#the black clay is a pain in the ass and that's why the feet are dirty lol

[ashatsukino]

finished the second one, inspired by q posket figurines

this time i decided to go for ukon wearing kiba's jacket because it's iconic

[entishramblings]

The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, “(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey. 

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust

Legolas Tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @arandomfandomblog @moriamithril

[tchallasbabymama]

All For Us Chapter 9

Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me on this one, but it’s finally done! Not to be the bearer of bad news or anything, but there’s only one chapter left (and maybe an epilogue) on our journey with Mira, Erik, and Cupcake. If you’re just here for Killmonger, I have a couple Erik oneshots heading y’all’s way in the next few weeks. Also, check out The Temple. 😉

As always, don’t forget to look at my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything. Like, comment, and reblog away! 🥰

CW: a little smut

Word Count: 6,481

Erik’s eyes flew open as he bolted upright through the sand that covered his body in his temporary grave. He was in the heart of the temple where the Black Panther ceremony took place, the City of the Dead. The lost prince pulled himself from the sand and brushed the clay-colored sediment from around his eyes as he climbed the stone staircase leading up into the garden of the heart-shaped herb. When he made it to the top, Erik took a deep breath before stepping into the garden. To his surprise, nothing caught on fire like in his previous dreams. His shoulders relaxed as he took another step into the garden, and another, and another until he was face to face with Bast’s statue. A smile took over his face as he knelt at her feet.

“Took you long enough, Jaguar.”

Erik lifted his head, and her celestial glow nearly blinded him as he laid his eyes on the panther goddess once more.

“Long enough for what?”

“For your senses to come back, obviously.” Bast circled him and laid down, licking her paw. “Pretty soon, you won’t have to be asleep to talk to me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Oh, I had nothing to do with it.”

Erik turned to face her and sat back on his heels.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never took them away. You did.”

“I’m not following.”

“Your guilt blocked your senses, Erik,” she sighed. “You had been holding onto pieces of it, but you finally let it go.”

“I felt guilty for ruining our marriage,” Erik mused aloud.

“But you didn’t, so congratulations,” she said nonchalantly. “That’s not why you’re here, though.”

“Ok, what’s up?”

Bast chuckled at his informality.

“Last time we spoke, I said I would need you to do something for me. I’ve finally made up my mind as to what that is.”

Erik sat with bated breath as he waited for his assignment. For a moment, he was reminded of his military and mercenary days, except this time, he was being given a mission from a goddess. His goddess.

“As you know, Wakanda has never had a Golden Jaguar before. You are an anomaly, but that is a good thing.” She stood up and started walking, making him rush to his feet to follow after her.

“It is?”

“Yes. You know, the good thing about cycles is that with destruction comes rebirth…change. You’ve forced Wakanda to change, and you’ve forced me to think some things over. Truthfully, after the little stunt you almost pulled, I did think about removing your powers. I don’t need to preach about it, though, since you already know all about your wrongdoings, but I heard what you said about your people. We have neglected them, and for that, I have no words of apology that would adequately ease your pain. The Lost Tribe, as my people have come to call you, needs a champion. Wakanda already has theirs, but since you seem to rather enjoy toying with colonizers, I have an assignment for you.”

Erik’s ears were trained on Bast as he hung on every word she said. He walked next to her as they made their way through the catacombs towards the temple’s entrance.

“Before you came to Wakanda, you were involved with Klaue and his hunt for vibranium. Your vast knowledge of African and diasporic artifacts combined with your training makes a great equation for what I need you to do.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to act as the Golden Jaguar on the Lost Tribe’s behalf. I recognize that as just one person, you can only do so much, which is why I will talk to T’Challa about you heading his Wardog program. I would like for you to have an army of spies at your disposal to act instead of just watch and report as they have done in the past.”

“So basically what I wanted to do before but without the world domination?”

“Precisely,” Bast chuckled and stopped walking at the door to the temple.

“Ok,” Erik thought on it as a smile crept up his cheeks. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would. I think you’ll like my first assignment. Well, second. First, you need to stop avoiding the City of the Dead in your waking life. You need to go visit the garden.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said, his nerves twisting in his gut at the thought of actually stepping back onto the sacred land.

“Now, my second assignment: artifact reclamation. Instead of searching for vibranium, which you might find, I want you to return items to their rightful owners.”

“So, stealing,” Erik deadpanned.

“Yes, but for a good cause. I will let you work out the details, but the point is to return the power to the people by building them back up, brick by brick. They were separated from their gods, so the Ancestors and the Orishas are working on bringing them back to us spiritually. They are still working on getting other spirits and pantheons on board...alas, my brother and sisters are choosing to take a more passive approach.” She sighed. “The Lost Tribe was taken from the land, so T’Challa has already spearheaded initiatives to build up other African countries that need his assistance and bring the Lost home to the continent. Now, I need you to bring our belongings home. Our thrones, our art, our history. Take it back. Bring it back to its rightful place.”

“I’m with it, but, um...how am I supposed to do this without getting caught? If shit just starts disappearing en masse, somebody’s gonna notice.”

“They won’t disappear. The colonizers won’t even know they’re gone.” Bast flicked her tail mischievously. “Your wife designs kimoyo beads, does she not?”

“Well, yeah-”

“And your cousins are scientific geniuses, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’m sure that between all of your big beautiful brains, you can figure out a way to make replicas of the artifacts.”

“Why does that compliment feel like an insult?”

“I like you, Jaguar,” The goddess chuckled. “Now go enjoy your time with your wife.” She winked at Erik as she nudged him out into the brightness shining from outside the wide-open temple doors. Erik returned to consciousness, and he was shocked by the feeling of Mira’s mouth traveling up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, girl. This how you waking Big Daddy up now?”

She popped her head off his tip, and he groaned at the sight of a bridge of spit still connecting her to him.

“Good morning, baby.”

“Mmmm, good morning to you, too,” he grabbed her loose curls that she had forgotten to tie up the night before. The silk sheets kept her hair soft and bouncy as her hair spilled over his fist while it rested at the back of her head. He pulled her in for a kiss, and then she went right back to taking him down her throat. “You’re gonna make me nut all down that throat, Princess.”

Mira’s hand cupped and massaged his ballsack while she sucked on his bulbous head. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and her other hand traveled up and down his length, making his toes curl.

“Fuuuuck, you remember just what Big Daddy likes. Imma bust a fat ass nut, girl,” Erik groaned through gritted teeth. Mira giggled at her control over him and continued to work his dick. Her nose reached his pelvis as she took him down her throat, and he came with such force that she almost choked. Almost.

When she pulled off of him, she tongue-kissed his tip before sitting back on her haunches and wiping her mouth. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik let out a breathy laugh, “Like the dead.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t feel me moving. You were out cold.”

“That’s because I was talking to Bast.”

“What’d she say this time?”

Erik sat up against the headboard and motioned for her to come to him. Mira crawled up his body and straddled him, sliding down on his dick so that they were connected as deep as they could be. They had always been like this; whenever they needed to have a serious conversation, Erik would set her in his lap and have her take all of him. They both reveled in the connection they had in that moment, and even in their stillness, their united bodies responded to each other as the words fell from his lips.

“She wants me to be the Golden Jaguar officially,” he said as he kissed down from Mira’s ear to her shoulder.

“What does that mean?” Mira asked, barely above a whisper.

“She wants me to be a champion for us, the Lost Tribe. Wakandans have T, so I’ll be protecting the rest of us with the Wardogs.”

“How, though? That’s so many people.”

He came up from kissing between her breasts to look her in the eyes. “Well, remember how I told you about the museum heist to get the vibranium?”

Mira nodded.

“She wants me to steal artifacts from museums and shit and return them to where they were stolen from.”

“That sounds right up your alley,” Mira snarked, and he tickled her sides, making her pussy clench around him, and he let out a groan at the feeling. He grabbed her hips and moved them back and forth.

“It is. I can’t do anything until I visit the garden of the heart-shaped herb, though.”

“Why?” she moaned.

“I’ve been avoiding it,” he sighed.

Mira pulled him into a kiss and cycloned her hips as she wound on him. “Do you need to go alone, or do you want me to come with you?”

He connected their foreheads as he pushed his hips forward into her, and she called out his name.

“I need to go alone.”

Their hips ground into each other as the sexual energy inside them built up slowly and erupted through their bodies. Erik placed kisses all over Mira’s face and neck as she caught her breath from the intensity of her orgasm.

“How about I make breakfast?” Erik asked, and Mira simply nodded and kissed him. She moved to get up, but he held her down. “Nah, I didn’t say right now.”

After another round, the two of them separated from each other, if only because of the rumbling of their bellies. They showered together, and Erik couldn’t help himself from bending her over and eating her pussy and ass from the back. Pretty soon, he was balls deep inside her again, and when he came all over her cheeks, he about keeled over from the way the orgasm shook through his body.

“Aight, I need a break,” Erik said, and the two of them shared a laugh as they finished their shower without any more funny business.

“Can I have one of your t-shirts?” Mira asked as they slathered themselves in shea butter.

“You can have anything you want, Princess. MIT or Navy?”

“MIT please,” she cheesed at him.

“Coming right up.”

Erik left the room and returned with his maroon-colored MIT t-shirt. The same one she wore the first time she stayed over at his apartment back in the day. He knew it was her favorite and the look on her face when he handed it to her was priceless. She quickly shimmied into it while he slid on a pair of sweatpants that left little to the imagination.

