossy and scared, her hands fiddling with his fingers erratically. “I pinky promise” Linking their fingers together he kissed her lips softly, her head pushing forward wanting to deepen it, she missed three hours worth of his kisses today; she was not having it!

Although their little kiss session was interrupted by the beep of the timer on Henry’s phone, Y/n jumping up to her feet and leaning her head over to look at the plastic stick, her breath hitching in her throat. “what does a cross mean?” Her voice came out dry and hoarse, and for once not a stutter was in sight, she knew what it meant. “My gorgeous little wife is pregnant, with my baby” He smiled to himself still sitting on the toilet cover, he already knew the result, months of vitamins and unprotected sex would eventually have lead to this; all it took was some time.

“I-i’m gonna be a mommy?” Her hand softly slid down to cup the slight pouch on her stomach, her fingers grazing over her fabric slowly, a small smile finding its way onto her cace. “I-i’m gonna be a mommy!”

“mhm, so prouda ya babygirl” Henry smirked feeling up her thigh, his hand going up to grope her bare ass, his new baby momma still coming to terms with the fact she was carrying their little life; yet all he wanted to do was to fuck her good, and if he could he would knock her up again. The idea of his wife all round and big, full of him, got him so hot and bothered, her tits all swollen along with her belly, safely housing their own miracle.

“H-how do we know when i-it’s comin?”

“I’ll sort all that out baby, ya don’t need to worry your pretty self, after-all ya got pregnancy on the brain. Don’t want ya forgettin’ anythin” He cooed standing up to kiss her forehead, his arms enveloping her against him, feeling her nod and relax in his arms. All according to his plan.

After he was finally able to get her to come to bed with him, he found her hands naturally gravitating towards her stomach, her protective maternal instincts already kicking in so early. “I-if we have a g-girl can we name it a-after a flower?” She asked innocently looking up at him, her hands on top of his, on her stomach. “N’ what if it’s a boy babybun?” He chuckled kissing the tip of her nose, “I dunno haven’t t-thought of it yet! Stop stressin’ me out!” She whined almost inaudibly as Henry murmured sweet soft apologies, his lips coating the side of her face in gentle kissies, her favourite.

“T-thought you said you was sleepy” She whispered wrapping her arms around his neck, caressing his nape as he continued to plant little love bites on his lover, his kisses leaving her all hot and bothered. “I am, wasn’t lyin’” Henry pulled back quirking his eyebrow, “T-then tell it to calm down, o-or else ya won’t be able to sleep” Y/n said shyly pointing at the tent starting to grow in Henry’s trousers, ignoring the fact that Henry had basically bunched her dress up to her breasts, his fingers rubbing over her slick wet folds.

“Why don’t you tell my pussy to calm down” He grumbled rubbing her own slickness all over her, acting as if it was lube, his fingers greedily pinching her swollen jutted out clit. “Y-you started it! baby, tell your d-daddy to stop bein silly” She whined looking down and rubbing her still stomach, even though there was still no dramatic visible growth, the potential of it made her emotional and excited.

Licking into her mouth Henry held the back of her neck gently, both of her hands still on her stomach, while his other hand was busy messing with her second set of lips. Tugging, rubbing and spanking at her sensitive button, causing her body to jolt and shiver into the kiss, her tongue actively sucking on his passionately. Her chin slowly growing wet and slick, both of them not caring at how much filth there was. Kissing her sensually one more time he pushed her fully onto her back, his knees straddling her.

“Oh baby I hope they got your eyes, gon’ have me wrapped round their lil finger jus’ like their momma” He groaned seeing her just batting her eyelashes at him, a mischievous smile on her face as she felt up his torso, “I-I wan’ them to look l-like their daddy, s-so handsome” She whispered looking away from his eyes shyly. His hands now pulling the dress up fully over her head, giving her tits a bounce and grope; his voice chuckling deeply in her ear as he licked up her neck, “You’re so g’damn sexy, can’t wait to see ya all full of me, walkin’ around so everyone knows I pumped ya full of my cum”

“mhm s-so dirty” Whimpering and writhing, she felt his fingers go back down to her slick centre, the tip of his cock slapping against her clit roughly, almost imitating the spank of a hand. “Aw baby, we both know you’re the dirty one here, weren’t ya the one beggin’ me to kiss your pretty little pussy the other day?”

“Y-you said if I needed help w-with the tingles ya would help” She whined feeling the head of his shaft slip through her sensitive folds, his nestle of curls at the base of his dick softly scratching against her button, his heavy balls sitting against her swollen lips. His length slowly slipping in through her puffy pussy, both of them sighing out in relief and pleasure as he bottomed out inside of her; Y/n’s hands cupping his face to keep his forehead on hers, nuzzling their noses together for comfort like they always did.

“Gah hav’ knocked ya up and you’re still so tight, almost like when ya were a virgin honey” Henry growled pecking her pouty lips, her voice whining at his choice of words, her legs securely wrapped around his waist. “You take me so well honey, could fuck your pregnant pussy all day n’ night if a could”

“W-well you can, y-you jus’ don’t” She snarked back, clearly regretting her decision straight after when Henry quirked his brow at her, making her shut up in a mere few seconds. “Say that again n’ i’ll tie ya to the bed, won’t be leavin’ since ya want me to play with my pussy so much” He teased thrusting in and out at a slow pace, his one hand cupping her face, while the other toyed with her nipples. “Can’t wait to see these pretty tits fill up with milk, I already know it’ll taste as sweet as you do sugar pie, you’ll let me have a taste won’t ya?”

Small mewls left her slightly opened lips, her eyes widen open and already glimmering with tears as Henry slowly moved their position, where he was now spooning her, their hips smacking together to create a lewd sound. “Mhmhm” She moaned pushing her tits together just for him, knowing how much he adored just simply looking at them, sometimes he’d even hide her bras just so she’d walk about their home, her pebbles nipples poking through the fabric.

“So gorgeous, my pretty wife” He smirked leaning over and spitting right onto the valley between her breasts, hearing her squeak as he watched her massage his spit onto her globes, she was so dirty for him; only him. Before she had met Henry, Y/n L/n would never have even stepped a foot out of line, and now she was the one making the line. Hugging onto her, he kissed her shoulders and back so affectionately, he wanted to make her cum. “I-I love you so much pretty girl, ya make me so happy, you n’ our lil’ miracle” He moaned feeling her clench around him, his hand reaching over to momentarily slap her breasts together, before reaching down and drawing figure eights on her button.

Hearing no reply he looked over to see tears filing down her face continuously, her lip hidden between her teeth as she bit down harshly, her hands fisting the sheets tightly to keep her from squealing at how deep he was going. “What’s wrong bunny? Am I hurtin’ ya?” He said slowing down, concern lacing his voice as his rough calloused hands felt up her sides. “N-no, a-am jus’ really happy, love you too hubby” She smiled blinking away a few stray tears as she turned her head to face him, her tongue outstretched already waiting to tangle around his, muffled squeals leaving her lips as she felt him return back to his rhythm.

“I’m close babybun, ya wanna cum with me?” He asked breaking away from their kiss with a peck, their lips still touching as he spoke, her eyes staring up at his softly but intensely, her head nodding; her lips wanting nothing more than to his his soft ones. Thank God she had forced him to start wearing lip balm.

