#krirebr

[foxgloveprincess]

Ransom + What Are Friends For

This one sounds like a fun angsty one! Thanks for playing, Kris! 💜

“You don’t have friends, Ransom,” you bite, stuffing your jacket in your bag and grabbing for your jewelry case.

“I have you,” he replies, picking up your phone before you can and holding it above his head.

You huff a frustrated breath and march to the bathroom, gathering your toiletries in their bag and taking a look at yourself in the mirror. A minute passes as you stare, wondering what he means, what you’ve done, how much more hurt you can take.

“C’mon,” he pleads, stepping into view to lean on the doorway, voice dropping to a solemn tone, “please don’t leave me.”

✨Send me a character/pairing and a title to get five lines of an imaginary fic✨

[biteofcherry]

So, I've been thinking about RG!Ransom and Leaf pretty much nonstop since you posted their intro. They're rocketing their way to being my favorite RG couple.

I'm wondering if you could share any favorite kinks for each of them?

Love and thanks, Eva! 💜

Thank you, Kris 🥰 It makes me smile so hard seeing the love they're receiving.

When it comes to Dom Ransom and Leaf their kinks are a tad bit more specific than most of the couples. Beside the general D/s power exchange, that is. Servicing (food, drinks, massage) is one of the main kinks, because Leaf is very much a service submissive and it also brings Ransom pleasure. Sometimes servicing takes a form of holding position for a long time (including being a “table” for Ransom’s drink, but I will try to write it softly, without actual depersonalisation and objectification, because I don't feel good with that). Maid/slave costumes are definitely their thing, too 🤭

Not much discipline through impact. I mean a few spanks might happen, but generally it won't be their thing. Ransom will rather use the "positive" rewarding system than punishment system, so expect more spoiling and praise, lots of overstimulation and edging.

[navybrat817]

KRIS. When I tell you I would be his queen in a second, I wouldn't hesitate. I might pretend to be miffed. For a moment. "I have to marry King Arthur? Oh, no!"

I'll wear nothing but a tiara while he makes me ride him on this throne.

Please.

Love and thanks! ❤️

[bigtreefest]

Ooo, can I please hear more about Intimidation Game?

Oh course you can! Intimidation Game is gonna be a Ransom fic based off a convo I had with @brandycranby a little while back. This was asked by both you and @biteofcherry 👀🫡

The basic premise is Ransom trying to be intimidating, and everyone else knowing to stay away, except for reader. They’re the only one who challenges him. And to be honest, he’s a little bit intimidated by them, too. So it’s semi rival-y, until Ransom traps reader in a doorway, you know that thing where he braces his arm above you so you’re semi-trapped and it’s kinda hot and makes your heart race? That. 🥵🫠 and he leans down real close, nose to nose. Is that a kiss op?🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ someone may get tackled with a demand for ending this dance, the tables could get turned…😏

WIP Ask game

[thezombieprostitute]

Dropping in to pay you back with your own round of FMK. That's right, it's Fanta, Mountain Dew, and Kool-Aid! 🤣🤣 So which toxic soft drink are you sharing with

Bucky Barnes

Jake Jensen

Jonathan Pine

Bonus points if you can give us specific flavors 😘

Oooo! I can't remember the last time I had Fanta or Kool-aid so I've gotta think about those two for Barnes and Pine.

Because, let's face it, Mountain Dew with Jake just makes sense. It's "gamer fuel"! I like plain Dew best and would happily share some with my cute gamer.

I'm gonna cheat a little here and use Orange Fanta and mix it with vodka to make Creamsicles to share with Jonathan. I don't think he's ever tried one before but he's the type to be a good sport and, at least, try it for me.

He's also actually susceptible to the alcohol, unlike Bucky, so it could lead to some fun.

I'd have to share blue raspberry Kool-aid with Bucky. Why? Because when I say, "this tastes like blue" I want him to have some frame of reference. He's a little out of touch on contemporary food stuffs and flavors and "blue" is definitely one of them!

[veltana]

Hi Cate! 31 and 42 for the weirder asks, please!

