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leyavo · 3 months ago

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| Vita Ante Acta | 1

- “A life done before.”

You and Kyle know what it means to lose a beloved mate. Both feeling like you’re going through another rebirth when you feel the tethered strand of fate pulling you together.

Alpha!reader x Beta!Gaz Second chance mates. [masterlist]

TW: grief/hurt/angst (will be 18+ due to smut in next parts) 2,084word

Kyle had never known darkness till he met you. He hadn’t truly touched upon his own, instead he chased the light at every opportunity he could grasp. Knowing that his deceased mate would want him to live and not survive.

He kept himself busy, signing up for back to back missions and training courses to stop his mind wandering back to his lost love. Which was also not you.

In life, Kyle believed there was one moon and one mate. You, however, a second chance mate was not something he knew of until you arrived on base. And it was as if fate was laughing at him, your call-sign being Lux….because you lit up a hostile area with flares and blinded the enemy.

Light, the same thing Kyle chased in order to escape the darkness of the one he loved and lost. Johnny mentioned something about divine intervention.

Everyone seemed to avoid you like the plague, well the males did. You were a few years older than Kyle, Captain and now working with the welfare council for werewolves. Making sure that alphas treated their pack members fairly with no abuse or neglect. You were there permanently on the base to shadow each and every system in place.

Kyle just so happened to be the one to break up a fight between a beta and a delta. Giving a statement in your run down office on the furthest side of civilisation. A temporary mobile unit that looked like it had been there since the sixties and forgotten about.

He hesitated in the doorway, your scent nearly knocking him back outside. A strong, heady aroma he couldn’t decipher. Couldn’t quite figure out if it was something he liked or something he loathed. It burnt his nostrils, left a bitter after taste at the back of his throat.

“You feel that too?” You say, not bothering to glance his way as you stare at the computer screen, keyboard clicking away.

“Yes.” He didn’t want to admit it, neither did he want to stick around too long and tempt fate.

The pit of his stomach heated, like a spark catching off of a rock in the depths of a dark cave. One flicker of a withering flame, does he want to let it grow though or smother it? He’s not felt it in a long time, that warmth, that reassurance that someone’s there for him. The guilt eats away at him, he thinks of his mate, not you. You’re not his mate, there are no second chances and no way in hell is there any replacement.

Kyle’s heard the rumours spreading about you and he’s sure you’ve heard his. Yours much different than his though. You witnessed your beloved mate die, worked with him in the same field and continued to do so without them. His mate completely different, civilian that had never witnessed the cruel hand of fate until well her death, but that was more punishing for Kyle.

Not that he’d wish for it to be the other way round though.

You’re an alpha, maybe that’s why he’s struggling to identify your scent. Maybe you’re shielding it from him so he can’t take advantage of the situation and lie on his statement. That or his wolf’s trying really hard to block anything else, but his beloved mates scent in hopes of never losing it too.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” you say, gaze flitting to his and the name on his chest. “Sergeant Garrick.”

A shiver runs down Kyle’s spine as he sat in the chair opposite your desk. No warmth in your features, eyes dull and missing their spark. Kyle should know, he stares at his reflection daily wondering when he’ll recognise himself again. When his voice will register with the same one in his head. You seem to be observing him too, no doubt going through the same monologue in your head. Like looking in a mirror and forcing each other to see what you’ve become. A shell of your previous self.

Kyle goes through the usual questions, answering as truthfully as he can about the situation and the pack, stating that he was just a bystander who diffused the fight. He can’t stop staring at you though, wondering if this is what everyone sees when they look at him.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sergeant,” you say, stretching your gloved hand over the table and shaking his. Grip firm and gaze locked on his, like you were looking knowingly into his soul.

I see you.

He’s glad you’re both wearing layers, even if he can feel the dull tingles pricking his palms and his fingers. Doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stomach skin to skin touch. The thought alone sending a wave of nausea washing over him.

“Of course, Captain.” He nods, declining your polite offer to call you by your call-sign instead of your rank. A bit too personal for his liking considering the circumstances.

The rain meets him as his boots crunch on the gravel outside, the drops of water pelting his tactical vest. He’s about to make a run for it, when he hears a whoosh. A dark shadow looming over him and he glances up to the umbrella, your hand wrapped around the handle.

“Just take it Garrick, no hidden meaning here.” You shake the umbrella, pushing it to his chest. Not waiting for a thank you, the door swinging shut before he can open his mouth.

Kyle grips the handle, walks back to the residential house slowly as the sky begins to darken. The hum of the street lamps warming up, but the pounding in his head drowns it all out. He dumps the umbrella in his bedroom, leaning it against the desk.

It doesn't rain for the rest of the month, April normally lived up to its reputation and rained nonstop. Not since you’d given him the umbrella, Kyle thought maybe the moon goddess was telling him it wasn’t meant to be. He shouldn’t go back there, doesn’t need to. Like you said, no hidden meaning behind the gesture.

He just can’t seem to get you out of his head. Each time he stares at his reflection, rubs his tired eyes he thinks of your same stare. A knowing look of truly knowing someone. And Kyle doesn’t understand most people.

A part of him is scared to be around you for too long. Kyle lost his mate four years ago and you lost yours seven. He doesn’t want to go any deeper in his own grief, looking at you tells him he hasn’t delved deep enough. Another small spec though, wants to throw a pebble and see how far it will go. How much he can withstand, but he doesn’t want to lose his sense of self or his beloved mate.

So when he sees you a month later in May, clothes drenched and stuck to your figure he offers you a fraction of light and a flicker of hope. A cup of warm of coffee from the canteen, the white mug sliding in front of your shivering frame sitting alone at the furthest table away. Your umbrella tucked under his arm. He slides into the bench next to you, arm brushing against your shoulder.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

The months that follow since that first cup of coffee, becomes routine. Meeting Kyle whenever it’s lashing down with rain and sometimes you gaze out the window wishing for a down pour. Hoping that maybe it can cleanse you, wash away your fears and lead you to something more.

His jacket weighs heavy on your shoulders as you walk back from the main building. The closer you get to Kyle, the further apart your meetings seem to get. He’s still got his remaining spark, not familiar with the deep well you can’t quite seem to climb out of. You haven’t gone too much into your grief with him, but he understands by just the look of your glassy eyes. A fleeting moment of knowing and it breaks your heart all over again. Silences you.

You’re no more than friends, mates seems like a great dishonour to your beloveds memory. There’s glimmers of hesitation on Kyle’s part, fingers hovering close to your hands as you walk next to each other. Words left unsaid that coat the back of your throat and claw for you to keep your mouth shut. Your wolf’s been lying dormant for, you don’t know how long, no bite left as you give up your alpha senses.

It’s been years since you let someone get so close. The walls beginning to crumble and it makes you want to build them up again. Stay in the well, waiting for coins and wishes you know won’t come.

Kyle has his friends, his task force. A team to keep him grounded and take his mind off everything. You don’t, no you’re the one in charge of other people’s wellbeing. Pushing your own needs aside. Your parents are long gone, ashes in the wind and you’re not close to siblings, they’re much older than you. Just being around Kyle reminds you of what you lack. What you long for.

“You’re pretty quiet today?” Kyle hums, head tilting as he tries to catch your gaze. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His fingers wrap around your upper arm and he pulls you to a gentle stop. You know he can feel the same twist in his chest, the pull of fate.

The mobile unit is in your sight, the one place where you don’t have to think of anything other than work. Where you can bury your head in the files and filter out all the noise. The guilt of spending time with Kyle and the shame you inflicted on yourself for leaning into the bond with him. Your chest bruised from your fists hitting the spot, pain is better than betraying your mate.

“I can’t,” you snapped, ripping your arm out of his hold and shrugging off his jacket. You shove it in his arms, rushing to the comfort of your office door.

He’s hot on your tail though, boots crunching in the gravel and voice raised as he calls after you. You daren’t glance over your shoulder, knowing you’ll stop.

“I’ve been racking my brain for a reason as not to…” he says, heel of his boots rocking back on step as if he’s thinking whether he should carry on or leave. “Either way we’re gonna get burnt.” His palm smacks on the door before it swings back at him.

You’re nothing like him though, no light left. Afraid to snuff out his flame or drain him of life, of hope.

No, you can’t drag him down with you.

You shake your head, trying to even out your faltered breaths. He reaches for your hand, but you dart to the side. “I can’t!” Why is he still here? Why can’t he see how different you are. How you were…

“Why not?” He whispers, as if you’ll break if he’s raises his voice. Like he knows exactly how fragile you, a heart of glass. A pebble finally dropping to the bottom of your well, a crack splitting the brick wall.

“Because you remind me everyday what I have lost! What I must endure.” You don't know how he manages to coax it out of you, how easily you fall apart for something as simple as being kind. You're used to getting on with it in silence and going on without being asked, no ones dared to get this close. You've said more to him than you have your therapist.

“Why would you want to forget him? I don’t want to forget them,” he says your mate’s name like he knew him, his beloved's name making you stumble back as if you were struck in the chest.

Tears spill over your lashes, burning your checks. Your knees crashing to the carpeted floor, head hung low as you finally release the pressure on your chest.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Kyle says, walking slowly towards you. “They wouldn’t want us to torture ourselves like this.” His arms circle you, palm smoothing up and down your back. You lean your head against his chest, fingers twisting the fabric of his sleeve.

His scent a mixture of your mates and combined with new notes of something earthy and smokey, as if cementing you were meant to burn each other.

Thanks for reading, I'll be posting part 1 of Price's mate tomorrow then be doing part 2 for each of the 141 guys :) Please note that I am dyslexic and although I check/edit my work multiple times I do miss errors/mistakes - Leya

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aylacavebear · 3 months ago

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Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 10

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4764

Warning: SMUT! - no intercourse, oral m receiving, dry sex, Claiming, Aftercare, Fluff, Reader taking care of Dean. Dean being Dean.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 10

The soft glow of the nightstand lamp cast long shadows across your room, the dim light making everything feel quieter, more intimate. The air between you and Dean felt heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.

He stood just inside the doorway, his fingers still curled around yours. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths, but beneath the calm, you could feel the tension in him—his wolf pacing just beneath the surface, caught between instinct and the need to keep Dean in check.

Dean had always been controlled, always carried himself with a careful restraint. But now… now that restraint was thinning, fraying at the edges as his eyes trailed over you. You could see it, in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his fingers flexed as if he were resisting the urge to hold you tighter.

You knew what this meant to him, what it meant for his wolf. It wasn’t just about the physical act of claiming—it was about trust, surrendering to something he had wanted for so long and never allowed himself to have. And now, standing here with you, he was letting himself want this.

The silence stretched between you, thick with anticipation.

“Dean,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. You lifted your free hand, letting your fingers graze over his jaw, feeling the tension there, the way he was trying to hold himself together.

His breath shuddered out. Your touch was so soft, so tender, so loving.

“I can hear him,” Dean admitted, voice rough. “My wolf. He’s—” He swallowed, shaking his head slightly. “He’s never been this—” “Loud?” you supplied.

Dean huffed a quiet, almost breathless laugh. “Yeah.” Maybe Sam had been right all along. Maybe his wolf could keep him from hurting you.

His grip on your hand tightened, but not in fear. He was grounding himself in you, in this moment.

You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him in waves. His scent—what little you could register—was stronger now, richer, wrapping around you like something tangible. If only you could truly smell it, feel it the way he could feel yours.

“He’s not just loud,” Dean continued, voice lower now, rasping. “He’s… calm.” His brows furrowed, like he didn’t quite believe it himself. “For the first time, he’s not pulling away. Not fighting me.” His chest tightened at his words.

His wolf wasn’t fighting him. Wasn’t retreating to the dark recesses of his mind like when Dean had been with other omegas in the past. He was accepting this—accepting you.

Slowly, you lifted your hands, sliding them up the solid planes of his chest, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. Dean let out a slow, measured breath, like he was steadying himself, but his wolf… his wolf wasn’t just present.

He was waiting.

“I trust him,” you whispered. “And I trust you.”.

Something flickered in his expression—something raw, something deep.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but instead, he exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second. When they opened again, you knew.

He was ready.

And so were you.

You’d spent the last two months researching the claiming process, memorizing every detail, every nuance—how to forge the bond without crossing the final threshold. Tonight, all of that knowledge would be put to use.

For a brief moment, you recalled Jess teasing you a month ago when she caught you practicing on a banana, her laughter ringing in your ears as she’d smirked and said, “You know, you could just wait and let instinct take over.” You had rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, you knew—this wasn’t something you wanted to leave to chance.

And Dean deserved better than guesswork.

You pushed the memory aside, focusing on him. His breathing had shifted—slower, heavier, as if his body was preparing itself for what was to come. His pupils were blown wide, the green of his irises swallowed by something more primal.

He was waiting for you to guide him through this.

Your fingers drifted from his chest, up the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse thrummed beneath your touch. His skin was hot, the scent of him thickening in the space between you.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered, your lips hovering just above his.

Dean let out a breath—shaky, unsure—but he didn’t pull away.

“I’m not afraid,” he admitted. “Not of you.” His hand came up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek. His voice was softer now, barely more than a rasp. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up.”

You smiled, tilting your head just enough to nuzzle into his touch. “You won’t.” He exhaled, something in him uncoiling.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you closed the space between you, your lips barely grazing his before pressing fully into him. The kiss was slow, deliberate—unrushed, and intimate.

Dean let out a low, almost inaudible sound in the back of his throat, his grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you against him. Heat flared where your bodies met, and for the first time, you felt the full weight of what this moment meant.

You deepened the kiss first, teasing his lips with your tongue, a silent request for entrance. His fingers tightened on your waist, a low groan rumbled deep in his chest, but he parted his lips, meeting you eagerly. You felt everything—the hitch in his breath, the way his fingers flexed like he wanted to pull you closer, to take control. But he didn’t. He was waiting for you.

That realization sent a shiver down your spine. He was letting you lead.

Slowly, deliberately, your hands began to explore, tracing the firm lines of his chest through his shirt. Your fingers splayed wide, palms pressing over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He was warm—so warm—and solid beneath your touch, his muscles taut with anticipation.

You shifted your weight slightly, guiding him backward toward the bed. Dean followed, without resistance, his lips never leaving yours, his trust unspoken but absolute.

When the backs of his knees met the edge of the mattress, you pressed against him, hands sliding to the hem of his shirt. His breath hitched again, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t question it.

You tugged the fabric upward, your fingers grazing along his skin, feeling the tension in his muscles as he lifted his arms to help you strip him bare. The moment the fabric hit the floor, your hands were on him again—mapping him out, learning every ridge, every scar, every piece of him that made him him.

Dean exhaled sharply, his head tipping back just enough to expose the line of his throat—a silent show of trust. His wolf was quiet, still, waiting.

The knowledge of what came next flickered in your mind as your lips trailed over his chest, leaving tender kisses in your wake. His hands found your hips, gripping just enough to ground himself, to hold onto something solid in the midst of all the sensation.