The two of them relocated to the kitchen, and Mira toyed around with her latest kimoyo design on her tablet while Erik got to work on breakfast.

“That a new one?” he asked, nodding towards the design hovering over the counter.

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten it to work right, though,” she grumbled as she stared at it. “I want it to be able to apply cloaking tech to whatever it touches, but so far, I can only get the bead to disappear.”

Erik listened to her complain about her failed design for a little while, and when she was done, she turned off the tablet and hopped up on the counter.

“Anything I can do?” Mira asked

“Mhm,” he came over and stood between her legs, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips. “Just sit there looking fine as hell.”

“I’m serious,” she smiled.

“So am I,” he said incredulously with a hand over his heart, making her chuckle at his dramatics.

“Fine, I’ll be your muse.”

“And my guinea pig. Here, try this.”

Erik lifted the spoon to her lips so she could taste the yam hash he had been working on, and her eyes bugged out of her head.

“I forgot you turn into Top Chef after sex.”

“Gotta feed my woman,” he kissed her cheek and cracked a couple of eggs sunny-side up in the skillet.

Mira giggled, and an idea struck her. She reached back for her tablet again and pulled up her latest work in progress, a story about a decades-long whirlwind romance that she had gotten stuck on. All she needed was a little inspiration, and Erik ended up being just what she needed.

He watched his wife type away with a smile on his face. Erik loved watching her work; the look of determination on her face was always so endearing to him. She’d bite her lip and squint her eyes as she tried her best to focus on the task at hand. Erik always thought it was adorable.

The smell of fresh vegetables coming in contact with hot oil filled the air, and Mira’s mouth started to water. She looked up from her work to see what Erik was doing but got distracted by his body. She watched his sinewy muscles moving beneath his textured skin, and a chill went down her spine.

“What the fuck is that?” Erik sniffed the air, following the sweet scent that had just wafted from out of nowhere.

“What’s what?” Mira asked, swinging her legs back and forth.

He turned to face her, and his pupils blew wide as the smell hit him again.

“It’s you,” he turned off the burner and stalked over to her, standing between her legs again and placing his nose in the crook of her neck. He inhaled her scent and let out a growl.

“What is that?”

“My bodywash?”

“Nah, it’s you. What-” he cut himself off when it dawned on him. When he was king for a day, he only smelled fear from those around him. Fear smelled like decay, it smelled rotten, but this was the exact opposite. It was enticing, like the most beautiful forbidden garden, and Erik knew exactly what it was. Her arousal. He bit into her neck, making her moan out as he ground his hips into hers. The aroma grew, and Erik’s composure slipped away the more he inhaled it.

“E-erik, the food.”

He took a deep breath as he stood to his full height. “I can smell when you want me.”

“What?!”

“I wonder if it’s different for every person...shit, I wonder if I can smell other people. I hope not-”

“What are you saying? You can tell when I’m horny?”

“I guess so. I only smelled fear before, but it makes sense. I’m just caught off guard because it hit me out of nowhere, like last night.”

“What happened last night?”

“I could hear your heartbeat.”

Mira’s face lit up, “That’s good, though, right? It means your senses are coming back!”

“Yeah, I’m just surprised by that one. I wasn’t expecting all that,” he laughed.

“So...I smell good?”

“You don’t know how good, Princess,” he grumbled as he finished cooking. Mira crossed her legs, making him chuckle. “That’s not helping. It’s all over you.”

“Damn...what else can you do?”

“I need to test out my strength and speed, but my sight was different, too. Everything was brighter, more vibrant. And my brain moved faster...I don’t know how to explain it. Bast said my guilt was the blockage, so they’ll probably slowly come back over time. After they’re back, I’m supposed to start on my mission.”

“You still felt guilty?”

“I thought I broke us. I mean, I did, but I felt like it was unfixable, you know?”

Mira nodded, “Yeah, it felt like that sometimes.”

Erik pulled the dishes out of the cabinet and set them down next to her.

“Mira, I’m-”

“Erik, if you say you’re sorry one more time, so help me, Bast,” Mira said, making a dimpled smile appear on Erik’s face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while Erik plated the food, and when he handed Mira hers, he left a kiss on her cheek. She smiled and hopped down from the counter to sit at the table. When she sat down, she couldn’t help but stare at Erik as he walked over. Her man, her formerly violent man was really chosen by a goddess to protect Black people around the globe.

He noticed the look on her face and couldn’t quite place it. “What?”

“Nothing, just...look at you, doing the work of gods now.”

“I bet you never thought you’d say that about your mercenary husband,” Erik winked at her.

“Sure didn’t,” Mira laughed, “but it fits. You always had it in you. You know, I’m glad I came out here. I wouldn’t get to see this new side of you otherwise, and so far, I like it.”

--------

A couple of hours later, Erik found himself in front of the City of the Dead with his palms sweating and his breath shaking. He wasn’t sure why the temple unnerved him so much, but it did. Erik knew he had to do what Bast told him, though, and took a step forward. He climbed the stairs to the ornate stone doors and waited as they slowly opened for him. Erik was met with the sight of a surprisingly calm woman in purple robes. He recognized her as the woman he had choked out, the new head priestess.

“My prince,” she saluted him. “Welcome. I have been expecting you.”

“You have?”

“Of course. Come in.”

He hesitantly stepped forward again and entered the temple. A chill went down his spine as the doors shut behind them, and he looked around the space. He had only been there once before in his waking life, but this time it felt different. It probably had something to do with the fact that she wasn’t scared of him this time around.

“What’s your name?” he asked nervously.

“I am Zaya, my prince.”

“You don’t have to do the whole ‘my prince’ thing. Especially since I...you know.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should’ve never put my hands on you.”

“I have spoken to Bast about it, and I forgive you. Just don’t let it happen again,” she warned.

Erik put his hands up in defense, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Now, you are here to see the herb, no?” She started walking, and he followed behind her.

“How’d you know?”

“I spoke to Bast, remember?” She quipped with an eyebrow raised.

“Heh, yeah,” he chuckled nervously and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious.”

“I assume that is a normal reaction when reckoning with your past.”

The two of them traveled deeper into the temple, and when they reached the door that led to the garden of the heart-shaped herb, he froze. Zaya looked back when she no longer heard his footsteps and smiled warmly, reaching out her hand to him. He took it, and she led him through the doors. Erik almost wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he had to face his past actions head-on.

He looked around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw there were dozens of tiny glowing purple buds just begging to become full-grown flowers. He laughed in disbelief at what he was seeing. He had burnt the garden to ashes, but now here it was, thriving in spite of him.

“It took us a while to get them to grow again, but thankfully we were able to put out the fire before the roots were harmed,” Zaya spoke as he wandered through the garden in awe.

“And these...they still work?”

“The princess took a sample and tested it in her lab. According to her, this new batch might be a little different, but they should still work. Bast has given them her blessing, so that is enough for me.”

“So, I didn’t ruin Wakanda’s future like I thought...”

“No, just a bump in the road,” she smiled.

Just as he was about to respond, the strangest thing happened. His eyes were trained on one of the buds, and suddenly he could see every little vein in the leaves and the detail of the curled-up petals. The color became brighter and even more purple than most people could comprehend, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he smiled.

He could see again.

“Are you ok?” Zaya asked tentatively.

Erik cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just my senses are coming back, and...they’re beautiful.”

“And resilient.”

He laughed and wiped the tear from his face.

“How about I give you some time alone?”

“Thanks, Zaya, that’d be great.”

She bowed her head in deference and went back the way they came. When she was gone, Erik let out a sigh as he took in the sight before him.

“They really made it…”

“Of course, they did. Did you think I would leave my people defenseless?” Bast’s silky voice rang out through the temple, and he turned around to see her standing there in her mostly-human form. She was a statuesque and curvaceous woman with the head of a panther and locs that spilled over her ebony shoulders. Erik dropped to his knees as she walked towards him. “No need for all of that. Stand up, Jaguar.”

He laid eyes on her once more as he rose from the ground. Her glow was almost blinding, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

“Get used to it. I like to pop in on my champions every now and again. Sometimes in dreams, sometimes in your thoughts, and sometimes in person. It all depends.”

“On what?”

“On you and what you need, or what I need from you.”

“Ok, so what do you need from me?”

Bast chuckled. “Truthfully, nothing this time. I just needed to see you face-to-face.”

“You don’t have an assignment for me?”

“Not yet. I know how much you enjoy the sanctuary, so I’ll let you stay there a little whille longer. Plus, you are just now mending your marriage and need time to spend with your wife and child before I call you away.”

“How much time?”

“Enough,” she winked.

“You’re so cryptic,” Erik chuckled.

“Yes, your cousin thinks so, too. However, I prefer ‘mysterious.’”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she sighed. “You have some party planning to do. They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Especially when you miss a couple of years,” he murmured.

“Which is why I’m giving you at least a year before I call on you. Make good use of it, Erik.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, Erik.”

“Yeah?”

“Try running back to the palace,” she winked again as she shimmered away, leaving him alone in the temple.

Erik tried to contain himself as he left the garden and ran into Zaya.

“Was your ‘alone’ time fruitful?” she asked knowingly.

All he could do was beam at her with his megawatt dimpled smile.

“Very.”

Erik said goodbye and ran back through the forest to the city, his heart beating out of his chest in excitement. His superhuman speed carried him back in no time as the wind whipped against his body. A smile was plastered on his face the whole time, even when he slowed down as he reached the outskirts of Birnin Zana. He hurried to the palace as inconspicuously as he could and happened to run into Mira just as she was leaving. When she saw the look on his face, she couldn’t help the grin that took over hers.