Y/n found herself clawing onto his arm that was wrapped around her waist, her teeth clenched, sobs wrecking through her body purely just because she felt so loved and so intimate. Henry’s warm cum flooding her almost instantly as she herself felt his fingers rub her button at the same time, her hole clenching around him for the last time, giving out once she let out a raspy breath.

“Did so good for me sugar plum, don’t worry I gotcha, ya can rely on me” He whispered kissing the shell of his ear, feeling her clench around him a few more times before pulling out slowly to not make her uncomfortable. After a few silent seconds of Henry combing her hair back with his fingers, his soft voice shushing her quiet sobs as he rocked her back and forth against his body.

Henry couldn’t help but worry, he’d never seen his precious give such an emotional reaction, had he pushed her too far? She hadn’t used her safe-word ‘cherry’ so he had assumed she was still okay during their intense love-making session. The tiny tattoo of a ‘H’ on the back of her neck receiving wet kisses while he waited for her to calm down.

“Hold on pretty, m’jus’ gonna run us a bath alright?” Receiving nothing but a shake of a head and a ‘don’t leave me a-alone’ He smiled picking her up against his still nude body, sitting her on top of the counter as he filled up the tub with warm water, making sure to put in some of lavender bubbles she adored so much to relax in.

“c’mere sugar, don’t worry i’m here too” He whispered helping her step into the purple coloured water, letting her sit sideways on his lap, her head laying on his shoulder; that’s how big their bath tub is.

“M-m sorry for bein’ a crybaby, I didn’t mean it” She whispered lifting her head up to kiss his beard covered cheek, her energy clearly spent and gone.

“Don’t you ever apologise for bein’ you, what’d I tell ya? If you’re cryin’, i’m here, if you’re angry then i’m here, you’re happy then i’m here. This is for life sweets, nothin’ is gonna put me off ya I promise. Well except sometimes ya stink but-“

“Stop it!” She said smiling a little, Henry’s heart lightening a little seeing her vibe jolt up a bit in comparison to earlier. “Now that i’ve seen that beautiful smile a’ yours, care to share what’s buggin’ my wife so much?”

“I-it really was nothin’ bad. Was jus’ thinkin’ about how- how happy I am w-with you. W-When I think back to when I was 17, I-I was always so worried i’d end up un-unloved because of my problems; but y-you’ve never made me feel like a burden, n’ now w-we’re havin’ a baby together” She smiled finishing her explanation, looking up at Henry with a blissful smile on her face, her hands bringing his to her stomach, “O-our baby” She giggled wiggling excitedly on his lap,

“There’s no other woman on this Earth i’d rather have a baby with-“

“So i-if an alien”

“Shut it you. Let me continue my speech to you now that you’ve done yours” He chuckled sprinkling water in her face playfully, “You’re the one for me, n’ you’d never be a burden because I want to bother with you, I want everything with ya. Gah, you’re just fuckin’ irresistible n’ I don’t think I can live without ya. I don’t know what piece a shit has said things to ya but, you’re my precious sugar plum princess. In our little world, right up ‘ere where no one can get us, I promise to keep ya n’ our little miracle safe. Cause you’re both mine n’ i’m not afraid to show it” He finished, twirling the wedding band round her finger, his eyes staring at her; simply smiling she leant forward connecting their lips together, “N’ y-you’re mine”

———

PSA: I really am proud of this piece, and hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 🫶

Library blog of works: @f10werfaes-cosy-collection

Taglist (not accepting please use library)

@thecdairies @pandaxnienke @thereisa8ella @kimhtoo17 @beck07990 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @madebylilly @kebabgirl67 @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @stormcloudss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @mischiefsemimanaged @nikkitc0703 @oliviah-25 @aerangi @bookfrog242 @alina02 @alexxavicry @lastwandastan @hp-hogwartsexpress @angelmather1 @acornacre @ggmimitf @helenaellie @thebaileybugle @p4st3lst4rs @kzhlvlysstuff @thoughtsofreid @cilliansangel @theekyliepage @cookielovesbook-akie @rosiesluv7 @yaminax @luvabellee @elenavampire21 @hoya122 @esposadomd @meyocoko @disaster-rose @severewobblerlightdragon @kemillyfreitas @adoreyouusugar @queensgirl718 @sweetybuzz25

Hope you all have a lovely week🫶

Can’t wait to write more dad!lumberjack!Henry xoxo Fae

[toxicanonymity]

Ethyl's house

500 words, night walks AU - neighbor Ethyl

One afternoon, Joel was outside getting the mail when Ethyl got home. He saw her Oldsmobile crawling into the cul-de-sac with her hands at ten and two. She was hunched forward with her big glasses above the steering wheel as she pulled into her driveway. Joel lingered at his mailbox. For a moment, he wondered how well she could see the pool from her house, but she likely went to bed before sundown.

After she parked, she got out of the car, hung her purse on her inner elbow, and popped the trunk. Joel put the mail back in his mailbox and walked over to her driveway. In the trunk there were two paper grocery sacks, and she was taking apples out of one to make it light enough to carry. She didn't mind making multiple trips. She would do it with a smile.

“How ‘bout a hand with those,” Joel offered behind her.

She marveled at his strength as he repacked the bag and picked both of them up.

She shuffled in front of him, holding her purse under her arm in one hand and her keys out in front of herself in the other. She unlocked and held open the carport door to her house.

An older chihuahua whined from the den before standing up from its little bed, stretching with its tail up, then shaking his head, jingling the collar.

“That's Barney,” Ethyl informed Joel.

She turned on her small oven, and and took a pan of cookie dough out of her modest fridge while Joel unpacked the groceries. The oven handle was almost as high as she was tall.

Her home was neat and simple with lots of cross stitch and knitted blankets. She gave him the full tour, with Barney silently sniffing behind them, wagging his tail. The smell of chocolate chip cookies began to fill the air as she sat Joel down on the sofa and showed off family photos. There were photos of her and her late husband traveling the world. They didn't have kids. There were photos of her sisters, her niece, and her great nephews.

When the oven timer went off, she shuffled back into the kitchen. She gave Joel a plate full of cookies and a 1970s juice glass of whole milk, but she didn't partake. She smiled while Joel enjoyed them.

“Oh,” she raised a knobby finger. “Let me send some with you.” She brought back a tupperware and told him he better save some for you.

Joel raised his eyebrows with a silent smile. She smiled and covered her mouth, oops. Then croaked, “I'm not trying to be a busy body, Joel.”

She reached for his hand, and he patiently waited for a but. Her hand was cold on top of his.

“But if you've got something special, treat it special.”

He swallowed and looked down.

“And hang onto it as long as you can.”

She squeezed his hand, and he nodded silently.

-----

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thank you for reading!

tag list because this is night walks canon

@silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading @rainstorms-library @am-3-thyst

[wolfish-nightmares]

Canis Lupus

Parings: will graham x victim!reader

Era: Season 1

Warnings: gore, violence, bad language, cannibalism, 18+

Category: Fluff. Angst. 

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: When the FBI discovers an underground fighting ring, it's far beyond anything they ever expected and Will befriends a rather unusual victim. 

A Violent Dog Masterlist

The body they found was mangled and shredded. It was obvious a dump too, the body had literally been thrown away in a bag. The most confusing thing about the body was that the wounds looked like they had been caused by an animal. 

“So if it was an animal attack why ditch the body? Why not just call 9-1-1?” 