From this

31. Old rock music like Iron Maiden's early stuff and Queen but also fun Disney songs! 😂

42. I play a game called Merge Cartoon and I accidentally got my partner and brother-in-law hooked on it too. I play that a lot! 😅🙈

Thank you for playing ❤️

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Happy birthday, Caplan!!! 🎉🎉🎉

ilysm <3 thank you so much <3

[darsynia]

Oh my gosh I'm so running around in circles in my mind all excited!! I'm so glad you like this so far! I'm super proud of this story (it goes places that are supported but unpredictable, we'll say), thank you so much for reading! Your kind words absolutely buoy me up and I'll be floating all night! Eeee!! don't mind me, i'm just making sure I get the most out of my exclamation mark subscription before it renews

Me, driving to the next chapter:

Just Right | Ch 1

(Steve Rogers/F!Reader, post-Ultron multi-chapter)

gif by @dailystevegifs

Summary:

You've been in love with Steve Rogers for at least a year, but he treats you the same way he treats every other member of the team-- with respect, but nothing more. It takes an inter-dimensional mistake and a whole second, more assertive, actually interested Steve for you to realize that you don't want just any version of Steve Rogers-- you want the one you've been pining for all this time.

Length: 2,998

FIC MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER | MCU MASTERLIST

Ok so the thing is, I adore @ronearoundblindly, and I decided to write her this. The idea I got also very happily fits with my Avengers Bingo square of 'Is it permanent?' It's not my first Steve fic, but it is my first Steve/Reader! I hope you like it Ro.

Reader's nickname 'Dine is pronounced 'Dean.'

Chapter One

You simply can’t believe this is happening.

Fifteen minutes ago, while you were going over proposed alterations to Sam Wilson’s Falcon suit, a person who looked exactly like Steve Rogers walked through the wall right beside you.

“Oh my God!” you’d immediately said. “Do not tell me that Stark created some kind of matter splitter that lets a person walk through walls, please? I live here. I don’t want to put alarm lasers in my bathroom, but I’ll do it!”

Steve had looked behind him at the solid wall and seemed surprised. “I’m sorry miss, but just a second ago, that was a doorway.”

“If you two are trying to distract me out of noticing that the controls for Redwing are different, it’s not going to work!” Sam said, his focus remaining on the sketch you’d mocked up for him.

You’d looked back over to Steve, and that’s when you noticed that something was… off. First of all, you hadn’t designed that uniform, but he did have a few vintage ones still floating around. Second of all, his hair was longer than it had been the previous day at the monthly midday meeting.

The third difference was the way he was looking at you. Admiringly. Something he’d never done before-- you would have noticed. 

Sam asked a question about one of the altered features, and as you went through your explanation, you’d kept an eye on the way Steve was wandering through the large room. He seemed to be growing more and more confused, picking up an item to frown at it, walking around one of the free-standing computer terminals, and generally seeming lost. More than once, you’d caught him looking over at you in confusion.

With alarm bells going off in your head, you had made a decision. “You know what, Sam, I think I just caught a problem with this. Can I fix that and have you go back over it tonight, after the dinner thing?”

“Sure, ‘Dine. How many wings did you sign up for?” Sam had said challengingly.

“Oh no you don’t! That’s confidential information. Not as many as you, that’s all I’ll say.”

“You know it. See ya, Steve,” he’d said on his way out. You’d walked along with him, and once Sam was through the door, you hit a very specific button on the panel next to it.

“I think you know I could probably break through any one of these walls,” Not-Quite-Steve said from across the room. He sounded regretful.

“I mean, you could try, but this room is fortified. We test prototypes here, and not every invention behaves as expected,” you’d replied, a little proud of your deliberate double meaning. The button had sent an alert to just Stark, for now, but it also turned on a live recording of the whole room, displayed in certain spaces all throughout the complex.

“That’s why there are no windows,” Faux-Steve observed calmly. “Basement of the tower?”

You had willed yourself not to react to that. After the disaster with Ultron, after losing Bruce to fury and almost losing Stark to guilt, they’d all moved upstate, away from the bad memories. Was this Steve from their past or a whole other future? Was he really Steve at all?

“What were you doing right before you came here?” you asked, walking slowly over to the locker area. You’d probably fit into a few of the things there, if you had to.