Your touch ignited fire beneath his skin, tension coiling low in his abdomen with every deliberate brush of your lips. Even with the confidence you’d carried earlier, he could feel your inexperience—the hesitation beneath the curiosity in your hands. The way you touched him wasn’t the same as someone who had done this before. You touched him as if he was the first man you’d ever explored—carefully, curiously, with an intimacy so raw it made his breath catch.

Then, your lips brushed over his scent gland, your tongue sweeping sensually across it.

The guttural growl that rumbled through him was instantaneous, his grip on your waist tightened before it loosening again. Does she have any idea how sensitive that spot is?

Oh, you knew.

You eased him down, guiding him until his back met the mattress. The lamp cast golden light over the bare skin of his chest, the shadows accentuating every ridge, every scar, every part of him that made him Dean. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as he watched you.

And God, did he watch you.

His wolf stirred, proud—so damn proud—of its mate. You weren’t just tending to him, you were tending to them, claiming your place at his side, guiding him with hands that trembled only slightly, but never wavered. There was no hesitation in your care, no second-guessing in the way you touched him. Every brush of your fingers, every careful movement, was deliberate. Intentional.

His instincts roared with the urge to pull you down, to roll you beneath him, to take. But he forced himself to stay still, to let you give at your pace.

And then, with the same steady resolve, you shifted your weight and reached lower, fingers working at his boots. A quiet exhale left his lips as you pulled them free, followed by his socks. Then your hands were at his belt, working the leather through the loops before undoing the button and sliding down the zipper.

Dean’s breath hitched when you gripped the fabric of his jeans, knuckles grazing over heated skin as you tugged them down. His muscles tensed, then relaxed beneath your careful touch. When the denim hit the floor, you didn’t stop.

One final barrier remained, and you took your time, the deliberate pace of your movements making his pulse pound in his throat. Straddling his thighs near his knees, you let yourself look at him. Really look.

God, he was beautiful beneath you, and you let yourself drink him in. Leaning down, you pressed your lips to the sharp line of his hip, just above the waistband of his boxers. His hands fisted the blankets beside him, but his eyes never strayed from you. The heat in them was searing, but there was something else, too—something softer. Something that told you he was already yours.

The press of his hardened length against your chest, between your breasts, sent heat pooling low in your belly, but you didn’t rush. Dean picked up the scent of your slick instantly, a quiet moan slipping from his lips. Your fingers teased beneath the elastic, slow, so slow, as you savored every shift in his breathing, every flex of his muscles beneath your touch.

Then, finally, finally, you were slipping them down his legs, the fabric gliding over heated skin before joining the rest of his clothes on the floor. Dean lay before you, bare, every inch of him offered without hesitation.

His wolf purred its approval, pride thrumming through his chest.

Slowly, you climbed onto the bed next to him, kneeling for a moment before settling on your side. The heat of his skin radiated against yours, his body wound tight with anticipation. You took his hand, guiding it to your waist before cupping his cheek. “Not fair,” he muttered, fingers curling at the hem of your shirt, his voice rough with need. That little pout on his lips, so utterly adorable, only made you smile.

You brushed your thumb over his cheek, leaning closer, your voice soft but firm. “Let me take care of you, Alpha.”

The word was a whisper against his lips, reverent but possessive, and it sent a shudder through him. A growl rumbled in his chest, low and impatient, but pleased.

You kissed him again, and this time, it wasn’t just loving. It wasn’t just tender. It was deeper. A little more aggressive. A little more intense. His hand slid to your back, fingers splayed wide as he pulled you closer, his grip firm but controlled. You felt the restraint in the way he held you, how his muscles stayed coiled, resisting the instinct to roll you beneath him. He was still holding back. His wolf present, pacing just beneath the surface, watching.

Your touch was slow, deliberate, tracing the hard lines of his body, mapping the dips and ridges of muscle beneath warm skin. When your lips left his, trailing along his jaw, his breath hitched—his stubble rough against your mouth, the scrape of it grounding, real.

Then you kissed just below his ear, letting your lips ghost over the sensitive skin of his scent gland.

His reaction was immediate.

His grip tightened on your hip—sharp, possessive, enough that you felt it. A rush of heat flared in his eyes, but his body locked up beneath you.

He froze.

Your fingers drifted up, cupping his cheek, coaxing him back. Your gaze found his, steady, reassuring. Unwavering.

“Shhh…” Your voice was a whisper against his lips, your nose nuzzling his. “It’s okay, Alpha. Relax for me. I won’t break.” You let your breath brush warm over his skin, grounding him in the softness of your touch. “Trust your wolf. Trust me.”

Dean’s chest rose and fell in deep, steadying breaths. His wolf hadn’t tried to stop him. He hadn’t hurt you. And if he was paying attention—really paying attention—you had liked it.

The realization settled over him, and the tension in his body eased.

“I trust you, omega,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. His head tilted, his nose brushing yours as he nuzzled you back, allowing himself to let go—to sink into your touch, your scent, you.

Jess’s words echoed in your mind: “Breathe, let yourself feel instead of thinking so damn hard, I promise, you’ll be fine.”

And so you did. You let yourself breathe. Your movements were deliberate, but to Dean, they were hypnotic.

You shifted, straddling his waist, keeping your lips on him, never breaking contact. He let out a slow exhale, hands settling at your hips, the weight of them grounding, right. His fingers flexed, soothing, even over your clothes, no longer careful—just feeling.

Your lips ghosted over his shoulder, then lower, tracing along his collarbone, savoring the way his breath hitched. With each kiss, each slow descent, your body followed, moving in sync, teasing, exploring.

He couldn’t keep still beneath you. Couldn’t stop the quiet moans that slipped past his lips, the soft, needy whimpers he didn’t even realize he was making. His body moved toward your touch, chasing it, craving more.

He was still holding onto some thread of control, still thinking—until your lips brushed over the dip of his hip.

Then, he stopped breathing.

Nestled between his legs, you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, watching him, waiting.

God, you were beautiful.

Dean’s lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but no words came—not now when your fingers traced the crook of his thigh, teasing, lingering. Not when your mouth followed, mapping his skin, moving closer, closer to where he was desperate for you.

The first sensation was your hand, warm, wrapping around the base of his shaft. His head fell back against the pillow, a sharp exhale punched from his lungs. Then, the soft heat of your breath against the head of his cock, the way iit throbbed in your grasp.

You didn’t look away—not once. Your lips and tongue explored his shaft, learning, testing, discovering what made him groan, what made his fingers twist in the sheets, what made his hips roll for more.

Then, the moment you took him into your mouth, along your tongue, a growl ripped from his throat. His hand tangled in your hair, fingers threading through the strands, gripping—not to control, but to anchor.

A tantalizing shiver danced down your spine, heat pooling deep, sending a rush of slick between your thighs.

You hummed around him, a quiet reassurance that you wanted this, that you were okay with the way he touched you. And then, slowly, deliberately, you moved—hollowing your cheeks, sliding along his length, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, every press of your tongue.

Your hand remained wrapped around the base of his shaft, a steady, easy barrier for your first time ever doing this. You took your time, savoring each reaction, each sound, each pulse of need from the man beneath you.

Dean swore he’d died at some point, lost in the warmth of your mouth around him. He wasn’t even sure what sounds were leaving him anymore, and if he were being honest, he didn’t care. He let you lead, but his hips moved on instinct, thrusting up as your lips moved down his shaft. “Omega… please…” The plea came ragged, breathless, edged with a need that made your core tighten.

So, you obliged—just a little, just enough. His fingers flexed in your hair, and when you hummed around him, the vibration sent a shudder through his entire body. The coil in his abdomen tightened, his restraint fraying by the second. He wasn’t going to last much longer, and he knew it.

But you weren’t ready to let him fall over the edge just yet. Slowly, you withdrew, swirling your tongue over the head before releasing him completely. “You okay, Alpha?”

The question was simple, but the weight of it knocked the breath from his lungs. His mouth parted, but words failed him, so he settled for a nod. The way you looked at him—like he was yours, completely, utterly—left him speechless.

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips, and you shifted, sliding off the bed to stand at the foot of it. His eyes roamed over your body, still clothed, but he could smell your arousal, thick in the air, and it was driving him insane. Every muscle in his body was taut with barely contained restraint.

His wolf prowling just beneath the surface. Watching, waiting, preparing for what was to come.

Then, you moved. First, your shorts, slipping down your thighs and pooling at your feet. Your heart pounded, but you ignored the flutter of nerves as you gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, baring yourself to him. Only the scrap of cotton between your thighs remained, darkened with evidence of just how aroused you were. But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him. Dean’s breath hitched. “God, you’re beautiful…” The words came unbidden, reverent, his voice wrecked with awe.

A blush crept into your cheeks, warmth blooming in your chest, but you refused to let yourself shy away from this—from him. Not tonight. You climbed back onto the bed, moving between his legs, pressing slow, teasing kisses along his stomach, his ribs, up the plane of his chest.

The sounds he made only spurred you on, allowing yourself to feel it all. Briefly, you wondered if that was how you would look when he chose to claim you, completely wrecked under his touch. The thought made you smirk against his skin.

His breaths came uneven, and the way his hands gripped the sheets, the tension in his arms, told you everything you needed to know—he was holding on by a thread. And God, you wanted to see him unravel.

The moment you straddled him, the heat of you against him, the damp cotton rubbing against his cock—it nearly broke him. His hands flew to your hips, fingers digging in as he rocked against you, desperate for friction. A quiet moan slipped from your lips, your body pressed against his.

You moved, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate strokes, applying just the right amount of pressure against his throbbing cock. The way he trembled beneath you, muscles taut, breaths uneven and ragged—it was intoxicating. He was like this because of you. Because of your touch.

Dean fought to keep himself in check, fingers twitching against your bare skin. If he let himself kiss along your neck, taste the warmth of you, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. Your scent—thick with arousal—was already driving him to the edge. Bracing your hands against his chest, you lifted slightly, shifting your weight, letting yourself sink into the slow grind of your bodies. The soaked cotton of your panties dragged against his cock, teasing you both with just enough friction to make you ache.

A sharp breath left his lips as he moved, wrapping an arm around you, shifting to sit up against the headboard. The new angle pressed you even closer, your bodies aligning, making it easier for you to move, to chase the pleasure you both desperately craved.

Your breath fanned over his scent gland, warm, teasing, and Dean’s restraint frayed further. His hand traced the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs before cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazed over your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, sending another jolt of heat through your core.

When you moaned, head tilting back just enough, he took the opportunity. His mouth found your breast, lips latching onto the peak, sucking, tasting, as his free hand guided your hips, pressing you harder against his aching cock. The slow, rhythmic roll of your bodies built into something unbearable, something electric.

You focused on his scent gland, your tongue moving over it, coaxing it to swell like you had learned. You could feel his control unraveling, his breath ragged against your skin. His hand slipped between you, dipping past the waistband of your panties, fingers finding that bundle of nerves with practiced ease. The moment he touched you, your canines extended, sharp, instinctual.

“So… close…” he moaned, the sound vibrating against your chest, his grip tightening on your hip.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails dragging over his skin as you whispered against his scent gland, voice drenched with want. “Cum for me, Alpha.”

Something inside him snapped.

His hands tightened, muscles locking, movements stuttering. His mouth moved up your chest, over your collarbone. Dean pulled back, just a bit, as that coil inside both of you snapped simultaneously, and your teeth sank into his flesh.

Your name tore from his lips in a guttural growl of pleasure, his canines extended, hovering a hair's breadth from your scent glad. Stars exploded behind his lids. His wolf restraining him with an effort he didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t fight against.

Your release sent pleasure cresting and crashing over you in waves, your entire body trembling against him. But your main focus was on your task, claiming him. Slowly, you pulled away, and even with your body thrumming, you licked over the mark, soothing the wound, the mark that would always be there from this moment forward.

Slowly, he relaxed beneath you, his breath evening back out, the tension melting from his body. His arms around you, pulling you close, your cheek nuzzling against his, holding him just as close. The weight of what had just happened settled between you, thick and unshakable.

A soft purr rumbled in your chest, the sound vibrating through him. “You did so good for me, Alpha,” you murmured, voice gentle, praising him. “So proud of you.”

The sincerity in your voice, the pride, sent a shiver down his spine, grounding him in a way nothing else ever had. He let out a shaky breath, arms tightening around you. His wolf had kept you safe, from him. “You were amazing,” he whispered.

The weight of exhaustion settled into Dean’s limbs, but it wasn’t the kind that came from strain or stress. It was deeper—bone-deep, sated, the kind that only came when something inside him had finally, finally stopped running.

And it was because of you.

You were still curled against him, breath warm against his skin, your scent wrapping around him like a balm. His mark pulsed faintly on his scent gland, a reminder of what you’d just done, of what you’d given him. The thought sent a shiver through him—not fear, not doubt, just… something he didn’t have the words for yet.

Then you shifted, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw, your voice low, soothing. “Come on, Alpha. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Dean let out a sleepy grunt of protest, tightening his arms around you, not quite ready to let you go just yet. But you only chuckled, warm and indulgent, fingers brushing his damp hair.

“You can hold me after,” you promised, voice gentle. “Just let me take care of you.” You didn’t want to get up either, your body just as spent, but this part was just as important as the entire day had been.

Something in the way you said it unraveled him further. He had spent his whole life taking care of others—his brother, his pack, even you in his own way. But right now, you weren’t asking. You were telling him, and damn if that didn’t settle something deep in his chest.

His wolf stretched in his mind, yawning, just as spent—but for a different reason. It had taken so much effort, so much focus, concentration to hold Dean back from claiming you earlier, that he needed rest too. But damn if he wasn’t proud of you. Their mate had taken care of them—had chosen to.

So, with a heavy sigh, he let you pull back, let you coax him up from the bed.

You moved with quiet purpose, leading him into the adjoining bathroom, flicking on the soft glow of the vanity light instead of the harsher overhead. The warmth of your hand never left his as you guided him toward the sink.

Dean watched you in the mirror, watched the way you wet a washcloth, running it under warm water before wringing it out. His mark stood out on his scent gland, a small, perfect imprint of your canines, and his wolf purred with satisfaction at the sight.

You caught his eyes in the reflection, your gaze soft, affectionate. “You okay?” He swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.” His voice was rough, sleep-thick. “Just… never thought this would feel like this.” Your lips curved into a small smile as you stepped closer, bringing the washcloth up to his skin. The warmth of it soothed the slight ache where you had bitten him, your touch careful, reverent.

“I know,” you murmured, dabbing at his neck before shifting your focus lower, wiping away the sheen of sweat from his chest, his stomach, as well as the evidence of his release. “Me neither.”

You worked in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was the best damn silence he’d ever sat in.

When you knelt before him, your touch turning even softer as you cleaned him with delicate care, Dean felt something tighten in his throat. You weren’t just doing this because it was necessary—you were doing it because you wanted to, because you needed to.

For him. For his wolf.

His fingers found your cheek, guiding you to look up at him. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

You only smiled, pressing a lingering kiss against his thigh before rising to your feet. “You’re my mate, my Alpha. I know that when you’re ready, you’ll claim me.”