“Because it wasn't an animal attack,” Jimmy pointed to bite marks. “We tested the saliva around the bites and the DNA is human.” 

Jack frowned as they showed him the paper. It was obviously human DNA but the brutalization and marking on the body looked so animalistic. 

“We think they had their teeth filed,” Brian chimed in. 

Jack didn't say anything, instead he just left. He was on his way to Will so the others just continued on gathering and processing evidence. When Jack left like that, everyone knew where he was going. 

You snarled and barked at the dummy in front of you. The owners said that people were complaining on the last live stream, they wanted you to be more violent. Through the years the views have requested more carnage but these past few months it seemed like their desire for blood was insatiable. Usually you'd only have to fight three or four days out of the week but the owners have been having you fight nearly everyday. Your body ached at the thought. 

“Wolf! Come get your bandage changed!” 

Quickly you left the training room and went to the medical room. While the viewers wanted violence from you they also wanted to see your own pain. If you leave the fight with no wounds you are punished afterwards. And if the viewers enjoyed the fights, they craved the punishments. Mr. Owner gestured to the table and you laid down as he gathered his supplies. 

“Latest stream got nearly 900,000 views. You've gotten popular Wolf,” he peeled off your bandages and checked the stitching. “You popped a few stitches so we'll get that fixed. I'll also need you to help with Lion’s punishment. She did poorly in her fight last night, the viewers were extremely upset.” 

You shivered at the thought but simply nodded. Anytime the owners requested your assistance in a punishment that meant one less fighter. You clenched your teeth as he began to fix the stitches and tried your best not to think about it. 

“Alright, two days off, we gotta save your energy for your birthday fight,” he grinned and patted your head. “This is the big one, ten years with us already. I knew you'd be our prized fighter.” 

He wrapped fresh bandages and continued to check you over to make sure you were healing properly. When he deemed you fit, he sent you off back to the kennels. 

“Hi honey,” Mrs. Owner greeted you when you got back to the kennels. “Your blanket was put in the kennel but because your views were so high we decided to give you a pillow too.” 

“Bitch.”

You stiffened at the sound of Bear's annoyed grunt. The happy look on Mrs. Owner's face twisted into her usual malicious look. She stood and you flinched as her chair fell back. She pointed to your kennel and you darted to the door. You could feel the anger radiating from her as she unlocked the door and let you in. 

Just as she said a dingy yellow pillow and your blanket were laid out on the concrete. She locked you back up and walked off, most likely to punish Bear. He was newer, brought in only a month ago, and he fought back just like all the others. The biggest rule here was the only noise you were ever allowed to make was only that of your animal. 

Because do lions, bears or wolves talk? No, so you shouldn't either. 

The owners wanted complete silence and if you didn't comply willingly, they'd make you silent. You glanced over at Dog, he was one of the few who were silenced. Everyone in the kennels that night heard the way he gagged on his own blood as they cut out his tongue, his screams turned into gurgling. Silencing wasn't something that happened often but the look in Mrs. Owner's eyes told you that Bear was going to become another on that very short list. 

You curled up in the corner and used your pillow to muffle the sounds. Screams and cries were the most normal sound here but sometimes they could get to you. Bear’s pleas and wails broke through the thin cotton barrier and you squeezed your eyes shut. 

Eventually you were able to slip away to your safe place in your head and drift of to sleep as you lived in freedom in your dreams. There you lived in warmth and strength. Even in your dreams there was blood but it only felt like power, never pain. 

When you opened your eyes again it was already dinner time. Mr. Owner dropped the bowl in front of you and you didn't even sit up. When he had finished putting out all the food you then began to eat. The dinner was warm, warm food was a luxury that had to be won in the ring. You scarfed it down, it was a bit watery than usual but that's usually what happened when they heated it up. Besides that you never really minded the food, you prefer it over nothing. 

Since you were cleared for two days nobody disturbed you as they prepared for the night’s fights. Instead you curled up in your blanket and lived in your imagination. The screams of the fights seeped into your dreams but they were never your screams. 

The next day you didn't get the same luxury, Mr. Owner wanted you to help him out in the medical room. You give Bear an apologetic look as Mr. Owner checked the stitching on his tongue. Bear returned your look with a glare of hatred. 

Mr. Owner seemed to notice because he rubbed your arm in what seemed to be a comforting way. It kind of just made the hair on your neck stand up instead. He sent Bear off and you spent the rest of the evening cleaning and organizing the medical supplies. 

It was true that out of all the animals in the kennels you were given the most freedom. Not like going outside or doing what you want freedom but they don't make you sit in the kennel all day. You were the only one that they allowed to help them with anything.

The whispers about your special treatment wasn't something you had no idea about. In fact, your first few years in the kennels, the others were cruel to you. Their anger always showed in the ring, the moment you were paired with another animal it was going to be a bloody fight.

“Come on Wolf, bed time.” 

You slid the box of bandages back onto to the shelf and followed Mrs. Owner. This was your last night of peace, tomorrow you will be prepared and you will fight that night. It would be your special birthday fight and also the hardest. 

“I think we found what we're looking for,” Beverly pulled up a website as she explained it to Jack and Will. “It's like a fighting ring with animals but they're all humans. Look.” 

She played the video, the screen displayed the empty pool, the “ring”, with you and Bobcat standing at opposite ends. You snarled and barked from your end while he screamed and yowled. A loud whistle sounded and you both took off towards each other. 

The team was shocked at the ferociousness of the fight. You and Bobcat ripped and tore at each other with your hands and teeth. Beverly paused the frame right as you were aiming for Bobcat's throat. Your face was smeared in blood and when she zoomed in they could see how your teeth were sharpened. Beverly played the video again and they watched as you bit into his throat and ripped your head back, tearing his throat open. You didn't spit out the hunk of flesh you had in your mouth, instead you ate it like a starved animal as he bled out. 

“This is Wolf,” she pointed to you. “The ring’s most popular fighter and they've been fighting since they were eight years old.” 

She switched the video to another, the quality of this one was a bit more granier but there you were standing in the pool, much smaller than before. You looked much more scared than the first video. Another person was standing in the middle, chained to the drain with a knife in their hand. 

“This ring doesn't just make the “animals” fight themselves, they also fight other humans who they seem to just pull off the street,” Jimmy pitched in. 

“It's kind of like bait dogs that get used in dog fights except these are people and they have knives,” Beverly added.

The video continued and you were far less confident than before. You bit the girl's arm and she screamed as she wildly waved the knife. It caught you in the face and you let out a bloodcurdling scream as it sliced across your face, leaving a large diagonal gash. 

Will’s heart squeezed as they watched you desperately attempt to do something but the amount of blood left you blinded and stumbling around. The woman however saw this as a time to save herself and began to stab at you. She continued to swing that knife at you and cut open even more of your skin. You screamed so loud the sound cut in and out. 

“Okay we can stop,” Jack’s voice cut through your howls of pain. “I've seen enough.” 

Beverly cut the video, “That continues for about half an hour, with way more blood but eventually Wolf does kill the woman. This started Wolf's fame on the ring. They're the most popular of all the fighters and that's because of how bloody their fights usually get.” 

She pulled up screenshots of the comments praising you for the way you fight, even some sickeningly demanding more blood and wounds on you as punishment for not being cruel enough. She then cut to another screenshot of a fight this time it wasn't a random person in the pool but the victim lying in their morgue. 