“Arguing with Tony over something I thought he shouldn’t be doing.” He’d offered her a thin smile and slipped his hands into his pockets, like that would make him seem less dangerous. You knew better. “Look, whatever it was, it sent me here, and this ‘here’ isn’t my here.”

Natasha had taught you never to give too much away. “Oh?”

“My ‘here’ doesn’t have--” 

Before Fake Steve could finish his sentence, Stark burst into the room completely suited up, and things had gotten chaotic from there. 

You’re on your way up to one of the open office rooms to write down everything you can remember, but as you get closer to the correct floor, you slow down. You have a bit of a dilemma, and no amount of reassuring yourself is helping.

The sticking point is how you realized something was wrong, what first made you recognize a discrepancy. The longer hair thing will probably be enough, but it isn’t the whole truth. You don’t want to reveal the whole truth, because the whole truth involves something you’ve kept to yourself for over a year.

The real truth is you are head over heels in love with Steve Rogers. Your Steve Rogers, except he isn’t yours. He’s never looked at you the way this one just did.

You haven’t let that be a problem, of course. You’re in your dream job; after being in armor fabrication and development at Stark Industries for years, you’d been recruited by Tony Stark himself to work with the Avengers. It’s been a genuine pleasure creating individual designs that are tailored to each fighter’s strengths and weaknesses, instead of the mass-produced stuff you’d worked on for Stark Industries. 

You’d tried hard not to let yourself show any favoritism, after you’d realized your crush on Steve wasn’t going away. You don’t even call him Steve, except in your own head-- but all of that is at risk right now. You’re tuned to indifference, and the open interest you’d caught a glimpse of today is sending your senses reeling.

“Hey, ‘Dine. Tony sent me up to make sure you’re okay, said you looked a little shaken up.” It’s Natasha, and she’s coming your way down the hall. Now you’re even more shaken, because if Stark noticed, Nat sure as hell will.

“I need to write this shit down, but yeah, a little bit,” you admit. “It’s like if instead of Vision, the model in the cradle was Rogers, and they got him 95% right.” With a 5% ‘thinks I’m cute’ flaw, you don’t say aloud.

Nat follows you inside and stands waiting as you busy yourself with finding an incident report and the exact right pen. You handle it right up until you start writing your name and her shadow darkens the rest of the paper.

“Something you need?”

“You’re freaked out.”

“Well, yeah. If an interdimensional version of St-- Rogers is able to stroll into our test room, we’re going to need some equally interdimensional protections for this place, not to mention a thousand thousand other important locations all across the country!” You’d just picked something out of midair to bluff her, but it’s the truth, and now you’re even more worried. You set down the pen and look up at Natasha. “What if they need him, Nat? What if we can’t send him back?”

“If it’s something Tony built, Tony can build it,” she says pragmatically. “One worry at a time.”

“There she is!”

You’re late to the gathering, and you’re going to have to make up an excuse, because the forty-five minutes you spent dithering over your clothing choices had everything to do with the image you wanted to present tonight. You ended up going with something casual, dressed-down, because as much as you’d felt a little thrill at the way Alternate Steve had looked at you, it had been disconcerting and alien. No way did you want to foster more of that.

You look up and smile weakly at Sam-- until you remember something. “Shit, Sam, your thing! I’m so sorry, I didn’t go back in the room after--”

He comes over and slings an arm around your shoulders, comfort bred by familiarity. “No, I get it. Don’t worry, manufacture isn’t set for another week.”

You relax into the hug, slip a hand around his waist and squeeze before both of you let go. “It’s just that I promised--” This time it’s Sam’s expression that interrupts you.

“You know you design this stuff, you don’t have to act like armor yourself, right? You sensed something right away, didn’t you? And you got me out of the room.”

Stark’s loud, defensive voice cuts through your mumbled explanation.

“-veryone’s giving me shit over this, but I’m not the one who screwed up! And I’m the one who’s going to fix it, so lay blame on the correct Stark! Who is, for once, not me.” He’s been making his way over to you to thrust your favorite beer in your hand without asking. You look around for Sam, but he’s gone. “If anyone should be mad, it’s ‘Dine,” he shouts over his shoulder. In a quieter voice he adds, “Don’t tell them I said this, Brigandine, but I apologize on behalf of my bumbling alternate universe counterpart. Who knows what kind of weird traits IMPOST-Steve has that our version doesn’t!”