He couldn’t stop the boyish grin or the blush that crept up his neck. God, the way you said his title had his heart stuttering again. Dean watched as you focused on yourself, removing your underwear and tossing them in the hamper. You rinsed the washcloth, wiping away the evidence of both of you—his release on your stomach, yours trailing down your thighs.

Dean should’ve felt spent, drained. But watching you like this—watching you take care of yourself, take care of both of you—only filled his chest with something bigger than exhaustion. Bigger than relief.

It was peace.

When you were finished, you took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. You led him back to the bed, pulling back the blankets and pushing him down gently. Then, you crawled in next to him, pulling the covers over the two of you as you settled against him like you belonged there—because you did. He pulled you close, tucking you beneath his chin, his arms locked securely around you.

You nuzzled against him, lips brushing over his collarbone. “Comfy?”

His answering chuckle was low, content. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, already half-asleep, just like his wolf.

Dean pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his eyes slipping shut, the steady rhythm of your breathing lulling him under.

For the first time in a long, long time, Dean slept without a single worry. Not about the morning. Not about the memories he thought wouldn’t come until then. Not now. Not in this moment. In this moment, he had his mate in his arms.

But, because he wasn’t worried, he wasn’t prepared for the memories to come in his dreams—memories that belonged to his wolf on the nights of the full moon.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 11

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unboundprompts · 6 months ago

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Can you create chapter titles based off werewolf packs?? Please?

Werewolf Packs Chapter Titles

-> feel free to edit as you see fit.

The Howl of the Alpha

Moonlit Oaths

Packbound

Tides of the Blood Moon

The Mark of Loyalty

Fangs and Fury

Silent Paws

Culling the Weak

The Hunt Begins

Alpha's Reign

The Shadow of the Pack

Blood and Fur

Rite of Passage

Beneath the Full Moon

Betrayal in the Pack

Feral Heart

Lunar Wrath

The Call of the Wild

#writeblr #writing prompts #book title ideas #creative writing #writing blog #writing ideas #writing inspiration #chapter title ideas #title suggestions #title ideas #title list #title help #ask box prompts #werewolf

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browsethestacks · 3 months ago

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Vintage Trading Cards - Comic Images Marvel Comics First Covers Series II Uncut Sheet (Complete Base Set) - Final Proof (1991)

From ha.com...

There's nothing more iconic than the very first cover of a popular comic book series. That's exactly what's highlighted here! Offered in this lot is an uncut sheet from the 1991 Comic Images Marvel Comics First Covers II trading card set. The 100 cards in this set show the very first covers of popular Marvel comic series, such as Wolverine, Web of Spider-Man, Ghost Rider, The Life of Captain Marvel, The X-Men VS. The Avengers, and more.

This sheet contains 10 rows of 10, for a total of 100 cards.

Checklist: Complete Base Set

1 Beware

2 Giant-Size Chillers - Curse of Dracula

3 The Spectacular Spider-Man

4 The Human Fly

5 The Marvel No-Prize Book

6 Marvel Superhero - Contest of Champions (Limited Series)

7 Hercules (Limited Series)

8 Wolverine (Limited Series)

9 Vision and The Scarlet Witch (Limited Series)

10 The Uncanny X-Men at the State Fair of Texas

11 Marvel Age

12 Obnoxio the Clown vs. The X-Men

13 The Saga of Crystar - Crystal Warrior

14 Hawkeye (Limited Series)

15 Cloak & Dagger (Limited Series)

16 Marvel Tails - Starring Peter Porker - The Spectacular Spider-Ham

17 The Falcon (Limited Series)

18 Magik (Limited Series)

19 The Jack of Hearts (Limited Series)

20 The X-Men and the Micronauts

21 Secret Wars (Limited Series)

22 Power Pack

23 West Coast Avengers (Limited Series)

24 Machine Man (Limited Series)

25 Web of Spider-Man

26 Moon Knight

27 Cloak and Dagger

28 Secret Wars II (Limited Series)

29 The Life of Captain Marvel

30 Longshot (Limited Series)

31 Squadron Supreme (Limited Series)

32 The Vision and The Scarlet Witch (Limited Series)

33 Nightcrawler (Limited Series)

34 Marvel Saga - The Official History of the Marvel Universe

35 X-Men and Alpha Flight (Limited Series)

36 The Punisher (Limited Series)

37 X-Factor #1

38 Classic X-Men

39 Strikeforce: Morituri

40 The Nam

41 The Comet Man

42 Fallen Angels (Limited Series)

43 Strange Tales

44 The X-Men vs. The Avengers (Limited Series)

45 Silver Surfer

46 The Punisher

47 Solo Adventures Starring Hawkeye and Mockingbird

48 Marvel Comics Presents Wolverine

49 Spellbound (Limited Series)

50 Nick Fury vs. S.H.I.E.L.D.

51 Black Panther (Limited Series)

52 What the ?!

53 Wolfpack (Limited Series)

54 Excalibur

55 X-Terminators

56 The Saga of The Sub-Mariner (Limited Series)

57 The Punisher War Journal

58 Wolverine

59 Semper Fi'

60 Fred Hembeck Destroys the Marvel Universe

61 What If ...

62 Solarman

63 Damage Control (Limited Series)

64 The Sensational She-Hulk

65 Marc Spector - Moon Knight

66 Nth Man - The Ultimate Ninja

67 Nick Fury, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

68 Power Pachyderms

69 The Wolverine Saga

70 Quasar

71 Shadow Masters (Limited Series)

72 The War

73 Damage Control (Limited Series)

74 Open Space

75 The Punisher: No Escape

76 The Thanos Quest

77 X-Men Spotlight On ... Starjammers (Limited Series)

78 Namor, The Sub-Mariner

79 The Saga of the Original Human Torch (Limited Series)

80 Ghost Rider

81 Marvel Superheroes - Spring Special

82 Black Knight (Limited Series)

83 Guardians of the Galaxy

84 Deathlok (Limited Series)

85 The New Warriors

86 The Punisher Armory

87 Spider-Man

88 Fool Killer (Limited Series)

89 Nomad

90 Black Panther: Panther's Prey (Limited Series)

91 Punisher P.O.V. (Limited Series)

92 Darkhawk

93 Nightcat

94 Sweet Sixteen

95 The Deadly Foes of Spider-Man (Limited Series)

96 Damage Control Vol. III

97 Sleepwalker

98 Deathlok

99 The Infinity Gauntlet (Limited Series)

100 Checklist

#Comics #Marvel Comics #Trading Cards #Art #Marvel

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edutainer2022 · 3 months ago

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Putting the story up anew for @lenle-g and her amazing Dad and baby!Scott art.

SHIELD OF PROOF

**Then**

"It isn't fair!"

His wife's huff is equal parts amusement and exasperation.

"How do you do that, Jeff? Seriously? I get stranded with a toddler shaped supersonic jet. You waltz in from the Moon and he's the sleepy kitty, napping at a drop of a hat!"

She throws her hands up in a dramatic flare, but her eyes are brimming with fondness. He hides a smile in the crown of fluffy brown hair and makes it a kiss for good measure. The sleeping child is breathing puffs of air into his chest, one tiny arm hugging Dad as best he can, another still holding a toy plane. Jeff could never imagine the idea of a heart swelling with love could feel so real.

"Well, at least Virgil gives you no trouble. That little guy could sleep through a rocket take off."

Which he promptly has. Baby Virgil made GDF private chat trends, having famously slept all through his Dad's launch to Alpha Shadow base.

The trick with Scott, a firm believer in going "run", "fast", "jump" and "vroom" ALL THE TIME, and a self-proclaimed nap-nihilist at a wise age of two and a half, was to remember the little fella was a Tracy. It would get you nowhere to talk him out or to deny what he's set his mind on. But it was possible to reason with the boy and suggest a more optimal solution to obtain the ultimete goal (running about with a toy plane, making engine noises) - say, the plane engines needed to cool down, so how about we wait for a moment right there, on the couch, and then it can fly even faster. Between officer training tips and the unbridled adoration and trust in the bright blue eyes - Jeff soon had a sound asleep toddler in his arms. Or maybe it was because the arms were strong, and big, and Dad, and Dad was THERE.

His wife is openly smiling now, reaching down to extract the toy from the small hand.

"Do you want me to take him? I'm going to check on Virgie anyway."

He adjusts his hold on the warm, small weight with one hand and pulls her closer for a quick kiss.

"Nah, we're good. I'll get Virgie once this little man is up and about again."

Which is bound to happen sooner than they'd both like. The house will be filled with invigorated pitpat of tiny running feet, and shrieks of delight, and little grumbly noises the roused baby would be making, as he would take Virgil to the back porch. But for now he settled to listen to his son's even breathing, enjoying the quiet while it lasted. He was home.

**Now**

"How did you do it, Dad?!"

Virgil's baritone barely passed for stage whisper. He played along, raising a quisical brow at his son's dramatic gesture, spanning the length of the Island infirmary bed. Or rather, the considerable length of Scott, tucked to his side, sound asleep. To his credit, Jeff tried for looking sheepish, but it came out more cheeky than anything. Virgil was having none of that - hands up in the air.

"Seriously? You've been back from space for what? Twenty minutes? And you already have him cooperate, have an arm in a sling AND asleep?! It would have taken me the better half of the night!"

Jeff promptly bit down a response that he also got Scott to take painkillers and agree to a deeper scan first thing in the morning. All under half an hour. It felt a little bit comforting to know eight years down the line and he still had what it takes to stare down an adult son who was "fine, Dad, it's nothing, you need to rest!" and had just incidentally led a mission to rescue his hide from the far corner of the galaxy (having tumbled down half an exploding planetoid in the process). What didn't sit comfortably was the offhand understanding his other son would consider himself on Scott wrangling duty 24/7 apparently. It truly had been a long while since he was their father. This would need to change. He shifted a light hold on Scott's slumbering frame, mindful of the shoulder, secured in a sling over his shirt and (now confirmed) bruised ribs - and smiled up at Virgil.

"I have my bag of tricks, son."

Virgil's soft gaze was quickly shiting gears back to a deeper shade of worry (something Jeff need to nip in the bud), as his hand reached for the medscanner. Which was obviously redundant as it was, likely, the scanner activation that sent his second eldest careening back to the infirmary. His mother barely managed to shoo everyone out to begin with, after Jeff had been settled and hooked up to monitors and IV lines. Alan was beat and half asleep on his feet. John was back up in orbit, to set up sorting data from their incredible trip with Eos (Jeff was a little fuzzy who that was, again - a student? some kind of child prodigy?). Kayo took off with the GDF and her uncle, having given Jeff a fierce hug. Gordon was bidding goodbye to Penelope (and Parker, of course) or whatever the kids called it these days (Jeff filed that one to bask in amusement later). Scott and Virgil were determined to keep round the clock vigil and to not leave his side (possibly ever). Between himself and Mom he managed to negotiate Scott taking the first shift, fully intending to set up camp by his bedside and start on the report of the Zero-XL mission. The GDF guys did eye them funny, but still. A report right away? Jeff hid a sigh in a fit of cough. He had a mission of his own, till eight years of fatigue drew him under. Back on the planetoid, crumbling beneath his feet, the lifelong instincts helped compute the flash of lanky blue, tumbling as a ragdoll into the void, into the alarm claxon, blaring "son" and "fall", translating the surge of adrenaline into a single focus - "catch!", a move well honed ever since baby Scott first swandived off a backrest of a couch. Between taking in his son dangling off the death grip of his hand over the abyss, blue eyes transfixed in a mixture of awe and shock, meeting the rest of the boys all grown up and surreally THERE, in his arms, exposing the Hood in a surge of fury so consuming he was sure he scared his kids, and hugging his mother upon landing, he did allocate a breathing moment to process the thought there was no way Scott hadn't hit anything through the collision with every boulder that had been Jeff's home for eight years, or hadn't pulled anything in their drop and grab maneuver.

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #jeff tracy #lucy tracy #scott tracy #virgil tracy #my fic

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therandompagesblog · 7 months ago

Text

SKZ War Chapter 7

Trigger Warnings: None

The tension in the pack was palpable. The haunted house had become the focal point of everyone’s worry, especially for the head alpha. For two weeks, Chan, Jeongin, Changbin, and Seungmin patrolled the area relentlessly, keeping an eye on the foggy barrier and any signs of Hongjoong. Yet, the house stood silent, its dark aura unnervingly still. Lucas and Moon, meanwhile, were trapped within the confines of their home. Grounded and under constant supervision, they could do little but stew in their own guilt and frustration.

“Nothing again,” Changbin muttered as he emerged from the tree line, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing. Chan, standing a few feet away, nodded grimly. “It’s been the same every night. No sign of Hongjoong, no sign of activity. It’s like he’s disappeared.” Jeongin, crouched near the base of a tree, spoke without looking up. “Or he’s waiting. He knows we’re watching.” Seungmin crossed his arms, his expression as cold and calculating as ever. “It doesn’t matter how long he waits. We’ll keep patrolling. If he shows himself, we’ll handle it.” Jeongin finally stood, brushing dirt off his hands. “We need to be careful. The boys said Hongjoong asked for help, but if he’s free now, he might be plotting something. We can’t underestimate him.” Chan sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Do you think the pack is safe? Or should we start warning the others?” Jeongin shook his head. “Not yet. If word gets out, it could lead to panic—or worse, other packs thinking we’ve sided with Hongjoong. We keep this contained.” Seungmin nodded in agreement. “And we keep watching.”

Back at the house, Lucas sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Moon was slumped in the chair by the desk, his arms crossed and his expression sour. “This sucks,” Moon muttered. “Tell me about it,” Lucas replied. “I get why they’re mad,” Moon continued. “But it’s not like we wanted to cause trouble. We were trying to help.” Lucas sat up, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Exactly! But no one cares about that. They’re just treating us like kids.” “Maybe because we are kids,” Moon pointed out. Lucas glared at him. “Not helping.” The door opened, and their mother, Y/N, stepped in. Her usually warm expression was shadowed with worry. “Boys,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “We need to talk.” They both straightened, bracing themselves for another lecture. “I know you think we’re being harsh,” Y/N began, sitting on the edge of Lucas’s bed. “But this isn’t just about you. What you did put the entire pack at risk. You might not understand that now, but one day, you will.” Lucas looked down, guilt twisting in his stomach. “We were just trying to help,” he said quietly. “I know,” Y/N said, her voice softening. “But some problems are bigger than us. That’s why we have the alphas and betas to handle things like this. You need to trust them.”