“This fight was streamed three days ago and here is our victim. This whole place is being run by a couple whose screen name is just "Owners," they're never shown on camera."

“So have we figured out how to find this place,” Jack asked. “And how often do they do these fights?” 

This time Brian stepped in, “We found trace evidence on the body and we think we have a good idea of where this place is. Fights are streamed nightly.” 

He passed Jack aerial pictures of an abandoned indoor pool. Jack just just pulled out his phone and began dialing. He called a S.W.A.T. team and instructed the others to get ready to move. They had to stop the ring tonight. 

Your belly was full, so full it hurt, something that hasn't happened since you first got there. The owners had surprised you with a cake. They threw the entire thing onto the floor of your kennel then stood and watched to make sure they ate the entire thing, even making sure you licked up all the icing. You didn't mind at all, the sugary sweetness was by far the best thing you've ever tasted. 

Cake was not something the owners ever gave. So of course you didn't miss the pissed looks the others threw your way as you ate the cake. Dog on the other hand give you a look of pity. Out of all the animals, you and Dog had been there the longest. He knew the dark side of your special treatment. 

“Alright, let's get you ready for your fight.” Mr. Owner gave you a sick grin as he crouched down to gently stroke your face. Something in his expression twisted and suddenly he gripped your throat. “This time you get to prove just how good of a fighter you truly are.” 

He dragged you out, still holding you by your throat. They usually weren't this aggressive before the fights so you were completely shocked. You struggled to keep up with him but he didn't slow down. Instead he harshly slapped you across the face every time you stumbled. 

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you into the empty pool, thankfully not in the deep end but the drop still knocked the wind out of you. He jumped down and snapped a collar around your throat as you fought to get air. Eventually once you were able to breathe evenly again you realized they had hooked you chain they used for the prey fights. Mrs. Owner threw a knife at your feet and you gave them a confused look. She said nothing and simply adjusted the camera. 

Mr. Owner left for the kennels again and you wondered what they were doing. Your heart dropped as he walked back with Bear, Lion, and Dog following behind him. Bear gave you a sick grin and Lion shot you a sneer. Dog's shoulders racked with quiet sobs as he was led down the steps and you began to fight against the chain, howling for mercy. 

“Today you will not only prove your loyalty but you will also be proving your true strength.” 

The whistle sounded and Bear and Lion raced towards you. There was time for you to wonder why they had done this, if you didn't move, if you didn't fight, they would surely kill you in seconds. You scrambled to grab the knife as Lion tackled you. She dug her teeth into your shoulder as you stabbed her in the side. She screamed in pain and you swung the knife at her face. The blade sliced through her check, splitting the side of her face open. You pushed her off to stand up but Bear kicked you back down.

He grabbed your arm and twisted it, breaking the bones with a sickening snap. You screamed and bit into his shoulder. Once you had a good enough grip you ripped your head back, tearing the flesh away. He stumbled back with a scream but you didn't waste any time and lunged for his throat. If you didn't end this, he would.

The blood sprayed out and covered your face. For a moment you were blinded and Bear wildly swiped at you before he collapsed. You let out a low growl, wiped the blood out your eyes and turned back towards Lion. She was laying on the ground, still clutching her face. The blood pool around her body told you that she was already dead and Bear was getting there, his blood was beginning to seep towards your feet. All there was left was Dog. You spun to find him, you didn’t want to kill him but every animal in the kennel knew the rules. If you got put in a fight you fought, or you were simply put down. Dog never broke that rule and neither did you.

A sharp pain broke through your back and Dog spun you around to pull you into a hug. The knife that had been once discarded was now buried in your back. You looked up and noticed that he turned so you faced the camera, giving the audience a perfect view of you. He held you close to him, gently humming as he rubbed your back, you screamed when he suddenly turned the knife and forced it in deeper. When he pulled the knife out, you kicked his leg and used the momentum of him falling to knock the knife out his hand and spin him around so the back of his head was against your stomach. He clawed at your arms and kicked as you grabbed his chin and put your broken hand on top of his head. You stared into the camera as you jerked his head back hard, snapping his neck. His body collapsed at your feet but you never took your eyes off the camera. 

Just as the owners began to celebrate the sound of breaking glass interrupted them and smoke began to fill the room. You gagged and choked as the smoke reached your nose. Fear replaced the anger and you fought to get out of the collar. The smoke became thick and you couldn't breathe properly. The room began to spin as you clawed at your throat and you collapsed to the ground. You fought to keep your eyes open until you couldn't anymore. 

Will sat in the chair across from your bed. You had just gotten out of surgery, the fight had left a lot of deep wounds and a broken arm. The FBI had taken everyone in and was able to reach out to all the families of the victims who had been reported missing. Most of everyone who was in the kennel got to go back to their families. 

You on the other hand had no living family that they could track down. Nobody was there to claim you, shout your real name and pull you into a hug. Will was sad for you knowing that with no family and you no longer being a minor, you'd probably end up in a homeless shelter or a halfway house. 

Sitting there he could see the full extent of the past fights. The most noticeable scar was the one that cut from the middle of your left eyebrow, down diagonal across your nose and ended at your chin. The video flashed through his mind and for a moment his ears were ringing with your screams. The nurse came in to check your vitals again, pulling Will away from his thoughts. She was only there for a moment before rushing off.

He noticed the way your eyes began to twitch and scooted his chair closer to your bed. It took awhile but eventually you opened your eyes. You looked around the room in confusion and when you finally noticed him, he smiled.

“Hi, Wolf?” 

You nodded and tried to sit up but he stopped you. There was something hard and bulky on your arm. The burning in your eyes was still there but it wasn't as bad. The tube in your other arm was uncomfortable but when you tried to pull it out he stopped you again.

“You're in the hospital,” he placed his hand over yours and you looked back up at him. “The people running the ring confessed to everything. You won't be in any trouble.” 

Despite that being good news, it really meant that you lost everything. The only thing you had now was this hospital gown and the streets, if they even let you keep the gown. You sighed and turned your head away from him. He probably didn't even understand. 

“I know you don't have any place to go. I'm sorry but I'll see what we can do.” 

You didn't say anything and continued to look away from him. After a while he rubbed your shoulder and left the room. No more kennel meant no more anything so you decided your only option now was to sleep.

Apparently his idea of seeing what he can do was letting you stay with him. You gave him a confused face when he came to tell you his idea. For a moment Will was frozen as the image of Winston came to mind as you tilted your head in confusion. He realized he really couldn’t leave you to the state’s hand. With no better options you agreed and he promised helped you get let go from the hospital.

The hospital had some donated clothes that they provided you with and Will left to give you time to change. There were a few clothes you didn't understand and the nurse had to explain to you how underwear and socks worked. In the kennel everyone wore shorts and a shirt, nothing else and you only got new ones when your old ones got too cut up to wear.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded and she left so you could get dressed. Everything felt odd on your body but you finished dressing and sat in the room for Will. There were lots of commotion in the hall at some point but you just stayed put on the bed. It seemed like forever but Will did come back.

"Sorry I took so long, your discharge papers are ready," he held the door open for you and you left the room without a second thought.

You had to sign something and when they sat the paper down you looked over to Will for help. Not only did you not know how to write, you didn't know how to read either. And all this "hospital" stuff was confusing you.