You already feel sick, and you haven’t drunk or eaten anything yet.

Stark drags you over to the catered wings and fills a plate for you without paying much attention to the cues you’re trying to give him, which is tipsy-typical. Honestly, you’re kind of grateful; with a plate piled high you’ll have every excuse to focus on your meal instead of the cluster around the Steves. Your gregarious boss at least carries it for you, and you indicate the farthest table. This earns you a bit of a concerned look, but you just clink your beer against his and tell him to shoo.

It’s interesting watching the seemingly identical men holding position, holding court, really, as the various Avengers and associated staff ebb and flow around them. It takes a good hour (and half of your plate) for each person to get some time with the newcomer, after which the lights dim a bit, along with everyone’s senses. This is the open-bar payment for the all-hands monthly midday meeting of the day before. Not all the attendees actually live at the compound; you only see the whole team once a month.

With the lights down low, your corner is practically dark, but when a familiar figure approaches, you know who it has to be.

“Have they settled on a name for you yet?”

“Tony seems to favor ‘Major America,’ which is better than I would have expected,” Not-Steve says as he pulls out a chair and settles into it. He turns his head toward you and smiles, the relaxed, almost-flirty kind you’ve always wanted from him. “I get the feeling that if it weren’t for the contrast in uniforms, most of these people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

You make a non-committal noise and finish off your beer. It takes a few gulps, but he just watches, like there’s anything more to see than an anxious, embarrassed woman incredibly out of her depth.

“What about you?” you ask, afterwards.

“Well, we don’t have this complex, which I think I gave away when we met the first time. Tony asked me not to go too deep into the changes--”

“No, no, I get it,” you interrupt. “There could be something we don’t know about yet.”

“And vice versa, yeah. It might have taken longer for me to figure things out if it weren’t for one of the biggest differences. I’ve never seen you before.”

The half-bottle of alcohol hits you just as he says that, and you stare at him.

“Yeah, seeing Sam so comfortable with a complete stranger in a room that strangers probably shouldn’t be allowed in ticked some ‘danger’ boxes for me,” AU Steve says. 

The light from the only nearby lamp edges his profile in yellow, and you decide to call him Gold Steve in your head, because ‘AU’ is the periodic table symbol for gold, and that’s what passes for clever for you right now. You’re so proud of this that you miss the next thing he says, and have to ask him to repeat it.

“I said, how did you know? You knew right away.”

“Your hair is longer,” you say, a little too quickly.

Gold Steve tips his head sideways and regards you with a look that amplifies your blood alcohol content to dangerous levels. “It’s a subtle difference. You noticed that?”

“For all you know, it’s my job to keep everyone up to regs,” you joke. 

His slow, easy smile is familiar enough, but for the fact that you’re alone together in a dark corner. “I wouldn’t mind that at all,” he says warmly.

It’s time to get out of here before your lost dignity is your only legacy here at the Avengers compound. Already the tipsy feeling is fading, but the Steve Proximity Alarm is blaring at full volume.

You didn’t actually know how accurate the thought was until Gold Steve stands and gallantly (bafflingly) offers his arm, and you hear a second familiar voice behind you.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, is it? She just had the one beer.”

Gold Steve reaches up to rub the back of his neck, clearly chastened. “No, of course. Just instinct, I guess.”

“This is above my pay grade,” you squeak, and set off toward the door. You’d been looking forward to talking to Clint while he’s here. There’s a containment idea you’d had for some of his more dangerous arrows-- but there’s no way in hell you’re staying around to watch Steve Rogers talk Steve Rogers out of paying attention to you.

As you slip through the door, you hear one of them call out, “‘Dine, wait!” but you have no idea which one of them it is.

The next day brings with it a more detailed plan of what to do with Gold Steve. You’re on the periphery and busy with the planned upgrades to Sam and Clint’s gear, so you only hear about it at lunch. 