“So, how did- Erik!” She squealed as he picked her up and twirled her around with barely any effort.

“They’re back!”

“Your powers?”

“Well, yeah, but the heart shaped herb is coming back!” he peppered kisses all over her face and neck while she giggled. “You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you could be.”

“So I take it your vision came back, and you’re super strong again?”

“And fast. I ran here in like twenty minutes.”

“From the CIty of the Dead?!”

“Mhm,” he nodded as he set her back on the ground.

“Damn, baby, that’s...that’s amazing.”

“I need to test them out some more, so I’m gonna see if T has some time to spar. You going to the lab?”

“Shopping, actually. Okoye and Ayo took Imani so I could get some last-minute party stuff.”

“Need someone to carry your bags?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Especially since you got that jaguar strength again.”

“Lead the way, beautiful.”

--------

Early that Saturday morning, as the sun crested over the trees, Mira and Erik stood on the tarmac watching as the Royal Talon descended from the sky. Mira was almost shaking with excitement as the doors opened and T’Challa stepped out, followed by some of her favorite people in the whole world.

“Titi!”

SJ ran down the ramp past the king and flung himself into his auntie’s arms. She held him tight and rocked him from side to side as Stef and Ana approached, with Daveed teetering between the two of them.

She looked up at them and gasped, “Oh my god, he can walk now? How long have I been gone?”

“Girl, too long,” Havana complained as she wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law.

Stefan was next to greet her, and his eyes stayed glued to Erik the whole time as he enveloped his sister in a bear hug, “We missed you, Sammy.”

“No, you miss my cooking,” she laughed as she crouched down to say hi to her littlest nephew.

“You remember Titi Mira?” Ana asked him, and he shook his head, hiding behind his dad’s leg.

“That’s ok, we can get to know each other while you’re here,” Mira smiled at him and stood back up.

“Who are you?” SJ asked when he finally noticed the man standing behind his aunt.

“SJ, this is your Uncle Erik. You might not remember him but-“

He thought about it for a moment before it dawned on him. “Do you still have all those bumps on you?”

Stefan tried to hold in his snickering, and Havana hit him in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, I do.”

“That’s so cool!”

“Heh, thanks, lil man.”

“So, brother in law…It’s good to see you,” Stef deadpanned. He was clearly not feeling Erik anymore.

“You, too, man,” Erik went to dap him up, and he stared at his hand in contempt.

“Stefan, behave,” Havana said with a roll of her eyes. “Hi Erik, how are you?”

“Much better since I’ve been here.”

“Good, good…”

T’Challa had been standing to the side while the family reunited but decided to intervene when things got awkward.

“Stefan, Havana, let us show you to your quarters.”

“Oooh, our ‘quarters,’” Ana sang excitedly. “Sounds so fancy.”

“It’s a palace, Ana. Of course it’s fancy,” Stef grumbled.

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t act out in front of company.”

Mira chuckled. She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing their playful bickering.

As they made their way through the place, Stef and Ana stared slack-jawed at their surroundings while SJ ran ahead of the group.

“You live here?” Ana asked.

“Mhm. It’s gorgeous, right?!” Mira bragged.

“That’s not even the word…”

T’Challa smirked as he listened to them compliment his home.

“So, where’s the birthday girl?” Stefan asked.

“She is with my mother and Ororo.”

“Ororo?” Stef stopped in his tracks. “Munroe?!”

“The one and only,” T’Challa grinned proudly.

“Holy shit…”

“Language,” Havana chided her husband as she covered SJ’s ears.

“What is it with these men and cursing around children?” Mira shook her head at her brother.

“Girl, I don’t know, but let’s get back to Storm. How’d y’all meet?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Erik nodded towards his cousin.

“Dang, how’d you get her? I mean, I know you’re a king and all, but- Wait, are you a mutant, too?” Stef asked.

T’Challa and Mira made eye contact, and she nodded for him to continue. They were family and would most likely be seeing a lot of Wakanda, so they’d find out eventually.

“I am enhanced, yes.”

“Like Steve Rogers?” SJ chimed in excitedly from a few feet ahead.

“He wishes,” T’Challa complained under his breath as they stopped in front of the door across from Erik and Mira. Both of them chuckled at the king’s arrogance.

“So...you’re enhanced. Why, though?” Stef asked.

They entered the suite, and the interrogation was cut short when the Greenwoods saw how beautiful their temporary home was.

“Holy shit…” Ana mused as she covered SJ’s ears.

Mira gave them a quick tour while T’Challa and Erik hung back in the living area.

“So, you and Stefan-”

“He never liked me, and I made things worse by disappearing,” he shrugged.

T’Challa nodded as he changed into his suit.

“Oh, so you’re coming all the way out?”

“They will find out eventually, so I might as well get it over with.”

Erik nodded as Mira rounded the corner and saw T’Challa in his suit. She smirked and called SJ. He ran back into the room and froze when he saw Black Panther standing there next to his uncle. Ana was next to round the corner and looked at her son questioningly before she looked up and saw what he was staring at with his mouth open.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said with a hand on her hip.

“About what?” Stef came next, and T’Challa’s mask disappeared into his necklace. “This place is insane.”

SJ couldn’t move. He was looking at his favorite hero in the entire world, right there in the place he’d call home for the next week. His mind could barely wrap around what he was seeing, and he couldn’t process his emotions. Tears started flowing down his face, and a sob wracked his body.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok, baby,” Ana crouched down and wiped his tears as Stef came over with Daveed on his hip.

“You’re not excited to see Black Panther?” He asked his eldest son.

SJ shook his head, and T’Challa deflated. Erik kept his snickering to himself, but Mira shot him a look anyway.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“He’s just in shock. It’ll wear off eventually,” Ana said as she brushed SJ’s locs out of his face.

————

It took way longer to wear off than they thought, and by the time they arrived at the party venue in the palace’s botanical gardens that afternoon, he still hadn’t said a word. T’Challa tried to speak to him a couple of times, but he shied away behind Mira or his parents. Eventually, Erik convinced him to give the kid some space and pulled the dejected king away to the other side of the garden. While the other kids and their parents arrived, SJ kept looking at T’Challa out of the corner of his eye.

“You know, he doesn’t bite...or scratch,” Mira leaned in and said to her nephew as she sat down next to him at the kid’s table. “In fact, he’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

“Does Imani know?” he spoke up for the first time in hours, and Mira was happy to hear his voice again.

“Oh, yeah. He told us when we got here, but it’s a secret so she pinky promised not to tell. You know, I screamed when I saw him.”

“You did?!”

“Mhm. He really needs to learn how to ease people into it, huh?” she asked as she poked at his side, making him giggle. Stef and Ana watched from a few yards away and smiled with him while they kept a watchful eye on Daveed as he waddled around the flowers.

SJ nodded in response, and Mira kissed his temple before getting up and leaving him to ponder her words. Right when he had worked up the courage to speak to his hero, Erik announced that Imani was on her way with Ororo and Ramonda.

“I can’t wait to see my baby girl!” Ana squealed.

Mira excitedly grabbed Erik’s hand, and he kissed her knuckles, making Stef narrow his eyes as he and his family hid behind a mango tree.

Imani appeared with her auntie and future cousin, and T’Challa recorded as she squealed excitedly at seeing everybody. A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, Ade, and all her other friends from school greeted her with a loud “Happy birthday!” The newly five-year-old’s tunnel vision made her almost ignore her parents and other adults completely until Erik picked her up and gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“Happy birthday, Cupcake!”

“We have a surprise for you,” Mira sang.

“What is it?” Imani asked excitedly.

Erik set her down and turned her around as Mira motioned for her family to reveal themselves. SJ ran out from behind the tree and nearly tackled his cousin to the ground while her aunt, uncle, and baby cousin took a calmer approach.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Stef exclaimed while his eldest son continued to squeeze her tight. SJ let her go, and she ran into her uncle’s arms. Ana crouched down next to him, and Imani threw her arms around her neck.

“We’ve missed you so much!” Ana said as she fought tears.

“I missed you too. Wakanda is so cool! I can’t wait to show you everything,” Imani babbled.

“Did you know about Black Panther?” SJ asked, still a little nervous about meeting his hero.

Imani nodded, “I promised to keep it a secret, or I would’ve told you. It’s so cool, right?”

SJ nodded, and Imani dragged him off to meet her friends.

Erik couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried as he watched his little social butterfly play with her friends and cousin. It wasn’t until Mira came up and nudged him that he even realized he was staring.

“You ok?” she asked.

“Hm? Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he put his arm around her and kissed her temple. “Just reliving some things.”

Mira looked at him curiously and he continued, “One of the few good memories I have from childhood that we talked about in therapy was my seventh birthday party. This kind of reminds me of that.”

Mira smiled as they stood there and watched Shuri, Ororo, and T’Challa play with the kids. The king regaled them with stories of his adventures, and Shuri let them ride on very slow hoverbikes while Ororo harnessed the wind to lift them up and let them fly a couple of feet off of the ground. The kids were having a ball, and their parents seemed to enjoy themselves as well. Okoye, M’Baku, and a couple other people gravitated towards each other and fell into conversation about being single parents. However, the rest of them spent most of their time ogling the royal family.