He seemed to understand and asked the nurses for a plain paper, “We did find your real name would you-” 

You shook your head before he could finish, you didn't want another name. Wolf was your name. He nodded and wrote something down on the paper. 

“You’ll need a last name too. You could use your-” 

Again you cut him off with another shake of your head. That wasn't your name. You pointed to him and he gave you a confused look. Again you pointed to him then tapped the paper. 

“You want my last name,” you nearly laughed at the shocked look on his face but you just shrugged. You had no better ideas and you didn't understand why this last name thing was so important. He grinned and shook his head before writing something down on the paper. “This is how you spell Wolf and this is my last name Graham.” 

He let you practice how to write it and explained that he'd be willing to help you learn how to read. You nodded your head as you concentrated on how to draw the letters the same way. Eventually it looked good enough and you signed the paper. Will smiled and handed the paper over to the nurse. 

“There, Wolf Graham.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

My Amygdala ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

PAIRING: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

GENRE: established relationships, depressive episode, Trigger warning: mentions of depression and sad/broken thoughts, Yoongi comforting the reader, 

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - July 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

As soon as Yoongi walked into the home he could feel the change in atmosphere instantly and it didn't sit well with him, all of the lights inside of the house were out except the one at the top of the stairs and he could tell you were in the bathroom. Not only that but there was music being blasted through the bathroom speaker and he could tell because it was muffled by a shutdown and the sound of running water. He had no idea how long you'd been up there but the idea of you blasting out Amygdala while you were in the shower didn't sit right with him.

"Babe?" He called out, putting the bags he was carrying down onto the floor and rushing up the staircase, taking it two steps at a time so he could make his way into you a lot faster. The door was shut but not locked, the two of you had taken the lock off the en-suite door from the last time you'd gotten yourself into this kind of state. As soon as he pushed the door open he saw you there, sitting on the floor of the shower just staring at the wall in front of you in complete silence - all for a few sniffles that were leaving your nose.

"Oh fuck," He whispered as he watched you closely, his heart dropping as he slowly made his way over to the shower door and opened it. Yoongi stripped down so that he was standing in nothing but a pair of boxers before stepping under the waterfall shower, flinching a little when he felt just how hot you had the setting,

"Baby, it's so hot how are you not burning up?" He quickly shifted the setting so it was a little cooler but you didn't even acknowledge that he was standing there, you didn't shift in movement, nothing. He sighed a little and grabbed some of your supplies from the shelves as well as reaching for a new bath scrunchie and sitting down in front of you. The shower was large, it had a huge waterfall shower head as well as smaller shower heads that lined the walls and some seats people could sit on if they really wanted to.

"Come on," He whispers as he sits himself down, squirting some of your favourite shower gel onto the scrunchie before he begins massaging it into your skin starting with your arms. You just allowed him to, barely looking at him as he spoke to you. 

"How long have you been sitting in the shower?" He questioned as he took a look at your hands and noticed that they were starting to turn wrinkly with how long you'd been sitting in here and it was a little concerning. The last thing he wanted was for you to get sick after sitting in the water too long so he made quick work of washing your body before getting you out of the shower and into the warmth of a towel.

"Let's get you sat on the bed," He whispered as you slowly looked at him, your head buzzing with questions and doubts as to why he was with you. You'd woken up that morning feeling lower than you'd ever felt yourself feel before and all you could wonder was why Yoongi even stayed with you? Why did he bother trying to make things work when you were probably the worst thing for him?

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice came out hoarse from all the crying you'd been doing and Yoongi frowned as he walked into the wardrobe,

"Doing what?" He questioned, searching through the wardrobe until he found your favourite blanket hoodie that was almost ten times larger than you and practically drowned you in it whenever you wore it. It had originally been Yoongi's, with his name even stitched into it but four months into your relationship you's stolen it and claimed it as your own,

"Why are you looking after me? Why haven't you just left me?" You stared down at the floor, a sob breaking out as you put your face into your hands and let yourself cry even harder. Right now, all you could see was all of the reasons Yoongi should have left you, all of the times he should have gone and you couldn't see anything positive coming from your relationship together. All you would ever do was slow him down in life and make it harder for him to get through his days since he was constantly going to be worrying about you.

"Because that's what boyfriends do, they look after their girlfriends." He told you plainly, making his way back over to you and carefully removing the towel from your body before drying you with it. You stared at him in complete wonder, why would he do this?

"It's easier if you leave me." You mumbled at him, his hands freezing as he finally stopped drying your body off. He knew you were going to start saying some things that you weren't going to mean and he was ready for it.

"I don't want to leave you." He kissed the top of your head, handing you some panties to put on and you did, shaking your head at him the whole time. There were so many other people he could go to that he wouldn't have to do all of this for,

"Why?" Your voice shook a little as fresh tears began to roll down your cheeks and Yoongi smiled weakly at you, he wanted to do everything he could to protect you from every thought running rapidly through your mind right now. Since he knew there wasn't much to be said or that he could do he reached his hand out, cupping your cheek in his grasp before using his thumb to wipe away the tears,

"Because I love you." He whispered, kissing your lips gently before he pulled the giant blanket hoodie on over your body and took the towel to throw into the washing basket. You knew he did and you loved him too but that didn't mean that this was easy for him to deal with,

"But I'm..I-I ruin everything, you should leave and find someone you don't have to care for like you do with me." You grumbled as Yoongi changed into some shorts, sitting on the bed before he wrapped his arms around your midsection and dragged you to lay down with him. In his arms, you felt at home, at peace but that didn't make it easy for you to just let your mind melt away,

"You do not and besides," He whispers, making sure your head was resting against his bare chest,

"I could never find someone to replace you, you're the love of my life," He smiled a little, his hands slowly starting to run up and down your back and he watched as your eyes struggled to stay open. It must have been a long day for you since your depression had been acting up and all he wanted you to do was rest for now, in the morning the two of you could figure out the next step. He was already planning on shooting a text over to your therapist to let them know you might be ready for another session soon but he would never pressure you into anything. 

"Will you hum Amygdala for me?" You sniffled, snuggling into him more as you listened to the way his heart was beating steadily. It was grounding to you, knowing that he was right there when you needed him most, even if your head was telling you to push him away.

"Sure." He shifted a little so that the two of you could sit more comfortably with one another before he smiled and began to hum the song sweetly to you. It was something you'd been playing all day long, through your earphones and even through your speakers, just getting to hear how emotional and raw he was with his music had helped you stay grounded a lot that day.

"My amygdala, you save me," You told him sleepily, your eyes barely able to stay open as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, listening to his humming and the soft beat of his heart. Yoongi continued to hold you the whole night, not letting you go for a second because there was nothing he wouldn't do if it meant protecting you, even from your own mind.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @rjsmochii @tinyoonsblog @sw33tnight @cherrybubblesandvodka @acciocriativity @mitzwinchester @heyjiminnie @halesandy @jin-from-the-block @aerastus @namjooningelsewhere @psychosupernatural @lyoongx @royallyjjk @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop @meowmeowisdaname @imafivestarkpopstan @laylasbunbunny @ratherbfangirling @backintomykpopphaseagain

[yarnandink]

Okay! Ten Twelve Stitch Twist baby blanket is bound off, woven in, washed and now drying, and I'm very proud of it and very happy to have it finished.