From Gold Steve himself.

You hadn’t even planned to go to the cafeteria area, but as always, your minifridge is sadly devoid of take-out when it really matters. The kitchen looks safe when you get there at two PM, late as usual, but in your defense, you were really caught up in the creative process. 

One of the things you love about the Avengers Compound is the random thoughtfulness scattered everywhere. In the cavernous freezer, there’s always a supply of various frozen meals, almost as if you were living back at home and digging in your mom’s fridge to find something she’d made two months ago. They’re made biweekly but eaten any old time, and you score a hit on the back bottom shelf: your very favorite hearty soup.

You’re mid-microwave with it when Gold Steve walks in to rinse out his bowl. Seems he’d made the same exact thing. You wonder who helped him, where that person is now, and why Stark had thought it necessary to design a kitchen with only one way in or out. Hasn’t he ever seen Jurassic Park?

“Oh, hello,” Gold Steve says. You aren’t looking over at him, but you can hear the smile in his voice. You don’t answer right away (because your brain is running through a fragmented list of things to say, and every time you grab one it’s garbled. ‘Soup is for the winter,’ is right out. ‘It’s nice to not expecting to see you here’ makes you nearly abandon the kitchen and push past him out of sheer desperation), and he fills the silence for you. “Oh, that smells familiar, is it the soup?”

You nod, hoping like hell that his version of Tony Stark hasn’t designed telepathy.

“Maybe it’s bad form to joke about it, but I wouldn’t mind taking that recipe back with me. If we figure out how to send me, of course.”

If this was your Steve you would have said something like, ‘I imagine we’d just write it down and put the notecard in your pocket.’ You do joke with the guy, it’s not like you never interact. It’s just that those interactions are as platonic as two houseplants sitting on the same indoor windowsill.

The microwave dings, and you excuse yourself to grab the spoon over near where Gold Steve is standing. After a stir and a taste determines it needs more time, you grit your teeth and start the timer for another minute.

“I’m sorry I make you so uncomfortable, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“You don’t!” you lie, but Gold Steve’s crossed arms lay on the guilt too much to ignore. “I’m… not used to the attention,” you say delicately. His brows furrow, and somehow there are still forty more seconds on the timer before you can be saved by the bell. “She who is seen and not heard?”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Sam Wilson hugged you at that thing last night, you don’t get there by being seen and not heard.”

“Yeah, well, I’m one of the only people who love Redwing as much as he does,” you mutter.

To your delight and horror, Gold Steve comes over and rests a heavy hand on the microwave door, inches away from you. “I cannot imagine being in a room with you and not seeing you,” he says.

The traitorous microwave beeps loudly, startling you sideways into his arm for one shocking second. You back away, saying the first thing that comes to your head.

“Why?” You close your eyes tightly as you realize you’re basically asking for a run-down of compliments from the guy, rushing to say, “I don’t mean that. I mean, I do, but I’m just--” 

You hear the sounds of the microwave being operated, and confused, you just stand there with one hand clapped over your mouth, eyes closed. After two loud beeps and the start button, the microwave runs for a few seconds, beeping loudly again. It’s so unexpected that you open your eyes and see Gold Steve with an encouraging look on his face, one hand held out placatingly in your direction.

“Can we start over?” he asks.

Next chapter...

[foxgloveprincess]

Soooo.... I saw that you're working on a Curtis story. I'm sure you've gathered that I'm such a whore for him. 🙃 Any thots/details that you're willing to share?? 💜💜

Kris, I 👏🏻 got 👏🏻 you 👏🏻

So, you remember this little blurb? Curtis and the club?

The story I’m working on has sort of become a prequel to it. How Curtis and his reader got to the point where they’re so intoxicated by each other, addicted to each other’s touch. At this point, Curtis has got his curvy reader over his shoulder in the club and is carrying her off. 🤭 Also, in my WIP at this point, he calls her Smush.

[biteofcherry]

"I'm sorry. I thought I could do this, but I just can't."

It's Dracula Curtis. In the early months of your courtship, when you were still human and he was struggling with his depression.