Eventually, it was time to eat and the parents were able to corral the kids into sitting down at the table. After stuffing their faces with an array of Imani’s favorite foods, Mira led the “happy birthday” song as she and Ayo carried out a huge Doc McStuffins birthday cake. Imani and SJ were the only kids who knew who she was, but everyone enjoyed the cake nonetheless. Erik couldn’t help the tear that almost came to his eye as he listened to his wife sing to their daughter, just like his mother had done to him. Loudly and slightly off key. Next, Shuri led the group in a Wakandan birthday song, and Imani blew out the huge number five candle in the center of the cake.

Mira kept stealing glances at Erik as he sliced it up and handed out pieces to everyone. He looked so happy. Even when one of the kids tripped and got icing all over his pants leg, he just kept on smiling.

Even Stef noticed the change in his brother-in-law’s demeanor and brought it up to Ana, “He smiles too much now. It’s weird.”

“It’s weird that he’s happy?”

“No, it’s just weird to see. He used to be so…”

“Surly and unapproachable.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Maybe you should get to know him?”

“Hmph,” he grunted in response. Ana decided to leave it alone for the time being and left his side to go talk to Erik.

“You think you can handle the sleepover?” she asked him.

“Thank Bast it’s not all of them.”

“It’s not?”

“Hell no, just her little crew,” he pointed to A’Kidi, Kofi, Sanaa, A’Sami, and Ade. “I’m not taking care of all these kids.”

Ana laughed, “Understood.”

“So...your husband still doesn’t like me, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” Ana deadpanned.

“Nah, I’d be the same way in his shoes.”

“He’ll come around eventually...maybe,” she said as she placed a comforting hand on his arm before being pulled away by her son to watch the Black Panther and Storm show off their powers some more. SJ still couldn’t bring himself to speak to T’Challa, but it was a start.

As the party wound down and most of Imani’s classmates went home, the few that stuck around relocated inside to the Stevens’ suite in the palace. Even with a handful of screaming children in his home, Erik was on cloud nine. He loved to see a smile on his Cupcake’s face, and he wondered if he looked that happy when he was a kid. He concluded he probably did, and as the kids watched an animated movie, he and Mira curled up on the couch behind them. While the rugrats were distracted, he pulled her chin up to plant a kiss on her lips.

“What was that for?” she smiled.

“I’ve just been thinking…”

“About what?”

“About making more good memories, you know? Some of the happiest times in my life were times just like this…and time spent with you.”

Mira looked down with a smile on her face and he brought it back up to look in her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

Her eyebrows damn near reached her hairline and a Grinch-like smile crept up her face as she nodded.

“I’d love to.” Next Chapter

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback

[widowsofchaos]

Poor Little Rich Boy

summary: you find out your boyfriend isn’t all that innocent as he seems.

warnings: yandere behavior, violence, and gore. dub-non con. Ya know the filthy vibes.

Pairing: dark college!Tony Stark x black!reader

a/n: this is my first time writing Tony so be gentle with me <3

do not respost my works!

“I, Howard Anthony Walter Stark, being of sound, mind, and body do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. I bestow my legacy in the hands of my only heir, my son, Anthony Edward Stark. All my assets, finances, and chair as CEO of Stark Industries are now in his hands.”

Buzz.

A dull silent vibration shook in the confinement of Tony’s jean pocket, pulling him out of his sullen trance. Instinctively ignoring the notification, as he listened onto the blurred words of the lawyer reading his late father’s will.

Biting his lip to contain his swirling emotions -- aggravation to just collect his inherited earnings, and head home to you.

Buzz.

With a hazy eye-roll, Tony casually sneaked his palm into his pocket, retrieving the phone. As the family lawyer droned on reading, aged eyes glued onto the paper; Tony peaked at the screen, with the quick analysis of face ID -- his pupils dilated like saucers.

His nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving -- he gotta get home immediately. An iron grip onto the phone, he roughly dug it back into his pocket, his foot tapping against the carpeted flooring. Antsy.

God, please make time go faster.

Buzz.

His fingers itched to snatch the cellular device, internally screaming for another peak at the salacious cheeky messages.

Messages from you -- photos of yourself seated on his bedroom floor, in only a high-waisted thong, and his custom tailored blazer.

The creamy beige against your buttery smooth bronze skin was divine, Tony swears anything you wear is pulled off with elegance. Your brown areolas are slipping out just a tad bit from the flaps, a hint of what’s awaiting for him.

His cock hardened against the denim fabric, Tony salivates whenever you wear his clothing, his scent imprinting onto your flesh - of you in compromising positions, your neatly manicured fingers inside your panties, rubbing your swollen nub. Biting your plump bottom lip.

Buzz.

Another picture with a text, you were sipping from a glass, his best Scotch, with the typed words, “I miss you. I know my favorite boy is blue, come back home so I can take care of you.” Signed with a kissy face emoji, and a red heart.

You were leaning on your elbows, your bouncy ass in the air, legs bent upward with your ankles playfully interlocked in the air.

The glass of ale leaning downward against your teasing lips, and sultry eyes through the reflective mirror -- Tony’s cock twitched, oh he’s gonna eat you up when he gets home.

- It was midnight, the full moon shining bright in the inky indigo sky -- beaming upon the Stark manor. The white fluorescent solar satellite glistening upon the grand bedroom where two lovers lay satiated in bed.

Rubbing random circles by the pads of your fingertips on Tony’s sweaty broad chest, taming the beast into a purring feline.

“I love you.” Tony’s mild slurred speech infiltrated the serene silence, your nose scrunched up in glee. “I love you too.” you murmured in his neck, a lazy grin stretched on your face.

For hours, Tony, and yourself haven’t left the bedroom, stringing release after release -- letting Tony pinch, pull your hair, bruise, slap, and choke your soft flesh-- that’s what he loves about you, trusting him wholeheartedly with your body, and soul.

A lot of tears of euphoria, and fear of abandonment. Reassuring Tony that you would never leave him, breathy hymns of I love yous in his ear.

It’s been a couple of difficult few weeks, Howard Stark has passed at the age of 74. A fatal car crash taking his life, leaving behind his only son. It was only freshly five months ago that Tony lost his mother, Maria. Uterine cancer - multiple tumors.

Maria Stark, the matriarch of the family, was the light of Tony’s life. Maria was a saint, even at death’s door, she had a positive perspective. You can still recall her calling her tumors fruit bowls of pain - her tumors were the size of miniature melons; grew from the size of strawberries.

And when she died -- the already fractured relationship of father and son deteriorated to ash. Howard started becoming colder, more stricter on his son -- his disappointment fueling by the second.

Clayed into a modernized Narcissus -- guising his trauma with bloviating chatter to impress the little people. Boasting his youthful genius with no shame.

Tony may have been born from the finest cloth, a silver-spoon wedged in his mouth -- but he oozes the work ethic of a blue-collar joe.

Under the molden gait of a promising demigod is a fragile boy -- yearning for affection. A neglected child desperate for attention.

Sending nudes to your boyfriend while he’s attending his dead father’s will hearing -- many would deem that as distasteful -- tacky, even. But, you knew Tony’s coping mechanisms.

Frat parties, drinking excessively to the brink of oblivion, and copious amounts of sex.

Tony was raised in a household, where any emotional turmoil expressed to his father was shot down, except with his mother -- he needs a womanly touch.

He never saw his conquests as ladies, only whores to get his rocks off, but once he laid eyes on you -- sweet, and bubbly -- that little rich boy was a goner.

Succumbing to a dazed half-slumber, Tony’s cell phone rings at the bedside table -- you groaned at the intrusion. Flashing on the screen was Happy’s goofy grin, one of Tony’s closest friends. You mumbled a ‘of fucking course’, Tony cheekily chuckled at your frustration.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks. This won’t take long.” With the wisp of a lingering kiss on your hairline, Tony begrudgingly detached himself from you--proudly strutting his naked bare firm ass, picking up his boxers from the floor shamelessly displaying his hung cock, and balls.

“Nice ass.” you teased. Tony snorted, “Nice? Toots, it’s the finest ass. And you love it.” He winked at you over his shoulder, you giggled. Tony’s footfalls faded down the hall, his conversation blurring into the distance. You laid back down, sighing as you stared up at the ceiling, quickly getting bored.

Without Tony to entertain you, you had nothing to do. Maybe I could get a head start on my thesis? Your eyes languidly rolled to the corner of your lids, staring at your opened crumbled book-bag mocking you at the corner of the room, Fuck that. You grumbled.

Mindlessly deciding to get dressed, and search for substance. Hours of unadulterated love-making can take out a lot of energy.

Nimble quiet feet tip-toe down the stairs, covered in only Tony’s wrinkled white button-down, brown statuesque legs gracefully head to the kitchen -- but you halt in your tracks. A dim light seeps from the crack out of an office -- Howard’s former office.

Curiosity overwhelms you, biting down your tongue, you check your surroundings, making sure Tony is nowhere in sight. Earlier in the day, the office was locked -- why is it now open?

Open-palm press against the door, a tiny creak of the mahogany makes you cringe internally. Stealthy you walk into the office, nothing seems to be out of place. Maybe Tony was in here? Fidgety fingers skim against the polished wooden desk, at the corner of your eye, a mess of papers sit idly by.

You pick the papers up, fastly flicking through it. Statements declaring Tony as the new CEO of Stark Industries, royalties, and -- mechanic blueprints?