Changes to the pattern in this version:

cast on 12 stitches instead of 10

used a Backward Loop cast-on instead of Long Tail, because that’s a bit stretchier for me

worked two extra ridges for each pie wedge for the starting circle (e.g. worked the w&t after 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 stitches, then back down)

worked an extra “k2, w&t, k2” ridge after completing the last/eighth pie wedge, and before knitting the full row

used a Lace bind-off, instead of the normal pass over bind-off, because again it’s stretchier for me

bound off to the last two stitches, because I’m working a selvedge stitch and wanted to keep that consistent

therefore skipped the knit front and back ridge from the pattern

worked a w&t ridge after each increase to an even number of stitches from 4 stitches onward (so the next ridge after increasing to 4, 6, 8, and 10 stitches)

increased back to 12 stitches instead of 10

used ssk instead of k2tog for the decrease in the final spiral arm.

I was mildly tempted to work an i-cord border, but ultimately decided not to because a) I'd already used much more yarn than I'd planned, and b) I wanted this blanket done and ready to gift to the colleague I knit it for, before she goes on maternity leave.

(Also c) it would have taken ages and been boring and fiddly and not worth the effort.)

Yarn is Multicoloured Sock by Bendigo Woollen Mills, in the Blue Jeans colourway. I knit the thing on 3mm needles.

The finished fabric is light, soft and drapey, but beautifully warm (I overheated a couple of times with this project on my lap, especially during our late summer heat waves), and I hope will serve the mother and kiddo for many years!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

A CROW'S CARRION COMFORT (X)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XI ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.3k

WARNINGS: Banter, angst, death, guns, violence, plot lines coming together, mentioned insomnia/nightmares, wounds, mentions of stitches & blood, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You stare at the phone blankly, unblinking eyes in the darkness of your room stiff. At all sides, the shadows bleed away from the light of the device as it shows the small icon of an ongoing call—the picture void of any personalization, just a plain circle. Your eyes blink, and the voice that had been speaking comes back into your ears like a far-off murmur. 

“I swear on your mother’s life I didn’t mean to do it like I did, Kid.” That Jersey accent makes your lips thin. “My daughters mean the world to me, see? I ain’t shittin’ you when I say you remind me of ‘em. I…I can’t stand to see one of my girls hurt.”

Hector had a fast and hurried tone, and your phone sat on the coffee table unaffected—the door to your room closed and fastened shut in a lie that you were getting dressed for bed. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since your outburst out back; Gaz and your… reconciliation? You didn’t know if that was the word, but it was the best you could come up with at the moment. 

Your lips don’t speak, and your face feels void of blood. 

“Kid,” Hector gets more desperate. “You don’t understand, alright? My girls mean so—”

You slap the red icon and his voice cuts out as if it were never there. 

Staring at your phone, you listen to the house as your mother’s voice wafts in through the vents, a roar and wave from an ocean with garbled words you can’t make out. Bringing a hand to your face, you slowly rub up and down; pushing back the weight as your fingers dig into your eye socket. 

A knock echoes off the walls. 

“...You alright in there?” You blink, slightly shaking your head. It was like the Sergeant had a radar on him—telling him whenever you were doing something other than what you’d told him. 

It struck you that this time, it didn’t dig so much into annoyance as it did some deep part of yourself that somewhat appreciated it. 

“Be out in a minute,” your voice calls and a firm tap to the wood moments later lets you know he heard; footsteps going back across the hall to his room. 

From there you do your normal routine—a shower, a quick brush of your teeth even if you were going to be grabbing food at midnight anyway, and pajamas. Nothing more than a large oversized shirt and sweats.

Feeling a chill up your spine, on the way out after grabbing your laptop and the attached USB, you snag a blanket as well, unwilling to put your dirty jacket on even if your fingers twitch to fiddle with your coin. Throwing the fabric over your shoulder, you push open the door and slink across the hall to enter Gaz’s room; the lights there dimmed, and the twin lamps shone a warm glow. 

Eyes flinching a moment, you sigh as the man looks up from where he’d been leaning against the frame of his bed. When he sees you, he pushes off and blinks carefully. There’s a tight moment of silence that borders on awkwardness.

“All squared, then?” The Brit asks, and you toss your chin. 

He was wearing gray sweatpants and a navy compression shirt, small white accents in the stitching; his hat was on the nightstand. Not letting your eyes wander, though it was, horrifically, hard not to do so when every muscle and dip was on display, you loosely passed him your laptop with one hand. 

“Suppose,” your voice eases out, eyes flicking at the sounds from downstairs—moving furniture and such. You wondered if your mom had enlisted Alex to do her grunt work, and you have to comment internally that he isn’t getting paid enough for that. 

Kyle watches you before softly taking the laptop, glancing down at the USB still stuck in it before he sighs under his breath. He places it down on the bed, feet shifting. 

The man wasn’t one to pry into things where he didn’t feel he belonged or it wasn’t his duty. Your personal affairs weren’t a part of this, but somehow, somewhere along the line, you’d managed to intertwine them like a jumbled pile of cords. Tonight, the pond out back and the willow trees…Kyle’s eyes dart to your injured palm; where the skin is bare and soft from your shower. 

Without a word, he walks to his duffel bag and takes out his med kit, nodding his head to the desk chair near the back wall firmly.

“Let’s get that hand re-wrapped properly, eh?” He watches as your tired body waits for a second more. “It’ll get infected if I don’t keep an eye on it.” 

You pause, and for some odd reason, an embarrassed heat builds in your cheeks. 

“Y-You don't have to do that,” your voice stutters, eyes jumping from his throat to his under eye before they settle on the wall behind his head. Kyle’s brows furrow, med kit slightly lowering in his hand as he studies you in confusion. “It’s not…that’s not…”

Your lips are thin, jaw clenching. But Gaz isn’t as clueless as he was when he first got you under assignment, he rubs at the back of his neck once and begins walking over slowly. 

“Spitfire?” He levels earnestly. You wait, blanket shielding your form. A hand is extended in front of your face, and you blink down at it. “Let me help.” 

Right about now you’d fire a quick insult his way—tell him to mind his own business and slink off to your room; you would have reasoned that was what he deserved. But, damn him, he seemed to know that you craved some semblance of a warm touch, craved to keep that comfort from just a tiny while earlier. 

The scene under the willows had changed something fundamental in your brain. Had taken the bits of what remained and sewn a fraction together. Like a reluctant recipient, you had allowed him in on the basis of your own gnawing guild—had spilled over like a glass of water. 

Yet, you admitted that for once in your three long years, crying hadn’t felt as much of a curse when his head was sitting atop yours.

With a lick of your lips, you slowly set your hand into Kyle’s palm—silent as a mouse. 

“Thank you,” he says, earnestly, before his fingers lightly curl over your own and he gently pulls you over to the desk chair. 

Kyle sits you down softly, kneeling like he had the first time you found yourselves in this position, and places the med kit on the floor before twisting your hand. 

“Any pain?” He asks as if talking about the morning paper. 

You have to wonder if he feels as awkward as you do—like you’re inhabiting another’s skin and pupating it, nothing but a marionette doll. It’s as if now since there’s nothing to bark or argue about, you’re rendered…mute.

Kyle calls your name and you blink, gaze moving to the side of his mouth. 

“Yeah?” You breathe out softly, still hearing the noise from downstairs. The Brit’s hands squeeze yours once, and you nearly shiver like a fool. 