He found solace and light with you, couldn't keep himself away from meeting you again and again. But he was still hating himself and punishing himself, so he kept fighting that blooming love. Telling himself that he didn't deserve you, that he couldn't rip your life away from you.

And fighting you when you offered your blood, ready to be bound to him for eternity.

Those words were rushed when his fangs were mere inches from your neck, then Curtis was backing away.

[navybrat817]

Alright, Navy. FMK

😏

I see what you did, Kris! Did I deserve it? Maybe, maybe not. 😇

F - Bucky

I know, I know. I'm sure many of you are so shocked. Winter Soldier version would give me the dicking down of a lifetime and I'm here for it. There's a universe out there where we are married after he gets some more therapy and finds the much needed happiness he deserves.

M - Will

Will, like our super soldiers, has gone through some trauma. He has also shown to be loyal, caring, and strong. I think he would be an amazing husband and I'd have the best brother-in-law in Benny. Pope and Catfish by extension.

K - Steve

Instead of fucking off to the past, Steve Rogers dies a heroic death and finally gets to put down the shield. In another universe, we'll get our chance together. It's just not this one.

I don't know, lovelies. How did I do?

Love and thanks! ❤️

[bigtreefest]

For the fic I associate with you, you know I'm going with The Rainmaker. 💜

Hehe Kris!! How did I know??😂

Hmmm, a secret about this fic…I feel like I’ve been pretty open about this all, but I’m gonna give you a bit of dialogue that I really tried to make work, but just can’t with the way I want the story to go!

I had a plan that Bee was gonna visit the city to see Decks to talk to her instead of on the phone like I did in this chapter. But there was also gonna be a surprise visit from Curtis and Cherry while Decks is in a grumbly mood.

It was gonna be like:

Decks: “Where’s Cherry? She’ll tell me what I wanna hear?”

Bee: *eye roll*

Cherry: *walks in* “no I won’t. He will, though.” *points back over shoulder*

Curtis: *peeks out from behind her* “it’s true”

Hehe, I know they’re your friend OTP

Ask based on this post

[foxgloveprincess]

Okay but like why has this got me so flustered????

God, if Lloyd just winked at me I’d be a puddle on the floor.

Thanks for the brilliant wake up, Kris. 😂 You’ve certainly made my day. 💜

[navybrat817]

This is so heartbreaking, but Curtis is going to be the best alpha for this omega. ❤️

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall. 

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible.  And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?” 

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.” 

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right. 

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself. 

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year. 

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room. 

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no. 

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

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[navybrat817]

Has no one asked about the gambler yet??? If not,

Kris, he's the only one no one has asked about! Let's discuss.

In this universe, Ransom is a gambler. He has money and loves the high he gets when he gambles. Managed to make a living out of it.

Loves giving the guys a hard time, particularly Curtis as he's the most recent addition to the group.

Car of choice: BMW 3.0 CSi, of course

Met you at a casino when you, a publisher, won a round of poker. He rarely loses and you carried yourself with confidence that rivaled his. He was hooked, though he likes to think you fell first.

First gift: Crystal Decanter Set

Favorite lingerie on you until he takes it off: Bustier with Garter Straps

Relationship status: Dating, but getting ready to propose

Another fun one. Love and thanks! ❤️

Silly Boys With Silly Toys

[bigtreefest]

Kris! When you first sent this, I was in a bitter, bitter mood and tbh Andy was making me mad. But now that I’ve slept it off, here are some Andy thots.

- well, first off, I can’t stop trying to read his lips. All I’ve got is “Jacob practically was at _____”

- but his eyes. Ohhh, look at them, there’s a sparkle of something in them. It’s teasing and a little condescending.

- let’s pretend he’s not saying what I think he’s saying, I think the two of you would be hosting a party at the house, and lock eyes across the room as you’re speaking with your respective friends. He grows a small smile with a tinge of mischief, and mouths for you to meet him upstairs. Except, you can’t quite read the last bit, so you just keep mouthing back ‘what?’ Until you accidentally say it out loud and everyone turns their head and looks at you with confusion. “Sorry, I’ve uh, gotta go check that we’ve got enough ice in the cooler. Could be a minute.” So he gets exactly what he wanted, but not nearly as discretely as intended