Moon nodded reluctantly, but Lucas stayed silent. “I’m worried about both of you,” Y/N continued. “This isn’t something you should be involved in. That’s why we’re making a plan to keep you safe.” Lucas frowned. “What kind of plan?” Y/N smiled faintly. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Later that evening, Y/N met with Felix and Minho in the kitchen. The boys were asleep, and the house was quiet, save for the soft murmur of their voices. “They’re restless,” Y/N said, leaning against the counter. “Especially Lucas. He feels like we’re not listening to him.” Minho sipped his tea, his expression thoughtful. “Lucas has always been headstrong. He’s like you in that way—he doesn’t back down easily.” Felix nodded. “But he’s also smart. If we give him something to focus on, something to make him feel useful, it might keep him out of trouble.” “What do you suggest?” Y/N asked. Felix hesitated, then said, “We could involve him in the patrols—not directly, of course, but maybe give him small tasks. Something to keep his mind busy.” Minho shook his head. “That’s too risky. The last thing we need is for Lucas to think he’s part of this fight.” Y/N sighed. “I just want to protect them. Both of them. But I know Lucas. If we keep shutting him out, he’s only going to push harder.” Minho set down his cup, his gaze serious. “Then we need to be honest with him. Not about everything, but enough to make him understand why this is so dangerous.” Felix nodded in agreement. “And we need to keep a closer eye on the house. If Hongjoong really is gone, we need to know where he went—and why.” Y/N nodded, her resolve strengthening. “Then we’ll do whatever it takes. For the pack—and for our boys.”

The next morning, Jeongin called a meeting with the pack’s alphas to discuss their next steps. “The patrols haven’t found anything,” Jeongin said, addressing the group. “But that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. We need to stay vigilant.” Chan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “And the boys? What do we do about them?” “They’re grounded,” Minho said. “But Lucas especially is struggling. He feels responsible for Hongjoong.” “He’s just a kid,” Changbin said, his voice filled with concern. “He shouldn’t have to deal with this.” “I agree,” Jeongin said. “But we also can’t ignore what happened. Lucas and Moon need to understand the gravity of this situation.” Y/N spoke up, her voice steady. “Felix and I have been talking. We think it might help to give Lucas some responsibilities—something to make him feel like he’s contributing without putting him in harm’s way.” Jeongin considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. But it needs to be closely monitored. No more surprises.” The alphas agreed, and the meeting adjourned, leaving the pack with a renewed sense of purpose—and a lingering sense of unease.

For the next few days, the patrols continued, but the house remained silent. Lucas and Moon, though still grounded, found small ways to keep themselves busy. Lucas, in particular, threw himself into his studies, trying to distract himself from the lingering guilt But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Something bigger than any of them could anticipate.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@silentreadersthings @ihrtlix @galaxy4489 @catlove83 @linocz @eastjonowhere @jennibahng @hyunmikim @hpnsfwaddict

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vivianbernadetteaurora · 1 year ago

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Emily and Katie fitch

Birth chart

Sun 🌞 ♋️ cancer

These two guys are very different, obviously, share the same birth chart but have different aspects coming out to play, now with twins in astrology they say that one twin is more outgoing while the other is a bit more introverted which is definitely the case of these two. you get two types of cancers you get the outgoing sex pot type j Katie, and the introverted shy type like Emily whs kind of scared of her own shadow, they definitely have a gemini aspect to them as well.

Moon 🌙

Leo, the moons in there because they’re both very, but they’re also can be self-centredness, especially with Katie, but with Leo, it’s really insecurities that come out, also their mum is an,, quite you know a bit of a bitch, and quite bossy with the dad, definitely an alpha female, which is powerful. This is a powerful chart being ruled by two luminary instead of planets. Leo moons are often not as extroverted as Leo suns .

Rising ⏏️ Taurus

Taurus rising’s are one of the most beautiful rising signs ever seen, they have quite cherub faces, and quite juicy features, it also rules and neck, and the glands around the neck but they also ruled by Venus and, and they’ve got a very beautiful looks to them very feminine, but juicy is the way I always describe Taurus risings, Their clothes and fashion, especially Katie,. Just ultra ultra feminine. this will make Venus ruling planet so they’ve been a sign will be very prominent in their

Mercury✨ cancer

Mercury and cancer because, they are very, into injustice in different ways and cancel rules mother but also motherhood, and Katie has the issue where she can’t have children in the second season, Emily however has different issues when it comes to the talking front, this is to do with LGBT stuff, that or it could be race but cancer rules over things like that,.

Venus 🌷

Taurus, because of their interest in fashion clothes, the job that Katie does in the second season with her, is wedding and part, which would be very Venus based, in planet is Venus because of the rising, Emily because, relationship with Naomi, and her love for her in the deepest and darkest of mom, isn’t afraid to get close to her, when she gets pissed away, a Taurus loves very deeply when it comes to people close to them, and they don’t often have many friends I’ve noticed. when it comes to come in close to people they find it hard with people like I say who aren’t his, Katie has loads of boyfriends during the seasons, where is it Emily sticks with Naomi because she’s always felt that way for and advice.

Mars 🧨🔥

Boss bitches, get shit done, and don’t take any talk from anybody, Mars Sagittarius

#katie fitch #emily fitch #imkatiefuckinfitch #skins gen 2 #skinsuk #fypage #astro observations #astro placements #astro community #astrology #astrology observations #astro notes #astroblr

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foxyanon · 1 year ago

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Shadow Lover

Was not expecting to write this but here we are. Thank you @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for the name and convincing me to post, cause I almost didn’t.

Summary: just a daydream I turned fic, enjoy

Pairing: Werewolf!Sihtric Kjartansson x Corvina

Word Count: 1160

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: Smut, monsterfucking

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom nor do I own any of the images used.

Dividers by @arcielee

He shouldn’t crave her as much as he does, but he can’t help himself. It didn’t matter that she was a vampire, his sworn enemy, because he did love her just as she loved him. He loved how she felt against him and she loved the way she didn’t have to hold back when things got rough during their intimate moments.

The illicit affair started back after Uhtred was banished from Wessex, when they had moved to Dunholm for a time. The Saxons were on edge, now that Alfreds dog was unleashed and roaming free, but Uhtred packed up the Coocham pack and didn’t look back. It was on a rare solo hunt when Sihtric first met Corvina, her pale skin and red eyes ensnaring him rather than putting him on edge. She claimed she was hunting some human criminal, but Sihtric found he didn’t actually care. He just wanted her and she wanted him. Naturally, that first meeting ended with Sihtric pinning Corvina to a tree as he ravaged her, the image of her crying out his name burned into his memories.

They continued to meet in secret for years, whispering promises and declarations of love with only the moon as witness. Uhtred never learned why Sihtric started doing hunts alone or why he always found excuses to go on long trips, or if he did, he never said. Now, Uhtred sat as lord of Bebbanburg and head of the Northumbria wolves, while Sihtric was the Lord of Dunholm and the alpha of his own pack. His favorite perk was that didn’t have to sneak away to have a moment with his lady love. He could have her in his home, beneath the furs on his bed without a care in the world if anyone heard them. The pack didn’t particularly care for Corvina, but she never bothered them so they simply turned a blind eye to the goings on.

It was late one night when Sihtric retired to his chambers after several days of dealing with a border dispute. Now that Danes, Saxons and wolves could live in Northumbria together, it was an adjustment for everyone and problems arose constantly. He was tired and frustrated, just wanting to collapse on his bed and sleep to hopefully forget about the events of the last few days. It was a petty dispute that ended in the Saxon farmer getting attacked by the wolf he accused of poaching his livestock. It was brutal, the farmer permanently scarred for the rest of his life and the wolf being escorted to Bebbanburg to answer to Uhtred. What he wasn’t expecting, was to walk in and see Corvina laid up in his bed, her smile making his heart race as he hurried to her side.

”I did not think I would see you for a few more days, my love,” he said as he kicked off his boots and crawled over her, kissing up her neck and along her jawline. Even after all this time, he couldn’t help but marvel at the smoothness of her skin.

Corvina chuckled, running her hand through the curls at the base of his neck. “I finished my duties a little earlier than expected, so I thought I would come to you. I can tell by your face that it has been a long few days. Do you wish to talk about it?” She asked in a concerned tone as Sihtric wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her neck.

”No, I just want to forget. Corvina, make me forget,” he pleaded as he pulled back to look into her eyes, wanting to lose himself in her before having to face tomorrow.

She complied without hesitation, their lips meeting in a desperate kiss as hands explored the other with the certainty of long time lovers. Clothes were removed and discarded on the floor haphazardly, breathy moans filling the air alongside the crackling of the hearth. Sihtric kissed down her body, the warmth of his lips contrasting with the coolness of her skin as he positioned himself between her legs. He licked a stripe up her folds, growling lowly at the salty taste before devouring her. He could feel the beast within jump to the surface, wanting nothing more than to give into his primal instincts and claim her like he had a thousand times before. And she let him, just as she had before.

He brought her to her peak with his tongue and fingers before pulling away to flip her over, swatting her rear playfully as she arched her back and gave him a cheeky grin over her shoulder. Sihtric lined himself up and thrusted into Corvina with a grunt, his claws digging into the pale flesh of her waist while she moaned, adjusting to his length for a moment before he set a slow, torturous pace. His hand traced up her spine slowly, one clawed hand wrapping around her throat and pulling her up until his chest pressed against her back. The angle gave him the opportunity to see her pleasure drunk face, her red eyes hooded and fangs on display as the most sinful sounds fell from her ruby lips. It took everything in Sihtric not to bite down on her shoulder and mark her as his mate, but he didn’t need some mark to know she was his just as he was hers.

Yellow eyes held red ones, her hand reaching back and tangling in his hair once more as her nails scratched at his forearm and left red lines in their wake. Their combined groans and the creaking of the bed would tell anyone passing by what they were doing, but neither was concerned, too lost in the other to care for the opinions of others. His free hand snaked down her body, fingers rubbing circles around her sensitive nub as she trembled in his arms, her walls clamping down on him while she cried out his name. No matter how many times he had her, the sight of her climaxing was one he would love forever. It didn’t take him long to follow after her, the two collapsing on the bed as they rode out their highs together.

When he finally pulled out to lay beside her, their shaky breaths turned into laughter as they looked at the other, a comfortable familiarity settling over them as Sihtric pulled Corvina into his side with a series of quick pecks all over her face. They laid there tangled together under the furs, gently caressing scarred bodies and breathing each other in. They talked for hours, and made love when talking wasn’t enough, Corvina successfully making him forget about the world outside his chambers even if for a little while.

No, Sihtric shouldn’t crave her as much as he does, but if you asked him who his greatest love was, he would simply smile and say his heart belonged to his shadow lover.

Tagging: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @alexagirlie @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose @gemini-mama

@synintheraven @thenameswinter99 @whitedarkmoonflower @viking-chaos

#sihtric x oc #werewolf!sihtric #vampire!oc #corvina #sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom

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coco9728 · 9 months ago

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Find the answer below after answering the question!

The answer is......

Alfie

Also...

Pew pew pew pew pew!

#thunderquiz #quiz #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #relic #thunderbirds are go quiz

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thunderbirds-showdown · 1 year ago

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Which Thunderbirds Are Go episode is better?

Vote on which episode you think is better. Episode synopses below the cut.

The Long Reach Part 2: Havoc and Fuse attempt to cause chaos on Tracy Island, leading to Kayo, Grandma Tracy and the Mechanic working together to thwart their schemes. Meanwhile, with Jeff Tracy recovered, the rest of International Rescue find themselves dealing with one more problem - the sudden attempt by the Hood to steal the Zero-XL, having stowed away on it.

Relic: When a meteor shower is projected to hit the decommissioned Shadow Alpha One Moon base, concern arises with the discovery the base is still inhabited by a lone crew member - Captain Lee Taylor, an old friend of Jeff Tracy. Scott and Alan take Thunderbird 3 on a rescue mission after attempts to warn him fail, but when Scott boards the base, he's surprised to find Taylor attempting to maintain its defence system against meteors. After initial attempts to defend the base against continuing waves of meteors start to fail, both Scott and Taylor are forced to abandon the base to meet Thunderbird 3 at a rendezvous on the moon's surface that is itself threatened by the meteor shower.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #tumblr polls #polls showdown #tournament poll #tumblr showdown

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spilledinkandtearstainedpages · 20 days ago

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Crème Wolf Cookie

“I have wandered the white wastes longer than most have lived. My claws have spilled blood for peace, and my silence speaks louder than any war cry.”

Type: Charge Position: Front Rarity: Ancient Affiliation: Cream Wolf Pack Role: Alpha of the Cream Wolf Pack, Father of Crunchy Chip Cookie

Character Description:

A commanding presence in the frosted wilds, Crème Wolf Cookie is a living legend whispered of in howls under the moonlight. With long, fluffy white hair that droops over one eye and a body marked by countless scars, his appearance tells tales of countless battles—each fought for his pack's survival. Beneath his mane of snow lies a set of eyes the color of liquid mercury, unsettling and ancient, hidden under a cloth he never removes. His dark cookie dough skin glows faintly beneath the moon, like frost against bark.

He is the father of Crunchy Chip Cookie, yet far more mysterious and powerful. As the original Alpha of the Cream Wolf Pack, Crème Wolf Cookie once led with an unshakable sense of duty, ferocity, and grace. Unlike any other wolf of his kind, he possesses the unique ability to become fully human under certain moonlit conditions—a transformation rumored to be a gift from the First Moonlight itself.

Though long thought missing, Crème Wolf Cookie is still felt in every pawstep of the Cream Wolves, his legacy etched into the cold earth and into the heart of the young leader he raised.

Personality:

Wise but gruff, Crème Wolf Cookie speaks with the calm assurance of a leader who has made countless sacrifices. He is fiercely protective, especially of Crunchy Chip Cookie, though he shows it in subtle, often indirect ways. Despite the violence in his past, he longs for peace—though he knows only the strong can protect such a dream.

🌕 Soul Stone: Crème Wolf Cookie's Soulstone

"A shard of moonlit power wrapped in ancient instinct. When held close, it whispers forgotten howls and burns with a silvery flame."

This shimmering stone swirls with a stormy light, reflecting mercury tones like his eyes. Holding one gives a brief vision of the snowy wildlands, and an echo of the primal strength Crème Wolf Cookie draws upon. It pulses with a low growl, like a heartbeat synced to the wild.

⚔️ Skill: “Moonhowl Requiem”

“The Alpha's cry splits the frostbitten silence. Ice cracks. Shadows rise. And all who defy the Pack… fall.”

Skill Description:

Crème Wolf Cookie unleashes the Moonhowl Requiem, swinging his massive, frost-covered battle axe in a wide arc that deals Ice Darkness-type area damage and inflicts Frostbite and Fear on enemies.

After the initial strike, he momentarily shifts into his humanoid Alpha Form, gaining enhanced movement speed and resistance to crowd control. In this form, his regular attacks deal Darkness-type True Damage based on enemy max HP and pierce shields.

At the end of the skill, Crème Wolf Cookie lets out a powerful alpha howl that buffs all Cream Wolf allies, increasing their Crit Rate and Attack Speed, and heals them slightly over time based on his ATK.

💥 Skill Effects (at max level):

• Initial Axe Slam: Deals 450% ATK as Ice Darkness damage in a wide frontal area.

• Frostbite: Deals 30% damage over 5 seconds.

• Fear (PvE only): Enemies lose control for 1.5 seconds.