“Do the cuts hurt?” Brown eyes narrow slowly, tilting his head. “I have pain medicine in my bag if it does. Most it’ll need now is just some tight bindings. No use with more stitches, the worst of it has pulled back together.” 

“They’re fine,” you whisper, flexing the hand. “Gaz,” your curiosity leaks in, and perhaps a bit of your boldness. 

The man hums under his breath as he grabs gauze and bandages. Your eyes stare into his scar. 

“Can I have his journal back?” You expected a quick and firm ‘no’ to roll off his accented tongue, but after a minute of his careful yet attentive eye, a smirk flashed on his lips. Amusement fills the air. 

“Oh, you mean the one you broke into a museum to steal?” Gaz raises a brow in mocking question. “That journal?” 

Your lips huff out, “Yes, Sergeant, that journal.”

“I suppose I shouldn't mention the unconscious security guard that was found in the hallway along the way, then?” He chuckles. “He’s fine, by the way.” 

“It would be best if you didn’t.” On your face, your lips fight a smile at the banter—the still pounding flesh under your eyes going to the back of your mind from the crying and the fatigue. Your voice is still raspy from sobbing.

Gaz shakes his head, smiling with white teeth. “If there’s a handful of things I’ll never understand, Spitfire,” he squeezes your hand one last time and stands up; your gaze following the small inhale he takes in his chest. “I think it’s safe to say you’ll always be one of them.” 

You chuff a laugh, stifling a yawn on your lips, as you push out, “Rich, coming from a guy whose file says he prides himself on understanding ‘even the finest details.’” 

The memory of the cafe, the first real meeting of the two of you, flashes through your heads. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

“Still can’t believe you bloody threw a pack at my head,” Gaz murmurs, rubbing at the back of his head as he walks away. He points a finger back at you as he flips and begins walking backward to the nightstand, you roll your eyes at him. “Head might still be ringing, you know?”

“If only,” you grumble, smirking. “I'd have been surprised if that was enough to bring you down. Pleased, but surprised.”

“Hell, so would I,” Gaz admits with a grin. “Not a bad arm, though.”

“Thanks,” you joke with a raised brow, standing as the man opens the drawer and digs a hand inside. “I use it to slap air vent covers into unsuspecting security guards.” 

His laughs echo off the walls, and the noise momentarily stops downstairs; he covers his mouth with his forearm to try and hide it, but the sound itself makes your lips pull back in a pleased grin. You giggle tinily at his reaction, face going heated. 

“Fucking hell,” Gaz shakes his head, smiling wide as he stares at you. His throat bobs in a swallow. “So this is a pattern I need to be aware of, then?”

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in.“One hundred percent.”

“Christ, Love.” Your father’s journal comes to light from the confines of the nightstand drawer, and it’s like all of the strange joy is sucked out of the air like a spell of smoke and mirrors. 

Your lips pull back down to a thin line, blinking at the black leather and the bulk of wrinkled pages. Kyle feels it too, shifting his jaw for a moment before clearing his throat. Along the sides of the object, his fingers tap twice. 

“You know I can’t let you have it,” he says, voice firm but begging you to understand his position. You do know that. 

Already your forked tongue is begging to be let loose—to snap and release venom. But your eyes hurt, and the night is long; there are so many more important things to think over than how to make this man miserable for just doing his job. You imagine he does that to himself more than enough if the confessions by the pond meant anything in the long run. 

There’s just so much that hurts, and you can’t figure out a way to make it stop. 

You rub at your face and grumble out a tired, “Yeah.”

Kyle sighs, looking away for a moment before he filters his gaze back. His foot shifts. “Guess that just means we’ll have to go through this shite together then, eh, Spitfire? You said the USB was password-protected?” 

You stare with parted lips as he puts the journal down on the bed, taking your personal laptop instead and flipping it open to the screen while the stick blinks to life. A swift brown glance is spared towards the chair. 

“Password-protected, right?” You nod in a soft jerk of your head, suddenly unable to look at the man as he blinks at you, shrugging. 

“It’s late,” Gaz looks you up and down—tilting his head as he also pulls out the other item from the nightstand, the laptop from the museum. “I’ll try my hand at finding something, but until you get some rest and come back, I’ll stick to skimming the—”

You interrupt him.

“I’m not going to be sleeping tonight,” your body pushes you up, and you stalk over to the bed slowly while pulling the blanket farther up your shoulders. The bindings on your hand are tight and sure. 

Kyle pauses as you take the journal, watching you with a furrow in his dark brows. He lets you explain as you feel his digging gaze—curious but confused. You clear your throat, flipping open the first page of your father’s life like that was all he was; words on thin paper, the indent of a pen nib. 

“Nightmares, remember?” 

“Yeah,” Gaz answers, “I just didn’t…” He pauses, shaking his head. “Never mind.” 

You both stand shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the laptops as the man lowers the first back to the comforter with a puff of air. The item in your hand you turn over to the first page—dated on a day you knew all too well. Your birthday. Your first birthday. Inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

Your father had started journaling the very day you were born. 

You snap the journal shut and turn to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing out, “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your dad hadn’t become a soldier?”

Kyle startles, eyelids blinking quickly. “W-what’s that,” he stutters, looking down at you in shock. 

“Your dad,” you say slower, mocking almost before your voice once more fades back to a genuine question. “If he hadn’t…I don’t know, if he hadn’t made the decision to sign that enlistment form, do you think you’d have become anything different? You said you took after him, I’m just wondering.” 

“Yeah,” he’s confused at this, going to cross his hands over his chest and stare at you as your mouth takes down a deep breath before re-opening the journal and skipping the first few entries entirely. “I…couldn’t really tell you. Haven't thought about it like that, I suppose.” Gaz’s fingers lightly dig into his biceps. “Why do you ask, Love?” 

You shrug, eyes scanning memories. 

“It’s like we’re all just shadows of what our parents were. Trying to carry on a legacy that died with them before they could ever complete it. It’s…funny, I guess.” Your lips take down a breath. “I tried so hard to become my father that I feel like I’m falling down the same pit he did.”  

“You’re better than that,” Kyle reassures immediately, taking a step closer to the bed. 

“You don’t know that,” your voice counters. 

Instinctual self-preservation kicks in, leaving your throat tight with the knowledge you should stop talking. On the roof, there begins the slight pitter-patter of rain. Talking to him, it seemed, had suddenly become addictive—perhaps it was because there was truly no one else who could offer you advice like he could. After all, he’d been there through all of it. You just had to say it.

“I need you to understand my position here.” you skim over your father’s account of your third birthday and the cake you’d gotten; two layers decorated with your favorite cartoon characters. Your eyes flicker away to stare at the man’s chest, at the cross of his arms. 

Kyle grunts under his breath but can appreciate the level-headedness you’re coming to him with. This was a conversation he could have—so much better than a round of insults from both parties and the hidden glares. 

“I understand it,” he admits, nodding once. “Through all of it, I always have.” 

Inside of your chest, your heart sputters. “Good,” you cough out and a moment later you’re changing the subject, fingers hot as Gaz looks away for a moment. “The USB had a limited number of password attempts—there’s only two left.” 

Brown eyes glance over the room, sliding past furniture and the old creaking of the walls. 