Your chest began heaving, breaths still choppy fuming out of your nose, your left eye twitched from the stressing bile rising. Here in your hands are the blueprints of a familiar vehicle -- Howard Stark’s car. Descriptive details on the full functionality of the car, why are these here?

Warm palms clutch your shoulders, soothingly rubbing, you flinch by the surprise, “You weren’t meant to see those.” A hot breath fan against your ear, you whimper, his voice sounded husky, menacingly.

Not daring to look him in the eye, frozen in your spot as if the soles of your feet grew roots in the flooring, Tony’s grasp on your arms tighten. “The old man was going to take me off the will. I know he was.”

A chaste kiss on your temple, “As if I didn’t take his shit over the years just for nothing. Blaming me for my mother’s death.” He grumbled against your skin, your blood running cold. There was no remorse in his voice, a hint of satisfaction.

This isn’t the Tony you knew.

A beast of his father’s making.

“Tony - I - I won’t tell anyone, I promise--” Tony shushed your stuttering, his rough hands snaking its travel to your waist, slithering his forearms around your torso, ensnaring you.

“I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t. You’re my good girl.” He spoke in your hair, small lingering kisses on your scalp. Tony was rocking your body back and forth, cradling you -- he can sense your fear.

With trepidation, you held his arms, a little shaky. “Tony, let’s just go back to bed.” Your voice was cracking, this isn’t the man you fell in love with, and you wanted to just run away as far as you can.

“You’re scared of me?” Although it was an intended question, its tone came off as a fact. Indeed you were terrified of him.

“No.” You spat too quickly for your liking. Tony gripped your chin, and twisted your head to face him, “I would never hurt you. I love you. Everything I do is for you.” Your breath hitched, his face was morphed into a sad feral puppy.

“I know. I know you do.” You feigned a weak smile, “I just didn’t think --” you stopped yourself before you vomited any other words. “Do what? Kill?” Tony cocked a brow, with a shit-eating grin. “I did it before. For you.” Tears were forming at the brim of his eyes, your doe-eyes widened, you began squirming in his arms. “Tony, what did you do?!” you shrieked, limbs failing.

Tony’s iron-grip didn’t let up, refusing to let you go, “He wasn’t right for you!” Tony bellowed on the top of his lungs, impulsive rage seeping through, fumbling feet colliding.

Both of your bodies falling to the carpeted floor as Tony tried to restrain your wrists, fumbling feet slipping. A miscalculated misstep sent you, and Tony colliding downward.

Tony’s weight pinning you down. Confusion making your head go dizzy, “What do you mean?” You whispered. Tony smashed his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks, “You know what I mean.” His brows furrowed, gently his forehead on yours, his eyes staring into your soul.

Realization hits you like a freight train, flashes of your ex, the cops alerting you of his disappearance, Tony’s lingering shadow always appearing to provide comfort -- “Brock?” a lone tear trickle down your eye, down your temple, and hitting the carpet below. Tony nodded frantically.

Tony’s lips peppered against your face, your cheeks, your forehead, your eye-lids, your nose, your chin; mumbling affection against your tear-stained face.

It’s been three years since Brock vanished, rumors flew around campus from students believing he killed himself in some remote location, you lost him in the first years of university.

You were grief-stricken, but Tony, being the ever-present close friend lend a shoulder -- then soon, it blossomed into much more.

“Now, it's just us. We can start a new dollface.” Tony sniffled, hot tears drip upon your flesh, “We can start our own family” he rasps, “I can be a dad. A better father.” Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

A family? You both were just shy of twenty-one, and already Tony is mapping out your entire futures. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was futile.

Tony murmured nonono to your bodily request of escape, chasing clumsy blubbering kisses against your chavile. Your body began to be wrecked with sobs, your chest heaving.

“Don’t cry, baby. It’s better this way.” Tony’s brows were furrowed sorrowfully, his tremor low with ache. “You killed Brock, how could you?! I loved him!” Tony gripped your jaw, painfully his fingers kneading,

“Loved him?! He wasn’t right for you! You need me! I need you! No one is going to love you like I do. I loved you the first day I met you.” Harsh fingers rip off the fabric, exposing your breasts to the elements.

“You’re mine! No one can have you! I will kill anyone who tries to take you away!” Tony’s mouth plunged, fangs nibbling on your nipples, his entire mouth suckling your left breasts.

Tony’s left hand pinching your right nipple, twisting and slapping it roughly. You yelped, shutting your eyes closed. Your skin crawled, Tony’s brown eyes peered at you, dissatisfied that you refuse to look at him.

A sloppy pop echoed, “Look at me!” he slapped you, the crack of it pounding in your ears, the heat of the sting scorched throughout your cheek. Your eyes popped open, watery from the hit, Tony has never once laid a hand on you -- until now.

Nose to nose, “We’re gonna be a family--” one of his hands traveled down to tug down his boxers, his hard swollen cock is man-handled in his palm, you struggled to get away, but Tony clutched your wrists in one hand, and pinned it on the carpet.

Tony spit on your cunt, rubbing it within your velvety folds by the base of his veiny cock, earning a hiss out of you. “You’re going to look so hot swollen with our baby.” Your thighs twitched, Tony roughly forced your thigh to wrap around his torso, positioning himself.

“Please - Tony, please don’t”, you cried, Tony shushed you. Lining himself to your hole, with no hesitation, plunged his cock inside your pussy. You screamed, your back arching, “Feels lovely, right? Feels so fucking delicious - you were made for me.” Tony snarled, biting your chin, his tongue trailing your jawline, pistoning his cock inside you.

Dripping slick smears against your thighs, clenching onto his cock, a broken groan slips from Tony’s lips, “Fuck - yes, do that again.” You were blubbering tears down your cheeks, the inevitable pleasure Tony strings out of you is undeniable.

“You’re so tight, and warm.” He growled in your ear, “I can’t wait to have a baby with you. You all swollen, waddling around with bare-feet. You’ll be a great mother - just like mine.” He whispered, biting on your lobe.

You murmured muffled whines in the crock of his neck, bruising is slowly forming on your hips, fucking you like it’s the last time. Shivers run down Tony’s spine, time slows down.

Sweaty skin slapping against skin spurred him on, taking all of you. Your nails scratch at his palm, still bounding you down.

“I love you.” He whimpered, you bite your lip, refusing to sink into the instinct of saying it back. Tony perked his head up from your neck, growling, “Say it back!” he thrusted his pelvis against you, a cattle wail hit you, “Say -” thrust “it-” another thrust “-back!” his smile falters slow, a bruising touch.

He can see you slowly yielding, small pants of electric euphoria, “No!” you bite back.

Wet lips slant against yours. Your entire body jolting from his unforgiving pace, your back burning slightly from the rug beneath you.

Releasing your wrists, his rough hand find it’s way to your back, hiking you up, squeezing your ass in his fingers, bucking your hips; fucking you onto him, your nails dig into his sculpted back -- scratching for him to stop, but it felt too good.

You’ve become dizzy. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, hoping the pain makes him halt his actions, but it makes him harden inside of you.

There’s no space between you, melting into one, the friction, the heat; the tethers of reality blur into nothing.

“Please - say you love me.” Tony pleaded, his weary eyes sinking into yours. A robbery -- a heart-wrenching robbery of your soul, in an instant, you didn’t see a cold-blooded killer, but the mire of a lost boy.

He slowed down his thrusts, leisure movements, his brown orbs are glossy, “Say it, please.” Tony gently kisses you, not feverish, but you can taste the sweet commitment. Like he doesn’t own you, but he worships you.

“I love you.” you mumbled against his swollen lips, his eyes dilated, rubbing his nose against yours, “I love you” maneuvering your hips, squelching can be heard - sticky as honey, as the pace picked up.

Your fingers grip his soft fluffy hair, his balls slapping against your ass, “I love you, Tony.” You sucked on his bottom lip. He whimpered. His cock was coated in your juices, you can feel the swelling of his balls, and his uneven jerking movements -- he was close.

“Cum for me, baby.” Tony’s eyes were shut, he mewled, “Cum inside me, give me a baby, Tony.” The dam breaks. The window bursts open from a gust of wind, the full moon gleamed upon your sweaty sheen bodies, a howl erupts from Tony -- as the wolf within has been unhinged -- primal, feral fueled lust.

Toothy grin, all fangs lunged for your pulse point, devouring you. Squirted juices spray from you, splashing against his toned stomach, not once stopping, riding through the orgasm. Tony’s tongue peaked out, droplets of your cum sprinkling his mouth.

Your vision turns white, an inhuman scream leaves you, Tony collapses onto you.

He’s trembling, frightened, you massage his dome, “My sweet boy.” Tony sobs into your chest, ensnaring himself around your torso. You hugged him, cradling like a baby, as he cried water-falls.

“It’s okay.” You kiss his head, a lingering one, “It’s going to be alright.”

You’re all he has.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, noahreidhours!

For @noahreidhours. You wanted angst, have some angst (and some fluff, I guess)

*****

It starts like an avalanche, a small, defined moment that coalesces into something much bigger. Derek can’t pinpoint the exact moment everything clicked into place and the snow started, metaphorically, tumbling down the mountain, but once it started, it didn’t slow, didn’t stop, and couldn’t be avoided.

Derek has been convinced for so long that good things didn’t happen to him, that when things start looking up, he tries to quash it away as best as he can, in the only way he knows how; he bares his claws and snaps his fangs.

He doesn’t know when it stopped working on Stiles.