• Alpha Form (5 sec duration):

◦ +30% ATK

◦ +20% Movement Speed

◦ +50% Resistance to debuffs

◦ Normal attacks deal bonus True Damage (3% of enemy Max HP, capped vs bosses)

• Pack Howl Buff (Allies with Cream Wolf Tag):

◦ +20% Crit Rate for 7 sec

◦ +15% ATK SPD for 7 sec

◦ Healing: 30% of Crème Wolf Cookie’s ATK over 5 seconds

❄️ Elemental Classification:

• Ice Element: Freezing visuals, frostbite mechanics, and chilling aura

• Darkness Element: Fear, true damage, and transformation into a more dangerous form

🛡️ Passive Ability: “Alpha's Presence”

Crème Wolf Cookie’s mere presence on the battlefield grants:

• All allies: +10% Freeze resistance and +5% DMG reduction against bosses

• Cream Wolf allies: Start with a 20% Shield based on Crème Wolf’s max HP

📜 Summary:

Crème Wolf Cookie is a Frontline Charge Cookie who combines area control, debuffs, and team utility with brutal single-target pressure in his Alpha Form. His Ice/Darkness fusion gives him rare status effect synergy and makes him a powerful leader in both PvE and PvP, especially alongside Cream Wolf-themed allies like Crunchy Chip Cookie.

🏔️ Ancient Title:

The Moonbound Alpha

One of The Ancients, Crème Wolf Cookie’s domain lies in the Frozen Wildlands, far beyond the Dark Cacao peaks. Revered by beasts and Cookies alike, he represents the ancient harmony between feral instinct and nobility, protecting the balance between civilization and nature’s primal heart.

🤝 Bond with Dark Cacao Cookie:

Centuries ago, Dark Cacao Cookie and Crème Wolf Cookie fought side by side in the forgotten War of the Bleeding Moon, defending the northern kingdoms from the corrupted beasts of the abyss. Despite their differing codes—one ruled by honor and the other by instinct—they forged a rare bond built on mutual respect, shared losses, and the weight of leadership.

Dark Cacao often refers to Crème Wolf as “Brother of the Blizzard Howl,” while Crème Wolf once said, “Only two Cookies I trust to guard my back: one calls it honor, the other calls it hunger. I answer to both.”

🐺 Beast Companion: Silvermaw

“Forged from ancient starlight and snow, Silvermaw’s roar echoes across dimensions.”

🐾 Silvermaw, the Pale Eclipse Beast

• Type: Mythic Beast

• Element: Ice/Darkness

• Species: Eclipse Direwolf

• Role: Mount, battle partner, and soul-bound guardian

• First Appearance: When Crème Wolf Cookie is summoned to your kingdom

🔥 Beast Description:

Silvermaw is a towering, spectral wolf beast with fur like silver-bladed snow and glowing eyes that mirror Crème Wolf Cookie’s own mercury gaze. Born under a Lunar Eclipse, Silvermaw is said to be the only being who can truly match Crème Wolf in speed and fury. The beast’s body pulses with a deep, haunting glow—part ice, part abyss—and it can tear through enemy lines with devastating lunges.

In battle, Silvermaw appears briefly during Crème Wolf Cookie’s Alpha Form to dash through enemies, applying Moonbitten, a debuff that lowers enemy DEF and causes minor panic effects.

🌕 Beast Skill: “Lunar Ravage”

• Deals Ice Darkness AoE DMG

• Applies Moonbitten:

◦ -20% DEF for 6 sec

◦ -15% healing received

◦ Staggers weak enemies

🎙️ Voice Actor Credits

• English VA: Jonah Scott

• Korean VA: Ryōtarō Okiayu (noted as Japanese origin but listed this way for consistency with CRK's formatting)

🔊 Voice Lines

Entrance Line

"The wind calls my name once more… and the hunt begins again." (low and calm, with a quiet intensity building toward the end)

Skill Activation ("Moonhowl Requiem")

"By fang and frost—run while you can!" "Silvermaw! Tear through them!" "I warned you... now hear the Alpha's cry!"

(delivery grows feral, echoing with layered howling sound FX and cold wind)

Alpha Transformation (when skill phase changes)

"This is the shape of ancient power..." "The moon remembers... so shall you."

Ultimate Howl Buff (to allies)

"Hold fast, my kin—hunt as one!" "For the pack, for the past, for the frost."

Victory Line

"Even time cannot bury the Alpha." "Our path remains... unbroken."

Defeat Line

"The blizzard... was quieter than this..." "I fall... but the pack endures..." (soft, labored—his breath misting as if fading into snow)

🤝 Cookie Interactions

With Crunchy Chip Cookie

"You lead well, little pup... just don’t forget to rest your paws." "You've grown sharper—but there's more to being Alpha than your fangs." (fatherly, firm but warm—think wolf mentor energy)

With Dark Cacao Cookie

"Still carrying the weight of the mountain, old friend?" "Your blade and my howl once echoed across the same battlefield... may it be so again."

With Pure Vanilla Cookie

"You still seek peace in the hearts of all... but some only understand the cold."

With Shadow Milk Cookie

"You tread too close to the edge, shadowspawn. Even wolves fear the void.”

With Burning Spice Cookie

"Burning rage and frozen instinct—neither are tame... and neither should be."

Idle Line

"The stars move slower when you’ve watched them for centuries…"

🐾 ALT VERSIONS OF CRÈME WOLF COOKIE

1. 🐺 Young Crème Wolf Cookie – “The White Fang”

"The ice taught me to survive. The wolves taught me to lead. The scars? I earned those on my own."

Rarity: Legendary

Type: Charge

Element: Ice

Position: Front

✦ Lore:

Before the world called him Alpha, he was just Crème, a lone Cookie wandering the silent tundra. With no name and no pack, he lived by instinct, raised by frost and claw. His axe was smaller then, but his hunger to protect was already carved deep into his dough. His white hair was wild, unbound by burden, and his eyes—still uncovered—gleamed like the first light after a storm.

He hadn’t yet learned to speak like a leader. But when he howled, even the stars seemed to listen.

🎙️ Voice Lines (Young Crème Wolf Cookie)

VA: Jonah Scott (youthful but still deep, less controlled, more emotional)

• Entrance: "Don't follow me—I don’t want to lose anyone else."

• Skill Use: "I won't run this time!" / "Let them come!"

• Victory: "Still standing... guess that’s something."

• Defeat: "The cold… always wins..."

• With Crunchy Chip (future son): "One day, someone like me... will protect someone like you."

🌘 Skill: “Fang of the First Snow”

• Deals frost-type charge damage to a line of enemies.

• Each attack increases self-resolve (ATK up) and reduces damage taken briefly.

• Critical hits briefly freeze enemies for 0.5 sec.

2. 🌑 Corrupted Crème Wolf Cookie – “The Hollow Alpha”

"They wanted a monster. So I tore out the Alpha... and let the beast remain."

Rarity: Ancient

Type: Charge

Element: Darkness/Ice

Position: Front

✦ Lore:

Something shattered within the Moonbound Alpha during the war against the abyss. Twisted by grief, betrayal, and guilt, Crème Wolf Cookie was tempted by a dark, primeval force lurking in the deepest blizzards—the same that devoured lesser beasts. He became “The Hollow Alpha,” a creature with mercury eyes burning silver-black, no longer bound by purpose… only rage.

His howl now summons shadowy specters of the wolves he failed to protect. He has forsaken the pack—but the darkness has not forsaken him.

🎙️ Voice Lines (Corrupted Crème Wolf Cookie)

VA: Jonah Scott (more guttural, shadowed with distortion)

• Entrance: "There is no peace. Only the hunt."

• Skill Use: "Shatter. Bleed. Obey."

• Victory: "This is all that’s left of me."

• Defeat: "Should’ve stayed lost in the snow..."

• With Crunchy Chip: "You shouldn't have followed me, pup..."

• With Dark Cacao Cookie: "You turned your back… when I needed you most."

🌒 Skill: “Abyss Howl: Final Hunt”

• Deals heavy Ice/Darkness damage in a frontal cleave.

• Summons Wraith Wolves for 6 seconds that attack enemies, inflicting Decay (a DoT effect).

• On activation, Crème Wolf briefly gains Lifesteal and Enrage, increasing attack speed.

✦ Visual Design:

• Blackened fur edges on cloak, glowing silver cracks on skin.

• Eyes leak glowing mercury.

• Silvermaw appears as a skeletal wraith-beast behind him.

⚖️ Summary

These alternate versions reflect Crème Wolf Cookie’s duality:

• Young Crème represents his struggle, innocence, and survivalist roots, shaped by hardship.

• Corrupted Crème explores the dark road he could have taken—a fallen Alpha driven mad by grief and isolation.

🧊 1. “First Howl” Costume

Theme: Young Crème Wolf Cookie / Lore: The beginning of the Alpha Style Type: Lore-based, youth variant

🪶 Visual Description:

• A rough fur cloak stitched from various wolves’ pelts

• Smaller, lighter axe strapped to his back

• No eye covering—his mercury eyes are exposed and intense

• Worn leather wraps on his arms and boots

• Hair tied back in a high ponytail, still wild but not yet regal

• Scars are fewer and more recent

🧩 Lore Hook:

Before he was Alpha, he was just a pup trying to survive the snow. This costume reflects the Crème before the legend, when he relied only on instinct and a growing will to protect.

🌑 2. “Hollow Alpha” Costume

Theme: Corrupted Crème Wolf Cookie / Fallen Ancient Style Type: Corruption AU / canon divergence

💀 Visual Description:

• A long, torn cloak made of shadowed wolf fur, parts of it phasing into mist

• Black ice forms along his arms and shoulders like growing corruption

• His axe is jagged and wrapped in chains, dripping with void frost

• His mercury eyes glow violently behind a broken cloth wrap

• Silvermaw's ghostly form appears behind him with exposed bone and spectral trails

• His scar has spread, glowing dimly like cracks in a frozen lake

🧩 Lore Hook:

Twisted by grief and isolation, Crème gave in to the wild darkness buried beneath the ice. This version is the beast that would have emerged if no one called him back.

🌌 3. “Moonbound Warden” Costume

Theme: Full-power Alpha / Celestial guardian Style Type: Epic Legendary-tier, regal Ancient upgrade

✨ Visual Description:

• Elegant, high-collared coat made from woven wolf fur and silver-trimmed celestial fabric

• Armor plating engraved with moon runes across shoulders and gauntlets

• A double-headed glaive-style axe with glowing ice sigils

• Flowing white hair woven with silver beads, pulled back with ceremonial braids

• His cloth eye wrap now bears a lunar crest

• A crescent moon sigil pulses softly on his chest

🧩 Lore Hook:

When the pack calls, and the stars align, the true Alpha awakens—not as a beast, but a beacon. This is Crème Wolf Cookie as a full Epic guardian, channeling the first moonlight.

🔥 4. “Blood-Frost Warborn” Costume

Theme: Warrior of the Bleeding Moon War (with Dark Cacao) Style Type: Historical battlefield armor

⚔️ Visual Description:

• Thick, battle-worn wolf-hide armor with Dark Cacao sigils carved into the chest

• Bloodstained cape stitched with wolf teeth and iron ring fasteners

• A heavy war axe with ancient frost enchantments

• Hair slicked back in battle braids

• Eye covering replaced with a band of steel

• War paint marks on his cheeks in faded red and ash gray

🧩 Lore Hook:

The war that shaped the North also shaped Crème Wolf Cookie—this is the battle-forged version that fought shoulder to shoulder with Dark Cacao Cookie, before the snow quieted and the howls grew distant.

👁 5. “Night Without a Moon” Costume

Theme: Stealth/Assassin AU / Shadow pack leader Style Type: Dark AU concept

🌫️ Visual Description:

• Sleek, tactical wolf-hide outfit in charcoal and glacier blue

• Twin curved ice daggers strapped to his sides (instead of an axe)

• No eye cloth; instead, a hood pulled low with glowing pupils peeking out

• Tattered scarf that flutters like smoke

• Shadows seem to cling to him, trailing behind like misty fur

• Silent wolf paw prints appear with each step

🧩 Lore Hook:

In a timeline where the pack was slaughtered early, Crème walks alone—not as an Alpha, but as a silent stalker of the night. He strikes from the dark, mourning what never was.

#crk oc #this is a wip #some things may not make sense #listen im trying #idk Kokushibo’s Korean VA so I just put down his og one #<- I think demon slayer is Japanese

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heranubis · 1 year ago

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monster cod (dullahans version) ft. 141, kate laswell, alex keller, farah karim, alejandro vargas, rodolfo parra, philip graves

John "Bravo 0-6" Price

where many people mistake mactavish as a werewolf, it's actually price. he has excellent control of his wolf, and is capable of shifting at will rather than relying on the moon cycle.

all of his senses are heightened and his strength far surpasses a regular human. anyone who tries to call him "alpha" gets a growl and eye roll - he find's it annoying and only the rest of the 141 (& kate) can get away with the joke.

is capable of masking his identity of a werewolf, except his eyes will sometimes flash a circle of amber around the pupil - a sign his instincts have been triggered and his wolf is present.

his teeth are incredibly sharp, even in human form. he's not a fan of dentists nor are they a fan of him.

his wolf form more closely resembles a grizzly than an actual wolf - and he definitely uses this as an intimidation factor.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

was actually human, once upon a time. it was a mission gone wrong, a desperate deal made and soul taken away. his body was transformed into a hellhound - think of the ones from chronicles of riddick.

he actually prefers his new hellhound form to his human one! will only be human when absolutely necessary - otherwise you can often spot him prowling around in the shadows, dew claws clicking as he stalks and observes.

his neutral scale color is a faded, smokey gray. when he is content, his scales flush to a lighter, not-quite-white. it's when he's hunting that his scales take on that signature black color - though his face still retains the skull markings similar to the mask he wears as a human.

capable of canid vocalizations in either form, and capable of human speech - he just prefers remaining silent. he also rattles his scales to announce his presence around those he respects or considers pack. everyone else get's a jumpscare when they turn around and there he suddenly is.

will only tolerate pets (read: hard shoulder smacks) from johnny or price. kyle tries, but he doesn't pat hard enough for simon to register through the scales. the effort is appreciated, though.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

a seraphim - or the closest anyone will get to one. four sets of wings, all made of a metal not found on earth. he prefers folding them tightly to his back to avoid accidentally slicing someone.

please don't talk christianity or catholicism with him - he will bolt. he has no issue with religion or anyone being open about it, he just (quite frankly) get's tired of answering the same questions repeatedly.

actually grooms his feathers regularly! though made of metal, they can be very pliant and soft when his body feels like it isn't under active threat. nobody is allowed to sit within his wingspan on horror movie nights unless it's simon, whose scales can't be sliced by the feathers.

if you ask him why he left the clouds - his answer is always the same. his sense of justice was too strong - he wanted to make a change in the world, and he wouldn't wait to do it.

does not have an eternal lifespan and can be killed, but it's incredibly hard to do so. he still hates helicopters and thinks they're pointless (salty that he fell out of one twice).