“Then we don’t try anything until we have something narrowed down, yeah?” Kyle, after a second of hesitation, moves over to your form and sits beside you on the bed, moving your father’s laptop onto his legs. “We leave it alone for now…” He side-eyes you. “I take this, you take the journal?” 

“Shouldn’t you be sending this off to an analysis team or something?” You interject, not complaining but cashing in on the fact that if you get him to speak to you, your head will stop spinning. Gaz’s scent pools in your nose like perfume, and you wonder if you can ever separate that scent from the press of his head above your own; the dig of his fingers as they kept you to his neck.

That steady pulse.

“Yeah,” that boyish charm returns as if it were second nature. “But the way I see it, Spitfire,” his shoulder bumps yours and you’re surprised you don’t immediately flinch away. “I’ll be saving my own neck if I don’t. Figured you’d have ransacked my room by now.” 

Your nose releases a puff. “Was about a day away.” 

“Knew it,” he mutters, smirking. “But, no, I will be calling in a team and writing up a report. Just…not right now.”

“I’m flattered,” you sarcastically comment. Yet, you really were. It’s…nice to be able to speak like this. The sins of the past haven't been forgotten, and they won’t be, but right now there has to be something said for the simple existence of someone to joke with—to tease and spill secrets too. When did you last have that? 

The rain patters far overhead as Gaz gets to searching, fingers tapping and his shoulder close to yours as you flip through pages slowly. The weight is back on your chest, but a portion has been chiseled off like a stone sculpture. Biting on your lip, your mind hones in on the details of the entries. 

Months and years fly past in mere minutes, things that your mind calls to but can’t fully recall—when your father had gone on his business trip to California, the meteor shower when you were eleven. Even when you had broken your arm in middle school gym class. There were family secrets and drama. Apparently, you had broken a back window with a baseball when you were thirteen, which, despite all of it, made your eyes widen slightly like a child who had just stolen a cookie. 

“Found something,” Kyle calls about half an hour in, moving through files and script down to the very base of the laptop’s components—you barely noticed, only blinking over when the thunder from outside makes you tense. 

“Hm,” you hum, sitting up straighter as your eyes burn from the tiny written words. The blanket around your body keeps you in a cocoon, and somehow, Gaz seems even closer than he had been before.

A finger is pointed to the screen casually, one hand moving the cursor as your eyes stay on his cheek.

“Encrypted files—dozens,” you furrow your brows. 

“How hard is it to break?” His lips pull thin.

“I’m not exactly an expert on it—” You take the laptop from him and roll your eyes. 

“Garrick, I got into CIA databases,” the man’s sigh is all but seen on the airways, letting you do as you wish as he shakes his head. “All you had to do was ask.”

He huffs, grunting out, “Well, if you’d have let me finish, Love, I would have.”

“Then you should have just started with it.” A smirk pulls your lips. “Chop-chop, Sergeant, there’s no time to beat around the bush.”

You enter each individual line of the script, fishing like a hook in water for something out of place or a mere segment that didn’t feel right—each time you dig deeper, past firewalls that you have to wonder why were even there in the first place—you feel his eyes on you. 

Gaz breathes quietly through his nose, not used to the way your vision eagerly skims the screen ahead of you as the minutes draw on into double digits; your sights trained like his are when behind a gun. You enjoyed this, he realizes with a tilt of his head. Enjoyed the thrill of breaking into something—the stab of achievement at…control. Kyle glances down at the bandages over your palm, and at the bags under your eyes. 

Control. His lips slightly parted. It was the thing you always seemed to lack; the thing you never had to begin with. 

Your words at the pond told him much, most of which he already suspected but hadn’t had the time to process with all the running around. Truthfully, the man didn’t know if you even knew it yourself, but it was painfully obvious that despite the history of this estate and the memories, you gained a sheen of mild fear every time you came home.

At the creaking, the nothingness—he could see it in your eyes. 

You hated it here. You loved to hate it; to hate the darkness and the groaning frame, the neverending rush of water through the pipes like a tsunami amplified by the static silence. 

For not the first time that night, the man’s chest tightens and he clenches his jaw to force down his stiff expression. 

So many questions, so many things to say, but so little time. 

“Got it,” you snap your fingers, bringing your legs up to fold on the bed, knee knocking into Gaz’s thigh. The both of you don’t care enough at that moment to move, and, in fact, the Sergeant’s body leans even closer—shoulder right behind yours. 

Files alight on screen; a folder already opening for you as the script peels back.

“Now, what do we have—” The name of the overarching folder in the white bar makes you freeze, face going dead-still like something had just shot through you; a spark of shock making your eyes widen. 

“Spitfire?” Kyle asks, face pulling closer as his fingers grab the side of the screen, turning the device somewhat his way. “What’s going…” 

Brown eyes lock on the same item that yours are on and his heart skips a beat. Each MP4 file in that folder was dated, named, and either holding one of two letters: ‘A’ or ‘D’.

But the folder name. The dates all fall on the same as the red ink that had been in your father’s office, once a month, all detailing different entries into the museum. The fifteenth; the day he was always home, waiting to take phone calls but still…with you and your mother.

The name.

Chiyou.

Before Gaz can stop you, you’re clicking on the first file—dated on the fifteenth of September, 1999, and named ‘Randal Wolfe - D’. The video pops up, and your finger slams on the unmute button. 

The screaming is the first thing you hear, but your eyes land on the man not even a millisecond later. Kyle’s eyes go wide, air stuck in his throat. It wasn’t smart, but neither of you could take your gazes away from the scene in front of you. 

A man was tied to the ceiling by chains, hanging from his arms as his feet dangled. There’s so much blood, even the large pixels and the fuzzy recording can pick up the puddles of it, drops dripping to the floor. Your jaw falls open as your pulse mimics a war drum, lungs decreasing the amount of oxygen available to your brain. 

He, this Randal Wolfe, is begging. Begging for his life just as the long arm enters the frame, a jet-black pistol held in its gloved grip with gold detailing. You stare at that gun and take down a violent inhalation, hands on the laptop shaking as the flick of a safety is lost below the wails and pleas.

“It’s not just a name,” Kyle breathes, stopped dead in his tracks even as his brain screams at him to move. 

You stare in growing dread and horror, guts tightening inside of your abdomen and your fingers jerkily clenching into fists. So many files—so many names that had been cataloged like the storage room in the museum; laid out in alphabetical order. Execution tapes, extortion tapes, ‘D’ for dead and ‘A’ for alive, MP4s with cold evidence of the same caliber that Kate Laswell had been looking for, if the surroundings offered any clues as to secondary locations. Organized with the staples of a man dedicated to his work. 

Work.

Chiyou. The way you now recognize the title is a curse, a stain that bleeds your soul black until nothing remains but a void. Why now? Why, out of all of the times to remember, why did it have to be now?

A Chinese mythological figure, now revered in a different sense. Your own father had taught you about him in passing, textbooks from school, and the large books in your own library. Stories that he’d read to you in front of a fire—rain similar to the storm outside battering the windows. A God of War. It was never just a name. 

Your tongue is lead.

“...It’s a business.”

Kyle’s hand snaps the laptop closed just before the gun can be fired, the sound cut out as your eyes continue to stare straight ahead—knowing the boom and the spray of blood that came immediately after like the back of your hand. 

The silence extends like purgatory and if you think hard enough, the dripping of crimson can be felt still on your face just as the sound of glass breaking from downstairs snaps your attention away.

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