— — — — — —

It must be a day that ends in Y, because Stiles goes missing a few days after the pack discovers something hinky going on out in the preserve. Boyd and Erica have both found evidence of some sort of magical presence - fire pits that stink of non-native herbs, a spool of twine, a silver coin, several rocks and tree trunks painted with strange runes that even have Deaton scratching his head - and not even Derek is able to catch a scent.

Things really go ass over tea kettle when, one day later, Alison goes missing, too.

Chris Argent calls in every favor owed to him to aid in the search. Chris vouches for every hunter that comes to town, swears that they keep to the code, but Derek trusts them about as far as he can spit.

Derek delegates that Chris and his hunters can search one half of the preserve, while he and his wolves check the other half. Boyd and Erica make up one group, Scott and Isaac the other. Jackson and Lydia are holding down the fort, so to speak; Danny’s hacked into the database that stores the video for traffic cams across town, and the three of them are going through it in hopes they can find something. Thus, Derek searches alone. After all, he’s the strongest, he’s the alpha.

It’s more coincidence and dumb luck than expert tracking that Derek finds them at all.

The moon is high, and he pauses by the stream that runs through the preserve, scenting the air. He smells nothing but the forest around him, crisp and clear and just a little damp from the afternoon rain.

That’s when he hears it, a strange sound that has him freezing in place. It sounds muffled, like hearing a TV or radio in another part of a house, softly faded but just loud enough that, if you listen closely, you can make out a word or two every now and then.

Derek hears the sound again, but this time he’s ready for it, and he leaps off his vantage point and tears through the underbrush, teeth gnashing, eyes red.

He skids to a halt when he enters a small clearing. A length of red twine connects seven trees until it comes back on itself, making a lumpy circle of sorts. Off each length of twine, between one tree and the next, hang small wooden tokens, square in shape, twine threaded through a hole near one of the corners. Derek thinks there might be writing or runes on them, but he’s too focused on what’s inside the circle to investigate further. On two slabs, floating several feet off the ground, are both Stiles and Alison, tied up with what looks like the same twine that surrounds them. He can’t make out Stiles’ upper body due to a tree blocking his line of sight, but he’d recognize those lanky legs and scuffed-up high-tops anywhere. He sees Alison’s profile, and, unfortunately, she doesn’t look too great. There’s a length of cloth tied around her head acting as a gag, and her face is sporting more than a few bruises and cuts.

That’s not all, though, because of course it isn’t. Good things don’t happen to Derek Hale, remember?

Not one, not two, but three hulking, vaguely human-shaped figures stand within the circle, along with a single hooded figure.

What’s more is that Derek can’t smell any of them.

When he sees one of the mammoth figures move a bit, he realizes that he can’t hear them, either.

The figure that had started moving comes to a stop next to the slap Stiles is tied up on. It raises a gigantic, meaty fist and-

Derek is moving before his brain can catch up with his feet. He tears out of the foliage, and as he passes into the circle, a strange feeling ripples through him, sends a shiver down his spine.

Witchcraft.

The hooded figure takes one look at Derek and then flees like his ass is on fire. Derek moves to give chase, but narrowly misses the haymaker one of the lumbering figures throws at him. He flips backward to dodge it, and with it his shoulder catches a length of twine, his body weight snapping it easily.

A little more hell breaks loose after that, because why not, right? In for a penny, in for a pound. As soon as the twine snaps, the two slabs holding Stiles and Alison fall to the ground with a tremendous sound that makes Derek wince.

The three figures don’t pause in their assault, however. They move fast for their size, and when Derek executes a move that would take off the arm of a normal being, he almost twists his spine in two trying to dodge the creature’s countermove.

“Derek!” he hears Alison yell.

“Little busy!” Derek shouts back, snaking behind a tree.

“No, Derek, they’re golems! There’s a word carved into their foreheads! If you erase the first letter, they’ll stop moving!”

It takes some fancy footwork on Derek’s part to manage to get high enough to reach the creature’s forehead, but one well-placed claw swipe has the golem crumbling into dirt. The next golem goes down as easy as the first, but the third gets in a good punch. It sends Derek flying back, but he easily rights himself. As he moves back to his full height, he bites his teeth and pops his shoulder back into the socket. For one moment, he feels a searing pin-point of white-hot pain, but it’s over in the blink of an eye, and Derek’s back to being fight-ready.

He snarls, then charges the creature, his dense muscles knocking the thing off balance. Another swipe to a forehead and the golem crumbles under him.

Derek jumps back to his feet quick as he can, rushing back to where Stiles and Alison still are. Alison’s managed to free herself, and Derek dashes to her side, using the claw of his index finger to cut loose the twine that binds Stiles’ hands together. After that, he cuts the gag free from the boy’s face.

Stiles doesn’t thank him, because Stiles is out cold, and a little more than a little worse for the weather. He’s got a black eye and a fat lip, and there’s a dark, ugly bruise peeking out from the dip of his t-shirt.

“Can you-” Alison starts to ask, but Derek’s already scooping Stiles’ unconscious body into his arms.

“Are you alright to walk?” he asks Alison.

“I’ll be fine if we go slow.”

It takes almost an hour to get back to where Derek had parked the Camaro. Derek has Alison reach into his pocket to grab his phone and call the others, then, when that’s done, she tells him the story of what had happened since she’d been taken.

Stiles wakes up right as Derek is able to see the road.

“Am I being carried like a damsel in distress?” Stiles slurs.

“I could have thrown you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” Derek answers. He’s at least a little pleased Stiles feels good enough to be sarcastic. Though, to be fair, there’s never really a time Stiles isn’t sarcastic. Even in life-or-death situations, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Oh, man, don’t talk about food. I haven’t eaten in three days.”

Derek growls at that, displeased. He thought it had been a trick of the moonlight, but Stiles’ cheeks and eyes looked sallow and thin when Derek had picked him up.

Alison reaches into his other pocket and frees his keys and helps Derek gently heft Stiles into the passenger’s seat, the back of the chair laid as far back as it can go. Once safely seat-belted in, Derek lets Alison climb into the back.

The trip back to town is quiet. It’s a little disconcerting, considering what a motormouth Stiles usually is. Derek can tell he’s not sleeping from the patterns of his breathing and heartbeat, but he keeps his eyes closed and his body still all the same.

Everyone is already gathered back at Stiles’ house, and Derek is more than relieved for the lack of police cruiser in the driveway.

Scott crowds around Alison, helping her out of the back seat of the Camaro, and Chris’ face scrunches up like he’s just caught a bad smell.

Derek doesn’t really bother with anyone else, though Erica is the one who opens the front door for him. He carefully navigates up the stairs and brings Stiles into the bathroom that’s across the hall from his room, carefully seating him atop the closed lid of the toilet. He rids the boy of his shoes first, then his shirt, while allowing the sink faucet to run until the water turns warm. He wets a washcloth and rings it dry, handing it to Stiles as he fishes for the first aid-kit under the sink.

“Wait, you get the golems?” Stiles asks, scrubbing at his face.

“All three that were there. It was eerie, the way they didn’t give off a scent.”

“Golems are made out of clay or dirt. If they were made out of stuff from the preserve, of course you wouldn’t be able to sniff ���em out. They’d just - ah, hey, careful!”

“Quit whining, it’s just peroxide. There’s a few cuts next to your black eye. And they’d just what?”

“They’d just smell like the rest of the forest.”

Derek nods, feeling a little relieved over the idea that his inability to scent the monsters hadn’t been due to some inadequacy on his part. Still, if the witch decided to make more, he’d have the same problem…

Once Stiles is patched up, Derek helps him into his bedroom and gets him to sit on the bed, grabbing him a change of clothing.

“How did you find us, anyway?” he asks.

Derek furrows his brows. He can no longer hear anyone outside of the Stilinski home, and finds himself inexplicably annoyed over the fact that no one else had come to check on Stiles after Derek had brought him into the house.

“I heard something. I don’t know what it was, but it was loud enough to get my attention.”

Stiles’ grin is blinding. “Knew it!”

Derek raises an eyebrow, trying to appear unimpressed.

“The twine wrapped around the trees and the runes on the square pieces of wood made up a silencing spell. I managed to snag a handful of gravel, and had spent the next, like, hour throwing it outside of the barrier, piece by piece.”

Derek blinks, taken off guard. Stiles’ thrown-together-on-a-hunch plan had literally been what helped Derek find them. “Smart,” he says, as close to a compliment as he’s willing to give.

Stiles grins wider in response, and something inside Derek twists a little.

“Well, I mean, it’s what got me clocked upside the head,” Stiles says as he gestures to his rather beat-up face. “And, hey, thanks for patching me up, man.”

Derek nods. “Get dressed, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Down in the kitchen, Derek makes two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then fills a glass with water, since he figures if Stiles is hungry, he’s likely a little dehydrated, too. When he’s back inside Stiles’ room, Stiles has changed his clothes, though the boy is now laying half on the bed, his knees bent and feet flat on the floor.

Derek puts the food on the bedside table.

“Get some rest,” he tells Stiles and he heads for the window.

“Derek,” Stiles calls.

Derek stops, and then turns his head over his shoulder.

“I mean it.” Stiles’ voice is softer, and Derek can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks for the rescue and the Florence Nightingale treatment. And thanks for, you know, the whole golem-slaying thing. Though I am a little disappointed I didn’t get to see them go down. You’ll have to give me a play-by-play so I can add it to the bestiary.”

“Get some rest, Stiles,” Derek reiterates, avoiding saying anything else by means of jumping out the window.