John "Soap" Mactavish

a kelpie! actually a hybrid between two different species of faer, kelpie is the easiest to identify with. unlike the typical three forms, john only has two: human and horse.

his horse form is a large dark bay, almost impossible to identify it's breed at first glance. the most you'll ever see are those blue eyes and his suspiciously sharp teeth before he pulls you beneath the murky waters.

has a very strong affinity for water, and despite his love for demolitions he will take any chance possible to be submerged. not as big of a fan of salt water than he is fresh or brackish, but he'll take whatever he can get (except chlorine. that is hell and he hates it).

doesn't use his horse form on base - it has a subtle air of influence that tends to draw people in. after a few unfortunate incidences, it's more of an unspoken rule that he can only shift on leave or on field but never on base.

kyle is the only one who has ever been able to sit on his back and his skin not trap him - something about the heavenly blessings? john was a little too stunned to truly pay attention

Kate "Watcher" Laswell

a proper dragon - half of her heart, soul, and lifespan split with her wife. golden scales that grow in patches (like alex, found below) - more like snake skin than harder scales like a crocodiles.

her pupils are slit and while she does have horns, she keeps them short at her wifes request (hard to bonk foreheads comfortably if they get in the way xoxo). her tail isn't super long but that makes it easier for her to keep close and out of the way.

both wings are in tact and she is Not a fan of anyone touching them outside of her wife (and maybe kyle, since she see's him as a good friend and he knows the struggle of cleaning wings).

can absolutely breathe fire, and will do so as a warning.

Alex "Echo 3-1" Keller

a snake hybrid of some sort, specifically a king cobra. patches of scales, fangs that are capable of tucking into his gums, spectacled eyes. he can see in infrared and often finds it annoying when in cold enviornments.

has a forked tongue and absolutely uses it to mess with people. his tattoos and preference for long sleeves actually mask his scales pretty well, so it's easy to mistake him for a human at first glance. he's been known to trick people in the past by randomly flicking his tongue or even unhinging his jaw.

yes, he knows hes larger than a mongoose. yes, they still unsettle him. claims it's natural instinct (he thinks they just look... really weird). hisses as a defense when startled or annoyed, no he will not acknowledge it.

big on seeking others out and sticking close for body heat. farah, price, and kyle are his favorites because of their higher body temps.

has never elaborated on what exactly he is - will give a different answer every time you ask.

Farah Karim

suggested by my beloved noji @blighted-lights, farah would be a harpy or otherwise bird adjacent! i personally see her as some sort of falcon - small and mighty and underestimating her is your very last mistake.

she doesn't bond easily but when she does? she will do absolutely anything for you. she especially loves when you help her preen, it's something she only allows when she feels utterly safe with you.

chirps and coo's when she feels particularly emotional (positive).

she has one of alex's scales and he has one of her feathers. it's a sign of their deep devotion to each other. regardless of romantic or platonic, they are incredibly important to each other and an equal exchange of something so important cannot be ignored.

if you manage to be farah's favorite person? it would melt her heart if you fashioned her feathers into jewelry and even made matching pieces.

Alejandro Vargas

hear me out, but i think he would be a cadejo! a dog shaped creature whose eyes change color depending on it's mood - often seen as either protectors and bringers of good will or the incarnation of the devil.

he stands around the height of a cow, and though his fur is black - alejandro is only a protector of his community. rodolfo often jokingly teases him that he smells like a goat so he very much invests in colognes.

though he doesn't have any visible chains, the sound of them dragging behind him can be heard on especially quiet nights. alongside the sound of his hooves - these are the sounds of safety to the people of las almas.

very much prefers his human form and can mask himself incredibly well.

the most you'll ever see that tells against him being human are his sharp teeth and the subtle color shift in his eyes.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

another shifter, like price! his canid form is actually a Xoloitzcuintli. not a lot of hair and more on the 'traditional' side of hairless. his skin in this form is as dark as his hair as a human, which allows him to blend into shadows better.

much like price, all of his senses are heightened, though he has to be more careful due to little to no fur protecting his skin in altercations (plenty of small scars from chasing after suspects and not being super careful in avoiding obstacles)

yes, he can stand as a traditional werewolf. no, he doesn't do it often - it scares the shit out of ajelandro and while it can be funny, he'd really rather not deal with it.

has exceptional control over his shifting and honestly doesn't have a preference over what form he uses most - just whatevers convenient at the time.

has absolutely pretended to be a regular dog for the sake of an op - has since learned he's a bigger fan of belly rubs than previously thought.

Philip Graves

somewhere between undead and genuine zombie. no he doesn't know how it happened, no he doesn't want to figure it out. no he doesn't want your brains, yes he will bite if you keep bothering him.

constantly smells like rot and sulfur, and his eyes are always just a bit cloudy. his body doesn't fall apart nor does he suffer from rigor mortis, but the cold does not mesh well with him.

incapable of permanently dying - yes he can be put down, but bury him shallow; he Will come back.

please don't call him a zombie, it'll just aggravate him and that's not a fight you want to pick. shadow company is protective of him and vice versa.

has complete cognotive functions alongside physical functions - can very easily pass as a regular person if you look past the more... obvious signs pointing otherwise.

#heranubis #call of duty #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick #john mactavish #kate laswell #alex keller #farah karim #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #philip graves #modern warfare 2

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aylacavebear · 3 months ago

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Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 11

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 9410

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean getting memories, Reader taking care of Dean, Longing.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 11

The change came like a storm. Bones cracked, muscles twisted, fur rushed over skin. But none of it mattered. None of it was strange. None of it hurt. This was right. This was how things were meant to be.

But… his human was silent. Gone.

For the first time, the wolf was alone in the mind. No arguing, no resistance, no voice controlling what they did. Just the wind in his fur, the earth beneath his paws, the steady rhythm of his own breath. The pack ran with him, their voices lifting in song, echoing through the night.

He should have felt free. Should have reveled in the primal joy of running with his pack, in the unity thrumming through their bond. Instead, there was an ache. Deep and gnawing. A weight pressing against his ribs that had nothing to do with the moon above.

Something was missing. Someone.

The pull was there. Faint, but unbreakable. A thread winding through his ribs, tightening with every step. It tugged at his chest, drawing him away from the others. None followed. They had learned to give Dean his space when he needed it, unaware that Dean was nothing more than a distant hum in the back of the mind. Sleeping.

His paws carried him across the land, through the trees of the forest, the ferns of the underbrush, and the shifting shadows. His focus was elsewhere. Without his human’s doubts clouding his senses, his instincts were sharpened, more demanding than ever. The pull grew stronger, relentless, pulling him away, pulling him toward—

Her.

There was no scent trail to follow. No song to guide him. Nothing tangible to explain why every fiber of his being strained onward.

Only her.

Finally, he stopped.

A fence loomed just beyond the trees, a divider of two lands, two packs. She was on the other side. Somewhere beyond his reach.

The wolf lingered in the shadows, ears twitching, nose lifting, searching for a scent he knew he wouldn’t find. He walked through the trees, keeping the fence to his right as he explored. The forest was dense, but he followed that thread. The pull to her, wherever she was on the other side.

He knew she was over there. He didn’t feel threatened. No need for aggression or possessiveness. This felt different—like there was no threat he’d lose her to another alpha.

When he came to a place where the moonlight pierced the canopy, spilling over the earth below, he stopped. Lowered onto his haunches, settling into the shadows of the forest.

The sight before him was both familiar and unknown, beautiful yet unsettling in a way he couldn’t name. A towering, half-rotted tree stump stood more than twenty feet away, remnants of its ancient form stretching high into the night. Around it, tufts of grass, ferns, and delicate flowers blanketed the forest floor, untouched and thriving. But it was more than that. More than the way the earth cradled this place, sheltering it like something sacred.

It was a feeling.

Like something would happen here. Like something was meant to happen here. He didn’t know why—only that this place was where he was supposed to be.

His paws shifted against the dirt, ears flicking as he breathed deep, but there was no scent other than the forest. No sign that she had ever been here. Still, his instincts whispered that she would come. Someday. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for many moons. But she would find this place. Find him. And when she did, he would be waiting.

A breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the flowers, making them sway as if they, too, were waiting. The moonlight shifted through the canopy above, casting shadows that stretched and danced before retreating once more.

His ear twitched at the distant sound of howls. His pack sang, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight. He wanted to be by her side. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she had him.

But she did not call to him.

She did not come.

The moon dipped lower in the sky, marking the approach of morning. He lowered his head, the weight in his chest twisted, sharp and aching. With one last glance toward the land beyond the fence, he rose to his paws and turned away, making the long trek back to his pack.

He kept his longing buried deep, hidden from his scent. His pack couldn’t know where he’d gone. It was forbidden, even if that was where she was.

—----------------------------

Dean woke with a start. His heart pounded against his chest, breath coming in short, ragged bursts, sweat cooling on his skin. The remnants of his dream clung to him like fog, thick and disorienting, refusing to let go. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His vision was still blurry and unfocused, the dark room around him unfamiliar, his mind caught somewhere between the past and the present.

Then, warmth.

The soft press of a body against his. The steady rise and fall of your breath. And your scent—deep, grounding—flooded his senses, wrenching him back to reality before his instincts could take over.

His muscles remained taut, tension coiled in his shoulders, but he forced himself to breathe. Slow. Deep. His wolf stirred uneasily within him, a low, uncertain hum in the back of his mind, but he ignored it, shifting instead, pressing closer to you.

His nose brushed the crown of your head as he inhaled, letting the familiarity of you settle him. It felt easier this morning, the way it soothed him.

“Mmm… you okay, Dean?” you murmured.

Your voice was thick with sleep, and the lazy way you nuzzled deeper against him made his chest tighten. You didn’t open your eyes, but something felt… off.

He exhaled shakily, his arm tightening around you, his body trembling slightly from his dream. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he breathed, but his voice was hoarse, like the words barely made it out. His muscles still hadn’t fully relaxed. His mind still felt… foggy.

And his wolf? His wolf felt just as disoriented.

You stirred slightly, blinking up at him, taking him in—the dampness of sweat on his skin, the faint tremor in his limbs, the underlying unrest radiating from him in waves. “Dean, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his face as if the answer was hidden there somewhere.

He swallowed, averting his gaze. The words caught in his throat, something he wouldn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone. Your expression softened. “Hey,” you coaxed gently, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking soothing circles over his skin. “Talk to me.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, jaw tight. It all sounded stupid in his head—like a child afraid of a nightmare. He was a grown man. An Alpha. Dreams shouldn’t be affecting him like this. “Just a bad dream,” he muttered, still not meeting your eyes.

You studied him, searching his face, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Dean,” you murmured, voice steady but impossibly soft. “When you claim me, I’m gonna need you, and your wolf with what I’m going to go through. Please… let me be here for the two of you.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch before he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. So, you did the only thing you could do at the moment. You held him close, letting him take whatever time he needed, hoping he would talk to you.

That was when you noticed your claim mark on him. You leaned a little closer, soothing it over with your tongue, sending a shiver through his body. His grip on you firmed, just a little tighter—like if he held on long enough, he wouldn’t have to say the words aloud.

For several long moments, that was how the two of you stayed—him nuzzling into your neck, you soothing his mark with your tongue. You could feel the tension slowly ease from his body, the way it had trembled before finally stopped, and with a slow exhale against your skin, he relaxed.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, voice rough against your skin.

You nuzzled your cheek against his as you began purring softly, a different sort of instinct taking over. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid. That makes it important to me,” you told him gently.

Why does she always seem to know just what to say? Even with his wolf tangled in unease, it still huffed in amusement, ‘She’s our mate.’

He was still reluctant, but he finally pulled away, resting his head on the pillow as the morning light slowly peeked its way through the window. “It was a dream, but it was like a memory,” he mumbled, his voice quiet, rough—like a child still shaken from a nightmare he couldn’t quite shake.

You had prepared for this. A week before you’d even brought up claiming him, you’d gone to Professor Saltzman, needing answers. He’d explained how important memories would surface in dreams, while everything else would come to Dean while he was awake, slipping into his thoughts like echoes of a life he hadn’t lived—at least, not until now. Then there was the aftercare.

You needed to make sure he processed the dream, that he didn’t shove it down like something insignificant. He had to feel it. Work through it. Beyond that, there were the physical symptoms—making sure to keep him hydrated and well-fed was the easy part. It was the rarer symptoms you were worried about. There was the possibility that Dean would be too dizzy or light-headed to be able to walk around much. Or that being too far away from you, the source of your scent, could make him anxious or uneasy. And the headaches, which you had a bottle of Excedrine waiting in the bathroom cabinet.

Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he started recounting the dream, his words slow and measured. Luckily, he added how things felt—not just what he saw, but the way it settled into him, heavy and lingering. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his arm never left you, holding you close like he needed the contact to stay grounded. Absentmindedly, he lifted his other hand, rubbing his temple as a dull throb took root behind his eyes.

You felt it—not physically, but in a way that had no real words. It was like sensing a shift in the wind, or the way you could tell rain was coming before it fell. It was just there.

“Lemme get you something for that,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed. Dean watched you go, brow furrowed like he wasn’t even sure what you meant—until you were gone, and the weight in his head became more noticeable.

His focus shifted to the sight of you, the sway of your hips as you disappeared into the bathroom. Catching sight of you in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue swiping over them instinctively as his gaze lingered. Your hair still mussed from sleep, bare skin bathed in the soft lighting from the bathroom, the soft ease in the way you moved.

The way you were just doing things, taking care of him. Dean’s lips quirked into that familiar boyish grin. He hadn’t even told you his head hurt, but now you were pressing two pills with a glass of water into his hands with that sweet, soft smile on your lips.

At least he took them without an argument while you stood by the side of the bed, almost like a mother hen. He was far more distracted by the way you stood there, utterly unbothered by his gaze roaming over you. But then, the heat of his gaze crawled over your skin, sending a flush to your cheeks—a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

Dean couldn’t help himself. You were beautiful—beyond just the way you looked, beyond anything that words could pin down. You were his. And for the first time in his life, his wolf felt the exact same thing he did, no conflict, no pull in different directions, but together.

It was good. God, it was good.

But it was disorienting as hell.

You caught it, even in the faintest flicker—the way his eyelids dipped for a split second, uncontrolled. His eyes glossed over before he blinked hard, trying to push through it, leaning heavier against the headboard. He still didn’t look right, or feel right.

Then came the small shake of his head, the slight furrow of his brows as if he was trying to clear away a fog he didn’t understand. That was it. That was the sign you’d been watching for. You exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I was worried about that happening,” you told him with a frown, slipping on a shirt, then a pair of shorts. “Stay here. Don’t get out of bed. I’m gonna go make you something to eat.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Dean let his head fall back, eyes shutting against the dull throb behind them. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, the headache settling like a weighted fog. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d read more of the files back at Saltzman’s office. He’d known there would be an adjustment period, but this? This was worse than any hangover he’d ever had.

Then, his wolf whined.

The sound hit him sharp and sudden—so sudden that for a second, he wasn’t sure if it had been in his head or if it had actually—

“What’s wrong?” Your voice cut through the haze, laced with something sharp and worried as you hovered in the doorway. And then you were at his side, sitting on the bed, hands skimming over him like you expected to find something wrong.

Had the sounds actually come out? Dean blinked up at you, brow knitting. “Uh… headache, and I feel a little dizzy, but it’s not so bad now.” He hesitated before adding, “Why?”

You frowned, gaze searching his, but didn’t answer him right away. You hadn’t even been gone long—barely long enough to pull a few things from the fridge—when that whine had hit you. It pierced something in your chest, knotting and twisting at your gut so badly you had gripped your stomach. But looking at him now? He looked okay.

Still, you weren’t taking any chances. “Let’s get you in at least some boxers,” you said, already moving, finding them among the scattered clothes. “Then I’ll help you get downstairs. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll need to stay close to you.”

Dean’s confusion didn’t fade, and he swore his wolf seemed just as lost. “Care to share?” he asked just as you handed him the fabric.

As he slipped them on, you explained everything Saltzam had told you—about the symptoms, the adjustment period, the way his body and mind would be catching up with the bond over the next several days, maybe even a full week.

By the time you finished, Dean was already making a mental note to text Sam. If he was gonna be stuck like this for a while, at your cabin, he was gonna need a few more things.

Getting him downstairs was slow work. Between the walls, the railing on the stairs, and you, he managed, though the dizziness flared every time he wasn’t touching something solid. You felt it too—the faint, restless pull anytime there was space between you. You hated seeing him unsteady like this, but he wasn’t fighting you. He was trusting you.

By the time you settled him into a chair, pulled close to the stove for easy access, Dean was quiet. Too quiet. His mind was still buzzing with what you’d told him. But his wolf?

His wolf was purring.

Purring with pride, with something warm and deep and wholly content. You’d researched this. You’d prepared, for him. You were taking care of him, of them.

Dean was floored. Speechless. And utterly in awe of you.

You handed him a cup of hot coffee, giving him that small, reassuring smile. “I like hearing you purr,” you murmured, going back to the task of making him breakfast.

He nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken, not even realizing the sound wasn’t just in his head, as he now questioned the whine from earlier. “Did… did that uh… that whine… Was that why, you uh… you came back?” Dean asked hesitantly, more focused on the cup in his hand than on you.

You hummed softly, cracking eggs into the pan, the scent of butter and bacon already filling the kitchen. “Yeah,” you admitted, glancing over to him. “It felt like someone punched me in the chest and stabbed me in the stomach at the same time.”

Dean frowned, running his thumb over the rim of his coffee mug. That didn’t sit right with him—not because he doubted you, but because the idea of his wolf projecting emotions outside himself, loud enough for you to not only hear them, but feel it, was a whole new level of strange. He’d spent his entire life with his wolf as something internal, instinctive. But this? It was like the damn thing had a voice now.

Another soft rumble slipped from his throat, and he stiffened. You turned fully toward him this time, head tilting, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “Dean.”

“What?” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“You’re purring again.” Heat crept up his neck, but he couldn’t even bring himself to deny it. He just shook his head, muttering, “God, this is weird.” He let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck, but the sound didn’t stop—not entirely. It settled in his chest, deep and steady. The way his wolf’s emotions mixed with his own, he understood it.

You grinned, setting two plates down at the table. Over-easy eggs, thick slices of bacon, toast with butter. Simple, but comforting. “I know it feels weird, but it’s normal. I promise. And, I like hearing it.” You then helped him move to sit at the table, keeping him steady with your hand on his chest, his arm over your shoulders.

Once settled, Dean picked up his fork, but before he dug in, something flashed through his mind—familiar yet distant, like a memory stirring from the depths of his wolf.

It wasn’t clear at first. Just warmth. The feeling of something solid and comforting. Then came the scent of old leather and firewood, the weight of a thick blanket pulled over his shoulders. He must’ve been young, maybe six or seven, curled up on the couch after sneaking out to watch the pack elders talk. He’d drifted off before he got caught, only to wake up to Bobby pressing a cup of hot cocoa into his hands with a gruff, “You got ears for a reason, boy—use ‘em next time.”

Dean blinked, the memory dissolving like mist, but something about it lingered. The phantom weight of the blanket still clung to his shoulders, and for half a second, he could swear he smelled old leather and firewood, warm and grounding. That same warmth settled in his chest as he took a bite of food, the taste grounding him.

“You okay?” you asked softly, studying him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Just… remembering stuff.” “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” you offered with a reassuring smile.

You sat beside him, letting him have the space to process while still staying close to him. Dean took another bite, savoring the simple meal, feeling the way it soothed something raw inside him. He’d had breakfast a thousand times before, but this? Sitting here, with you, his wolf right there at the surface, with him? It was dizzying.

The rest of the morning passed in a slow, easy rhythm. After eating, you took care of clean up while he drank another cup of coffee, mostly just watching you. Memories from his wolf came and went, the fog in his mind still there, but as long as you were close, it never got overwhelming.

You guided him to the couch once the kitchen was clean, setting him up with a cup of water before pulling a blanket over him. When they came, you stayed close to him, almost able to feel that something was just a little off, even if you couldn’t see his face with how the two of you were cuddling. Hours passed like that—quiet conversation, the occasional purr slipping past his lips or rumbling in his chest. It was the quiet whines when you had to walk into another room for something that always felt the same—that ache in your chest, the twist in your gut, and the need to go comfort them.

It wasn’t the same feeling you would have if you were normal. If you were normal, it would have been a mutual claiming the night before. You shook the thought away, forcing yourself to focus on the moment. This was how it had to be. How it was meant to be. Even if something inside you ached for more.

Every so often, another memory surfaced—a childhood run through the trees with Sam at his side, the feel of John’s firm hand on his shoulder as he taught him about cars, the warmth of Mary’s voice singing softly when he was sick. Some of them he shared with you as your fingers absentmindedly teased through his hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

Each one felt clearer, sharper than before. Like the bond was untangling parts of himself he hadn’t fully understood. All while weaving them together in an entirely new way.

And through it all, you were there. His rock. His peace. His home.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Dean wasn’t just getting used to it—he was settling into it. The way his wolf’s memories surfaced—the images, feelings, and scents—playing through his mind as if they were his own. And in a way, they were his. At least his wolf felt content within him. Emotions and thoughts weaving together as Dean got back pieces of his life he hadn’t realized he missed.

He’d almost forgotten to call his brother with everything going on. The two of you laughed, finding out he was just next door, hanging out with Jess in her cabin. Sam took down the list of things Dean had asked him to pick up, letting him know he’d stop by later on that evening to drop them off.

Dean yawned halfway through another movie, shifting against you so his head rested on your thigh, his body stretching out along the couch. It was just after noon, the sun high in the sky, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of your cabin, time felt slower—softer. Before he even realized it, sleep took him under, your scent wrapping around him like a lullaby.

—------------------------

Another full moon. Another shift.

Six months after presentation, his wolf had full control. This was his time. Almost ten hours where he existed unchained—where the body and mind were fully his own.

Tonight, though, the air was different. Charged.

He didn’t linger with his pack. Tonight, he made a beeline straight for that place. His paws kicking up damp earth as he raced toward the place that called to him—had been calling to him for months. His heart pounded harder the closer he got, anticipation coursing hot through his veins.

Then, he was there.

But still, he remained in the shadows, watching. He’d come here nearly every night of the full moon, but hadn’t always stayed. Tonight though? Tonight, something was different.

A scent—so faint, like a whisper through the trees, but unmistakable. Her. She was closer.

His muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at him to move, to close the distance. But his paws were rooted to the earth, as if some unseen force held him back.

Then, he heard it.

She was singing.

The sound hit him like a strike to the chest. Raw. Aching. Beautiful. She was in human form—he could tell with how the notes resinated off the forest, speaking a language she didn’t understand.

But he did.

Loneliness. Longing. The deep, unwavering love she had for her pack. But there was so much more. Her love for her best friend. Then, there was the pain of never feeling her wolf.

He not only heard it, he felt it.

If he could have cried, he would have. Instead, he stood there, helpless, every instinct warring against the barriers between them. He wanted to find a way past that damned fence, to reach her, to tell her she wasn’t alone.

But he couldn’t. And then, her song faded into the night. He tilted his head to the moon, answering her in the only way he could, with a howl of his own. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

But she wouldn’t understand, and that was the most heartbreaking part of it all.

His ears twitched, listening, straining for any sign of her. But all he heard was the soft crunch of footsteps retreating into the woods.

She had left.

The next two nights were the same, but after that, over the next year, there was nothing.

He spent his days fighting with his human, desperate, frustrated. He couldn’t make him understand, not when all he could push through the barrier between them were fractured emotions. But gods, he tried.He wanted nothing to do with other omegas. They weren’t her. Not like his human did.

He couldn’t make his human understand. She was out there, so damned close yet so far away. It was infuriating. His anger, frustration, and helplessness—it all bled into his human, spilling out in fists and arguments at school.

Then, on a night when he thought he might go mad from the silence—

Her song filled the air again.

It hit him like a tidal wave. Her scent moved with it, twining through the air, sinking deep into his bones. Rain-soaked earth. Vanilla. Something purely, unmistakably hers. Cinnamon.

A purr rumbled through his chest before he could stop it.

And again, he answered, his howl splitting the night. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

But again, only silence followed. Only the soft sound of her footsteps as she walked away from wherever she’d been hiding among the trees.

Four years. Four long, grueling years of silence. Some full moons, he went to that spot and sang a sad song for only the moon. Others, he ran with his pack, trying to lose himself in the rhythm, pushing away the ache that never eased. The tension between him and his human worsened after each full moon.

His ears twitched. The sounds of the forest were always the same—an owl in the distance, creatures scurrying through the underbrush, the faint rustling of leaves. But then, a new sound. Footsteps. Soft, careful, deliberate. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto that ancient stump in the clearing.

Then, her song rang into the night.

That melody from what felt like a lifetime ago. The sound of her voice hit him like a lightning strike, sinking deep into his bones. She was here, in the place he had been drawn to since his first shift. So close.

And like he’d done every time before, he howled his reply. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Like before, he waited to hear the retreat of her footsteps, but they never came. Instead, they moved closer, his entire body tensing with anticipation. It was the breeze that came from her direction, bringing her scent with it. Rain-soaked earth, vanilla, and something entirely her. Cinnamon. It was stronger. She was closer.

She wasn’t leaving.

He rose to his feet, staying in the shadows, watching where the sound of her footsteps came from. Slowly, she came into view, half-lit by the moon. He swallowed hard. Even in her human form, she was breathtaking.

When she spoke, the sound was as beautiful as her song, but her words confused him. All he could do was whimper, a quiet plea. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to be near her. If only he could make her understand.

But, she stayed, even came closer.

Tentatively, he moved, matching her steps, unable to look away as she emerged fully into the moonlight. And there, beneath her skin, he saw her, locked away within her, like his human within him.

Her wolf.

Like a ghost walking in tandem, or a double exposure photograph, her wolf walked with her—black as the midnight sky, eyes as deep and dark as the ocean.

She was his everything.

—---------------------

Dean had been whimpering in his sleep. You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him, so you just kept running your fingers through his hair, down his shoulder, over his arm. Slow, steady strokes, hoping the touch would ground him. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing, muscles tensing beneath your fingertips.

What was he dreaming about?

His hand twitched where it rested on your knee, then lifted slightly, pawing the air like he was reaching for something—or someone. His lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping before he finally stilled, his breathing evening out again.

You exhaled, relaxing back against the cushion of the couch, fingers still idly tracing over his arm. The movie had long since faded into the background, nothing more than distant noise. Your focus was entirely on him—on the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his features softened in his sleep.

Your eyes drifted to the mark on his neck, still healing from when you’d claimed him the night before. A small smile to your lips. That bond—the one that tethered him to you—was what was allowing this. Letting him become one with his wolf, rather than just something to fight with in his head.

Then, with a quiet inhale, Dean stirred. His fingers brushing against your skin, a soft, unconscious touch. Slowly, heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, green still clouded with sleep but searching, flickering over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. There was something different in his gaze.

Something deeper. Something that stole your breath from your lungs.

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, his brows knitting together slightly. He just looked at you, a quiet intensity in his gaze, like he was trying to fit words to something too vast, too consuming to be spoken aloud.

He’d been speechless that first day nearly three months ago. But now? After that dream—after seeing you through his wolf’s eyes—language felt almost meaningless.

So, he didn’t try. He just moved, shifting upright before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he needed you closer, needed you real. His breath was warm against your hair when he finally whispered, “I love you.”

The words were thick with emotion, not nearly enough to contain the weight of everything inside him, but it was all he had.

You stilled, fingers curling slightly where they had rested against his back. He’d never said that before. It wasn’t just the words. The weight behind them held something deeper.

The words settled over you, sinking in slowly, a warmth unfurling in your chest that you weren’t sure how to name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then, you pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in the way his gaze searched yours, the faint crease in his brow like he was bracing himself. Your lips parted, breath hitching slightly before you finally managed, “Dean…”

The sound of his name made something flicker in his expression—something raw, something vulnerable. But before either of you could say more, his stomach grumbled, breaking the moment.

You blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing just enough for you to shift back, cupping his cheek briefly before nudging him toward the armrest. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat back. “Yeah, alright. But I’m still not moving too fast, so don’t rush me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, standing before offering him a hand up. “I wasn’t planning on it, Speed Racer.”

Dean took your hand, letting you steady him as he stood. He still wobbled slightly, his grip tightening around yours, and you gave him a knowing look. “Still dizzy?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve been on a boat all day.”

“Could last a while,” you reminded him as you guided him toward the kitchen. “Depending on how stubborn you are about letting it happen.” Dean shot you a pointed look, muttering something about “not that stubborn,” but you just hummed, unconvinced, as you opened the fridge.

With it still a couple of hours until dinner, you pulled out the pie from the day before, glancing at him as he lowered himself into a chair. His eyes were distant again, like he was still caught in whatever he’d dreamed about.

After a moment, you set a plate in front of him, then sat down across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dean hesitated, rolling his shoulders slightly, before dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah. I think—I think I need to.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I saw things. Remembered things.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My wolf’s memories. It wasn’t just a dream.”

You nodded, not pushing, just waiting. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you went back over to the freezer, pulling out a roast to prepare for dinner while he ate his slice of pie, piecing things together in his mind.

The ‘dream’ had shaken Dean more than he wanted to admit just yet. It was a hell of a lot to take in. The emotions alone had his mind reeling. He let out a shaky breath just as you set a glass of water on the table for him.

“You need to stay hydrated,” you said, pressing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

You thought about the book you were going to write, making mental notes of all the little things that had happened since that morning—things others probably had no knowledge of. Then, tucking them away in your mind, you focused on slicing carrots, potatoes, and onions to add to the roast.

Dean groaned. “Carrots? Really?” He knew he was whining like a pup, but he wasn’t a fan of ‘healthy’ stuff like his brother was.

You glanced over your shoulder, amusement flickering in your eyes. You could have pointed out just how much he sounded like a fussy pup, but honestly? A part of you found it endearing in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. You bit back a smile, turning back to your task.

“All I ask is that you try them. You’re a grown man. I’m not going to force-feed you,” you teased, your voice light but knowing. It was a trick you had learned from Beverly all those years ago, the kind that worked on stubborn pups who turned their noses up at anything remotely healthy.