He knows what that pang had been, there, in his chest, behind his heart.

After all, he’d felt it twice before.

And each time had ended in utter ruination for him.

So Derek does what he’s taught himself to do in order to keep himself safe.

He ignores it.

— — — — — —

Three weeks later and the door to the loft swings open, and Stiles, in a flurry of over-gesticulation and an almost-incomprehensible string of words, storms inside. He smells like anger and hurt, and makes a b-line for the musty, second-hand couch.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest and doing his best to glower.

But Stiles is already unloading his laptop from his backpack, his face screwed up in frustration. “I just need, like, an hour, okay?”

“For what?” Derek snaps back.

Stiles doesn’t even seem to notice how angry Derek had made himself sound.

“Dad’s up my ass about why I looked like I went ten rounds with Muhammad Ali the other week. I hate lying to him, but I’m not about to spill the proverbial beans about Beacon Hill’s propensity for the supernatural, so I didn’t have a choice. He’s not listening to it, which, hey, I get, but I can still get mad about it when he accuses me of being in a gang.”

Derek sits in his favorite armchair. It’s the one with the least amount of foreign scents.

Stiles turns to look at him. “Me. In a gang. I’m hardly a buck forty soaking wet.”

He can’t help it, Derek lets out a soft wuff of a laugh.

Stiles blinks at him a little in surprise and a little in awe, and Derek doesn’t miss the sudden uptick in the boy’s heartbeat. He quickly schools his features back into a scowl. “So you need an hour because your dad thinks your extracurricular activities are of a more nefarious nature?”

The spell is broken and Stiles rolls his eyes. “I need an hour because I’m really good at being an asshole when I’m mad and blurting stupid things out.”

“No, you do that on a pretty continual basis, angry or not.”

Stiles glares. “Yeah, ha ha, sassy-wolf. Laugh it up. I need an hour to do my homework in peace before he leaves for his shift, and this was the only place I could think of with a couch and outlet where I didn’t have to buy a menu item every half hour to occupy.”

Derek leans back, reaching for his unfinished book on the coffee table. “If you take anything from the kitchen, I’m charging you.”

“Love you too, big bad,” Stiles says, eyes focused on the start-up screen of his computer.

And while the boy does well to hide his tone with layers of sarcasm, Derek almost drops his book when he doesn’t hear the tell-tale skip of a lie in Stiles’ heartbeat.

He swallows, breaths out through his nose, then pushes it out of his mind. It doesn’t matter, it will never matter. Derek Hale doesn’t get nice things. No, that’s not entirely true - when Derek Hale gets nice things, the world around him crashes and burns. Sometimes literally.

— — — — — —

Isaac gets launched backward, and Derek hears him hit the wall. The concrete indents slightly where Isaac had landed, but he’s back on his feet in a heartbeat, looking more than a little pissed.

“Once I’m in charge of the territory,” the beastly intruder growls, “I’ll kill everyone that ever associated with you.” The creature laughs. “And then, I’ll turn everyone else!”

Derek’s ready for the creature to charge at him. He’s the alpha, and the beast - Derek’s weary to call it a werewolf, given how different it looks in comparison, but Stiles had been adamant - wants that alpha spark.

But even as Derek braces for impact, the blow never comes because in the next second, moving with a speed Derek didn’t know he was capable of, Stiles runs and leaps at the beast. Above his head, ready to be swung downward and clutched tightly in both hands, is, of all things. A baseball bat.

But Stiles never does things in halves, oh no. It’s not in his nature.

The baseball bat connects with the back of the beast, an awful, meaty sound echoes throughout the room. The creature stills, then falls to his knees.

“Wh-wh-wh-”

Derek notices that Stiles’ hands are empty and the bat is somehow stuck to the back of the creature.

“I carved that from a branch of mountain ash, and drove nails coated with a liquid wolfsbane mixture.”

In complete and utter awe, Derek blinks at Stiles.

The boy doesn’t notice. He’s still staring at the incapacitated creature as it sways on its knees, then falls on its side.

“The nails make sure it stays niiice and stuck in you, and the mountain ash is a great paralytic when used like this.”

“Holy shit,” Derek hears Scott whisper.

“Now, because the wolfsbane is a mixture, there’s no way for you to naturally find what’s in it before it kills you. I have the antidote.”

True to his word, Stiles pulls out a small vial from his pocket.

“I’m giving you two options. You can lay here and die, and hey, that solves all of my problems. Or I can take the bat out, give you the antidote, and you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

The beast growls from his position on the floor. “Wh- what’s to st-st-stop me from going b-b-back on my w-word?”

Stiles smiles. “Because Alison Argent’s archery skills rival Hawkeye, and I made her entire cache of arrows the same way I made the bat stuck in your back.”

“Okay, I s-s-swear.”

It’s hard to miss the fear in the beast’s eyes.

Stiles, without any soft of gentleness, puts his foot on the side of the beast, then uses it as leverage to pull what Derek now knows to be a nail bat from his flesh. It’s a sickening sound, and a few of the nails drip with fur and blood, but as soon as it’s free, the beast takes in a shuddering gasp of air. Stiles tosses the vial on the floor next to the creature, then digs out a lighter from his pocket.

“You have until sunrise to get out of the county.”

Stiles doesn’t look back as he walks toward the door, and everyone follows suit, including Derek.

Outside, as they near their cars, Derek watches as Stiles gestures for Isaac to come near. Careful to stay a fair distance away, Derek watches as Stiles looks over Isaac like a doting mother hen might.

“I’m fine. The broken ribs already healed,” he hears Isaac say.

Stiles nods, then pats Isaac on the shoulder. As Isaac walks away, Stiles looks around and makes eye-contact with Derek. The boy gestures him over, then turns around and starts digging in the back seat of his Jeep, where he’d stashed his ridiculous weapon.

“What?” Derek asks as he nears.

Stiles doesn’t even turn around, just hands him a bundle of stuff. When Derek takes it, he sees it’s a pack of baby-wipes and a new shirt.

Derek’s lack of movement is likely what tipped Stiles off, because it’s not a moment later when he speaks. “I know how much you hate getting crap in your car. Figured this would come in handy eventually.”

Staring at the shirt and package of wipes in his hands, Derek’s mind races. Stiles had kept an extra shirt in his car. But not an extra shirt for him, no. Because as Derek holds up the shirt, he can see that it’s not in Stiles’ size; it’s in his.

His mouth goes dry as he turns away and heads toward his Camaro.

— — — — — —

It never gets any easier, the anniversary of when his family had…

But he hasn’t visited his mother’s grave since he and Laura left, and as much as it hurts, he knows he should. Maybe it’ll finally give him a little closure, or maybe Derek just likes inflicting all manner of pain upon himself; it could go either way.

What surprises him, however, is the fresh bouquet of flowers already decorating his mother’s headstone. He blinks in surprise, then furrows his brow. It’s been years since his family had died. Who would bring them flowers after all this time?

The cemetery is mostly dark. It’s just before sundown, and the tall trees that pepper the pristine-grass and well-kept headstones make long shadows. But who is Derek kidding, he’d recognize that stupid red hoodie anywhere.

Part of him is mad, and he doesn’t quite understand why. Misplaced anger, maybe, or something more deeply rooted. As he nears Stiles’ sitting form, ready to verbally tear into the kid, he stops short.

“And, like, you should have seen it! The whole kitchen was a mess!” Stiles laughs, then the sound tapers out into a sigh. “He misses you. I mean, I miss you, too. But I know it’s different for dad. When you lose someone you love the way dad loves you, it’s like you’ve lost a piece of yourself.”

Derek swallows.

Stiles sighs again, then rubs a palm over his face. “And I know I’m not making it any easier on him. But you understand why I can’t say anything, right? He’d blow his top, never let me leave the house. Sometimes I wish I could tell him. And maybe someday I might, or I might be forced to. But I have to protect my friends before I can protect his feelings.”

There’s a long, sad silence that follows. Eventually, Stiles moves to stand and Derek maneuvers to hide himself behind a tree. “Thanks for listening, mom. And thanks for sharing your flowers.”

When Derek gets home, he showers, then eats a bowl of cereal just to get something into his system. He lays in bed, staring at the exposed pipes and beams of the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t steal him away for some time.

— — — — — —

Things stay quiet for a time, which suits Derek just fine. It means he doesn’t have to deal with people; he holes up in his loft and marathons shitty TV shows on the streaming service Stiles had insisted be set up. When he can’t stand to look at the TV any longer, he reads. And, when he runs out of books, he finally leaves the warmth and solitude of his flat to venture out to the grocery store. He stocks up on what he knows he’s out of, without any sort of meal-plan in mind, then scours the pathetic section of books he finds in the same aisle as the greeting cards. Most of them have ridiculous covers and names - bodice-rippers, uncle Peter used to call them - but he finds a few that at least look somewhat promising before he heads to the checkout.

He’s almost completely done putting away the groceries when he hears Stiles let himself in. How the little shit had managed to get a key made or copied in the first place is outside the realms of Derek’s imagination.

When he turns around, it’s to see Stiles, holding out two small, wrapped gifts.

Derek furrows his brow.

One present is wrapped in Star Wars Christmas paper - R2D2 is sporting a rather stylish Santa hat - and the other, much to Derek’s surprise, is wrapped in what appears to be birthday-themed paper.