Dean shot you a skeptical look, shoveling another bite of pie into his mouth. Not even his mom had been able to cook carrots in a way that didn’t still taste like carrots. He watched as you prepped the roasting pan, seasoned everything with practiced ease. And… grabbed the honey? His brows knit together, his curiosity pulled him from his seat.

“What are you…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he watched you coat the entire roast, seasonings and all, in a layer of honey. Then, drizzled it sparingly over the potatoes, carrots, and onions that were all around the chunk of meat in the middle.

You glanced at him, raising a brow as you capped the honey. “Never had a roast like this before, huh?”

Dean shook his head, still watching you like he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be intrigued or horrified.

You chuckled, covering the roasting pan and sliding it into the preheated oven. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

His curiosity had officially been piqued. You made a mental note of that—just another thing you were learning about him.

“Do you want to watch another movie or tell me about the dream you had?” you asked softly, turning to face him.

Your question pulled him from his mental debate over how you had used honey on dinner.

Your voice was gentle, giving him an out if he needed it. Dean appreciated that. He swallowed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter supporting him. He wanted to tell you—hell, he needed to—but the words sat heavy in his chest, tangled in a way that made them hard to pull free.

“Movie?” he said instead, hesitantly. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Dean knew you had other things the two of you could do, like board and card games, but with the fog in his mind, he couldn’t concentrate on anything for very long.

You didn’t press. “Movie it is,” you said with a small smile, helping him back to the living room.

As he settled onto the couch, the dizziness subsiding along with some of the fog in his mind, he watched you scan the shelves. His eyes followed the careful way you moved, the easy familiarity in how you sifted through the movies. He liked that. Liked how comfortable you were, how natural all of this felt. His wolf rumbled in agreement, pushing closer, making its presence known in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

He exhaled through his nose, your words from earlier replaying in his mind. Instead of pushing his wolf and its feelings away, Dean embraced them, letting his wolf stretch in his body, his own fingers flexing.

“Got any action movies?” he asked, taking slow, deep breaths, the sensation strange but manageable.

You hummed in thought, fingers trailing over the cases before plucking one free. “How about Young Guns?” You glanced back at him, gauging his reaction. “It’s action, kinda Western—you like Westerns, right?”

Dean huffed, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “Damn right, I do.” You grinned, slipping the disc into the player and settling beside him as the movie started. He put his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to snuggle into his side, and you let him. His wolf guided him, and this time, he didn’t fight the instincts that coursed through him.

For a while, Dean focused on the film, letting himself get lost in the gunfights, the sharp drawl of the cowboy accents, the reckless loyalty of the gang. But his wolf was more focused on you. Calm within him, just under his skin.

It wasn’t just the lingering weight of the dream—though that still sat at the back of his mind—it was you. The warmth of you against him, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint scent of honey and spices still clinging to your skin from earlier. It was different than before, more potent. His wolf leaned into it, its instincts threading deeper into his awareness, merging with his own in a way that made his pulse quicken.

Dean clenched his jaw, shifting slightly. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to feeling his wolf so much, like it was pressing up against the inside of his ribs. It wasn’t demanding or aggressive—just present, threading through his awareness like the slow seep of warmth from a hot drink on a winter’s day.

It wasn’t bad, not exactly—just… new.

Then, halfway through the movie, the scent of dinner began to drift in from the kitchen.

It hit like a damn freight train.

The rich aroma of slow-roasted meat, the sweetness of hone caramelizing over time, the earthiness of seasoned vegetables—it all wrapped around him, sinking into his senses, pulling a grumble from his stomach, even after the slice of pie he’d had earlier. His wolf perked up instantly, sharp and alert, fully fixated on the meal cooking just a room away.

Dean swallowed hard.

His stomach growled again, a low, insistent sound, but it wasn’t just hunger clawing at him. It was the feeling behind it—the way his wolf recognized the meal as something made for him, something meant to nourish, to provide.

He turned slightly, glancing down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were still focused on the movie, but he swore there was the faintest hint of a knowing smile on your lips.

You’d done this on purpose.

You knew how to get him to eat the damn carrots without forcing it, just like you knew when to push him and when to let him sit with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how you did it—how you always seemed to know—but it settled something deep in his chest.

His wolf purred, the sound a gentle rumble in his chest.

Dean paid attention to his wolf, pulling you just a little closer. If he was being honest, this was one thing he and his wolf could agree on—being proud of you, of what you were doing for them.

Maybe merging with it wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought to himself. Not if it meant more moments like this.

He let himself sink into the warmth of your embrace, losing track of time as the movie played on. When the timer dinged in the kitchen as the credits began rolling, you stirred against him, stretching with a soft yawn. “Lemme pull dinner out. Then, I’ll help you to the kitchen,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

Dean’s first instinct was to wave you off, to let you rest while he handled the rest of dinner. But his wolf stirred, disagreeing. Don’t. The resistance irritated him at first—until he actually looked at you. Not tired. Relaxed. His wolf knew, and as Dean let himself settle again, he could feel that knowing. A quiet certainty. He was beginning to recognize it.

You returned a moment later, helping him to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen. He let you, more out of curiosity than necessity, watching you as you moved through the space with effortless ease. There was something grounding about it, something steady in the way you plated the food with careful precision.

The scent had hit him first—the moment you pulled the lid off the roasting pan. The honey-glaze, the slow-roasted meat, and the rich spices teased his senses. It wrapped around him, familiar and new all at once, making his stomach tighten with more than just hunger. There was comfort there. But what really got him was the anticipation on how these carrots were going to taste.

Dean swallowed, shifting in his seat as you set a plate in front of him, the warmth of the dish seeping through the ceramic. His wolf all but hummed, a quiet rumble of satisfaction curling in his chest. This was meant for him—made for him. He could feel it, the unspoken care in every detail.

You sat down across from him with your own plate, offering a small smile before digging in, giving him space to process. However, you did eye him discreetly, curious as to how he’d react to the carrots. The concept worked on pups, so you figured it would work on adults too, in much the same way.

He picked up his fork, stabbing a chunk of carrot. It wasn’t mushy, offering just enough resistance to make him pause. Huh. He popped it into his mouth—and froze.

It was… sweet. But not too sweet. Tender while still firm. It melted on his tongue in a way he hadn’t expected, the honey balancing out the natural earthiness. His brows shot up as he chewed, surprised despite himself.

The giggle that slipped past your lips pulled his gaze to meet yours. To him, you looked like an amused parent who had just tricked their pup into enjoying something healthy. There was no stopping the slight tug at the corners of his lips, his wolf’s amusement slipping out, and he let it.

“Alright,” he admitted, gruff but good-natured. “I’ll give you this one.”

Dean cut himself a bite of meat. The flavors hit him in waves—savory, sweet, decadent. His wolf pressed close, instincts flaring in quiet approval, and Dean didn’t even try to fight it. He let his wolf stretch beneath his skin, their edges blurring. Not quite merged, but no longer quite separate either. Still an odd sensation, but he was done resisting.

Halfway through the meal, he found himself glancing up at you, his thoughts shifting. “You wanna know about the dream?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, setting your fork down carefully. “Only if you’re ready,” you said, giving him that same out you knew he might need.

Dean exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. “It was of that first night,” he began, his voice quiet again. His gaze was on you, but far away, letting it play out in front of him. “But… it was that whole time before he met you, too.”

You stayed quiet, still giving him the space he needed so he could put words to the emotions you saw swirling in his eyes. Important memories came in dreams, you mentally reminded yourself.

“He saw you, your wolf,” he whispered. “Like a ghost walking in you.” There was so much, but that had been what stood out the most to him, your wolf. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, lips parting slightly. But you stayed quiet, taking steadying breaths to try to calm your racing heart. None of which was lost on him.

His eyes refocused on you and whispered, “She’s beautiful, like you.”

You fought back tears as the emotions tightened around your chest like a vice, but one slipped down your cheek without permission. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, quickly wiping away the tear and attempting to pull yourself together. He got to see a part of you that you had never even been able to feel, and you weren’t entirely sure how to process it, but it hurt.

If he was capable, he would have gone over and pulled you into his arms, but the last thing he needed was to have you end up helping him up off the floor due to the dizziness. So, instead, he reached across the small table and took your hand in his.

For a few moments, he didn’t speak, letting his wolf guide him.

“He’s always known it was you,” Dean explained softly, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “Ever since the first night I shifted after I presented alpha.” His voice was steady, weighted with something old, something certain. “When he’d answer you, he was telling you that he was there. That you weren’t alone.”

Something inside you broke. The kind of break that wasn’t jagged or painful—but the kind that let the light in.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable. Dean and his wolf worked together as he carefully braced against the table, shifting to sit beside you. Then, his arms were around you, strong and sure, pulling you close. He whispered comforting words, softly stroking your hair with one hand, the other on the small of your back, grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder, voice thick, the words almost swallowed by quiet sobs. You weren’t even sure where the emotions were coming from or why they had spilled over all of a sudden. It had just hit you, out of the blue. Or had it pulled to the surface things you had chosen not to face over the years, a loneliness that no one had truly ever been able to fill?

Dean could smell it in your scent, but with your mutation, his scent couldn’t calm you. So, he allowed his wolf further to the front, mixing with his consciousness, guiding him, so close they nearly blurred into one. A soft rumble in his chest vibrated into you.

He was purring, again. He didn’t fight against it. This time, he leaned into it.

Slowly, your tears subsided, and your breathing evened out, the tension in your muscles easing as you relaxed against him.

Merging isn’t so bad, Dean thought to himself when you finally looked up at him, and he smiled softly down at you. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away another stray tear. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told you softly. “You’re here now, with me.” You didn’t have to explain why you were apologizing—he already knew. You saw it in his eyes, the quiet understanding, the way both he and his wolf held no resentment for the years that had passed, for the distance that had once been between you. With a shaky breath, you managed a small smile, then leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Thanks, for understanding,” you murmured.

Dean exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, giving you one last gentle squeeze before returning to his seat. It’d been easy to comfort you when he worked with his wolf. Easier than he ever thought it could be. The cabin felt different now—lighter, softer. Falling into conversation was simple, laughing about things from the movies, his sweet compliments about dinner, and the way you would just look at him, like you were seeing something in him no one else ever had.

You did see something in him—the way he was sharing control with his wolf, how they worked together, and how a softness finally found his eyes as the tension eased from his features.

Dinner wound down with an ease neither of you rushed to disturb. Dean nursed a beer as you started cleaning up, the last of the golden daylight spilling through the kitchen windows. You’d barely tucked away the leftovers when the front door swung open, Jess and Sam’s voices carrying through the cabin.

“In the kitchen!” you called, not looking up from your task.

Sam was the first to step inside, eyes sweeping over Dean as the scents of dinner lingered thick in the air. “Man, if Jess hadn’t already fed me, I’d be all over whatever you made,” he said, amusement tugging at his voice.

Jess beelined for you, looping her arms around your waist as you washed another plate. “Tell me you saved me some?” she teased, resting her head on your shoulder.

You giggled, nudging her lightly. “If Dean doesn’t finish it off tomorrow.”

“Bet he only ate the meat,” Sam quipped, setting down the bag of supplies Dean had asked him for earlier.

Dean took a swig of his beer, shooting his brother a look, but you beat him to it.

“He ate the potatoes and the carrots,” you informed Sam, matter-of-factly.

Sam’s brows shot up. “How?”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose—somewhere between irritation and resignation—as your laughter bubbled through the kitchen, warm and easy. Jess smirked, licking her lips as she answered for you. “She uses honey or maple syrup on them when she does a roast.”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Too bad Mom never knew that tick.” Dean muttered something under his breath and tipped his beer back, but he didn’t argue. Because, well—Sam wasn’t wrong.

“We’re not staying long,” Jess murmured, her chin still resting on your shoulder. “Just wanted to drop off Dean’s bag.” With her still holding onto you, you managed to dry your hands. “We’ll hang out soon—”

“None of that,” she scolded, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t rush this. I’ll be here when he can walk on his own two feet again.” You knew she was teasing Dean—at least a little—but also that she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if it took him a month to figure out how to merge with his wolf.

“Thanks,” you whispered, leaning back into her embrace, covering her hand with yours.

“What are sisters for?” she murmured, squeezing you once before finally letting go.

The brothers watched, momentarily caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Pack members were close by nature, but this—this was something deeper. It was like the bond they had with each other, something that existed beyond blood or name. It wasn’t just Winter or Winchester or even how the packs had merged. The four of you simply fit, like a pack of your own, bound by something older, something unspoken. Jess had never shied away from your scent, had never hesitated to be close, and that meant something. The two of you had just been connected from the day she was born—like the day the brothers met the two of you, and the day Dean’s wolf had shifted for the first time.

Jess was the first to pull them all from the quiet moment, ever the one to break the spell before it could settle too deeply.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, stepping back from you with a teasing smirk. “We should probably head out before these lovebirds start making eyes at each other.” Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, can’t be third and fourth wheeling all night.” Dean scoffed, shooting his brother a look, but he didn’t bother arguing. Not when he knew those two had already done far more than he and you had.

Jess squeezed your hand once before stepping away, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Pretty sure that doesn’t leave much off the table,” you quipped, making her cackle as she disappeared out the door with Sam.

The quiet didn’t rush in; it settled, comfortably. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of night insects through the open window—soft, ambient sounds that made the space feel warmer, more yours. Dean leaned back in his chair, watching you for a long moment before he finished his beer.

“You tired?” His voice was low, rough in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

You glanced at him, shaking your head. “Not yet.” Dean exhaled, slow, watching as you wiped down the stove and counters. You felt his eyes on you, but not in a bad way. It was just different—not just adoration, but understanding. A deep, bone-deep knowing.

His wolf had always been there, waiting. Pacing beneath his skin, a presence he’d tried to keep at arm’s length, control rather than embrace. But tonight, there was no struggle, no tension. It wasn’t separate from him anymore, wasn’t something he had to manage. It was him. Fully, completely.

The steady pulse in his chest, the way his body leaned forward instinctively in his chair, toward yours, how he could feel his muscles relax just with your presence. The pull that had always been there—only now he was finally letting himself accept it.

“I like this,” he admitted, voice softer now, honest in a way that felt like a secret meant only for you. “Not fighting it. Feels… right.”

It was the soft smile tugging at your lips when you turned around that hitched his breath. His words sent something warm curling in your chest, knowing he meant more than just his wolf—he meant you. Meant this.

“Yeah,” you murmured, stepping closer to him, reaching out and taking his hand. “It does.”

And for the first time, Dean let himself believe it.

He let you help him upstairs, though he barely needed to lean on you at all now. Not when he had finally stopped fighting—both with and against his wolf. He wasn’t losing himself by embracing it. He was becoming whole.

Instincts he’d been afraid of for far too long settled into place, no longer something to suppress but something to trust. And somehow, being with you now, seeing the world through his wolf’s eyes, it all just made sense. Like the pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together.

Even knowing you couldn’t feel the bond between the two of you, couldn’t scent him or the emotions woven in it, he knew.

Your heart belonged to him. Just as his had always belonged to you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12

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