He looks up and is met with Stiles’ soft smile. “One’s for Christmas, one’s for your birthday,” Stiles tells him, like this kind of interaction is completely normal for the two of them.

When Derek doesn’t move to take them, Stile rolls his eyes and just puts them on the table. “Open ‘em or don’t, Scrooge-wolf. I’m not trying to put pressure on you or anything.”

Even though Stiles has told him there’s no pressure, Derek’s pretty sure the amount of pressure he currently feels rivals that of the deepest part of the ocean. After a moment, he musters up his, what? Courage? Fortitude? Doesn’t matter. He takes a deep breath, and reaches first for the Christmas present first. Red and green light-sabers and Princess Leia with reindeer antlers peel away to reveal a box. Inside the box is a little tissue, and when Derek finally gets what he supposes is the actual gift free of the packaging, he stills. The mug is plain white, but on the side are printed letters.

What do you call a wolf that

has his shit figured out?…

Aware-wolf!

Derek shoots Stiles a look of disdain, but it doesn’t seem to deter the boy. He’s grinning like an idiot. “I got one for Isaac that says ‘What do you call a beta wolf? A sub-woofer.’”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he lets his lips curl up into a slight smile. Terrible as the Stiles’ jokes may be, it’s not hard to see that they are never meant to be harmful.

The birthday present is next, and Stiles seems excited about this one. He leans forward a little as Derek tears open the paper. It’s another box, but it’s much smaller, and when Derek opens this one, he’s confused for a moment.

It’s a ring. But it looks like some kind of wood and epoxy mixture, with the wood making the ring portion of it and the epoxy forming an almost rectangular shape on one side. He takes it out of the box carefully and looks it over. The wood inlay looks splintered, and the transparent epoxy holds… a little moon?

“I don’t expect you to wear it or anything,” Stiles says. “It’s, uh, it’s a piece of wood from your old house. And I made the moon out of clay, because I thought, well, with the whole werewolf thing and-”

“Get out.” Derek’s voice is low and cold.

Stiles freezes. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d-”

“Get. Out.” When Stiles doesn’t move, Derek growls and lunges forward, taking a handful of Stiles’ shirt and pulling him toward the door. He shoves Stiles through and into the hallway, then slams the door before he can catch a glimpse of Stiles’ expression. He locks the door, then leans on it, the ring still clutched in one hand.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles says.

Derek doesn’t move, hardly breathes. He stays pressed against the door as he hears Stiles walk away. He remains there longer still, far past when he can hear the Jeep start and Stiles drive away.

He peels off his clothes and climbs into bed, despite it being four in the afternoon. He pulls the covers over his head like he used to when he was little, when his mom would turn out the light after tucking him in.

For a long time now, Derek’s mastered the art of trying to not care. The walls around his heart are made of solid steel, layers upon layers.

But now there’s a hole somewhere in that barrier.

He doesn’t cry. To be honest, he doesn’t think he can. He’d cried himself stupid after the fire, had sobbed almost every night for the six months following, and then he just… closed up. He’d shut the door and locked the deadbolt, because kindness and sincerity and just a dash of naivety had been the perfect mix to allow for someone to manipulate him. What had he left now? Every one he’d ever allowed himself to love were dead and gone.

And Derek couldn’t do that to Stiles, couldn’t put the burden of the curse of his heart, of him vulnerable, on Stiles’ shoulders.

— — — — — —

“Stiles, hey - hey, keep your eyes open!”

Derek’s voice is frantic. He cups Stiles’ head in his broad palms, a protective barrier between the back of the boy’s head and the cement below.

Stiles blinks one eye open - the other is already swollen shut.

They’d found the witch with a penchant for creating golems, the one that had kidnapped Stiles and Alison months ago. But this time, instead of three, the damn bastard had made an army of the fuckers, giant, lumbering automatons that swung their ham-sized fists without restraint.

The fight was dirty and tiresome, and even Derek, who’s been a wolf since birth, is tired and nearly out of breath.

Stiles’ good hand, the one not resting in an unnatural manner, rises up and tugs on something that’s dangling from around Derek’s neck. His blood-splattered lips curl up into a smile, or as much as he can make of one, considering the awful state he’s in.

“Scott’s already called Malissa; there’s an ambulance on the way. Just stay awake for me, just-”

“Sourwolf, you kept it.”

Derek pauses, then looks to see what Stiles holds.

It’s the ring made with the wood of his house and the little moon sculpted by Stiles’ own fingers.

“Thought you hated me after I gave this to you.”

Unsure of what to say, Derek just shakes his head.

Stiles coughs, and Derek can hear the strain. It’s a wet sound, and Stiles is slow to take air back in. One of his lungs has likely either been punctured, or has already collapsed.

Derek’s hands are shaking.

“I need a favor, big bad.”

Stiles cuts Derek off before he has time to protest.

“If I don’t make it, keep my dad safe, alright? Make sure he’s… make sure he’s okay.”

“You’re going to be fine, Stiles.”

Stiles just smiles, blinking slowly.

“And you.”

“Me? Derek breathes.

“Allow yourself to have something nice, damnit. You deserve nice things. I know that shit’s been really bad for you for a long time, but you shouldn’t let the hurt that might come outweigh any good that comes before.”

It feels like someone has Derek’s heart in a vice-grip. He swallows, licks his lips, then does just that.

Derek Hale allows himself to have something nice.

He kisses Stiles square on the mouth.

— — — — — —

There’s no other choice to make.

They tell the sheriff what happened. Exactly what happened. Scott fumbles through a lot in his attempt at an explanation, but Derek backs him up, and is the one to shift when the sheriff threatens to have them all arrested unless they tell him the actual truth.

How could they not? His son, his only living blood, looks like he’d been in a one-on-one match with a woodchipper. The hospital did well to keep Stiles alive, but he’d flat-lined on the operation table twice, and Derek had nearly cracked his teeth from clenching so hard. Once stable, Stiles had been set up in a private room, though he hadn’t woken up yet.

Derek’s been at his side for three straight days.

Isaac brings him a change of clothes and something to sleep in, saying that even the nurses were starting to complain.

Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t seem to know what to make of the twenty-something-year-old young man that never leaves his son’s side longer than it takes for him to use the shower or restroom. But, well, he can guess. He’s not really happy with it, of course not. All things considered, however, his son is still alive, isn’t some kind of creature of the night of myth or legend, and has what likely constitutes to be as close to a superhero as you can get at his son’s back; things could have gone a lot worse.

He’ll give Stiles a week before he’s grounded until he’s eighty.

— — — — — —

Derek slides the window open. He sees Stiles partially sprawled out on his bed, laptop balanced precariously on top of a pillow.

“Hey, sourwolf,” he greets. His eyes look less sunken in, though he still hasn’t gained back all of the weight he’d lost.

Clothing the window, Derek toes his shoes off and comes to rest on the other side of Stiles’ bed. It’s small, more than a little cramped, but they make it work.

He gets comfortable, and, as soon as he’s settled, Stiles hooks a leg over his, then reaches out and laces their fingers together, all the while never moving his eyes from the screen.

It’s slow-going, this thing between them, partially because Stiles is still very much on the mend, and partially because Derek still has a hard time with intimacy, especially showing affection.

If it bothers Stiles at all, Derek would never know because it’s never been brought up. Stiles is perceptive, can obviously guess why Derek sometimes still stiffens when they touch, but he doesn’t push. It’s sweet, he thinks, the way they are slow-dancing around one another. They hold hands and watch movies, with legs or heads in laps. They press their shoulders against one another when they go out to eat and take up a single side of the booth.

They kiss.

That’s something new to Derek, the slow press of lips without the promise of something in the distance, kissing just to kiss, tasting one another for the sheer thrill of it, and then backing off slowly, with no one’s feelings hurt.

Stiles falls asleep, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

The avalanche has passed.

[noladyme]

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 16

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Thank you all who have been reading. I hope you’ll enjoy the final chapter of this story.

Tags @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @edonaspanca​

16

A year is a long time, when you’re spending every second of every day, missing someone so bad your heart is in physical pain.

The first week after Jax turned himself in, Gemma took turns with Lyla – sleeping in the nursery with Abel – so I wouldn’t be alone in the house. I never cried in front of them – only when I was alone in our bed; holding on to Jacksons pillow.

The morning of the 8’th day; Gemma woke me up, and handed me her phone. “You’re gonna want to take this call, sweetheart”, she smiled; and left the room.

“Hello?”, I croaked. “Cat… it’s me”. “Jax?”, I whimpered. “How… are you ok?”. “I’m good, baby”. He sighed. “It’s so good to hear you voice… are you ok? Gemma said…”. “I’m sorry, Jackson… I promised I’d be ok… I miss you so much it hurts”. “I miss you too, darlin’”, he breathed. “Look, I only got a few minutes to talk… Are you wearing the ring?”. I looked down at my hand. “Never take it of”, I said. “Good… Cat, listen. I know it’s hard… But I need you to be strong for me, ok? Be strong for our boy… It burns a goddamn hole in my heart, that I can’t be there to hold you”. “I’m sorry…”. “Don’t be. It’s ok. I understand… I feel it too”. “Ok…”. “Ok?”. “Yes…”. I took a deep breath. “51 weeks left”. “I’ll be there. It’ll be like I never went away…”. “Can I come see you?”, I asked. “I can get visitation in a month. I’ll let you know”. “I love you”. “I love you too”. I could hear his smile in his voice. “Get up, baby… Dance for me. Ok?”. “I will”, I smiled. Someone was calling out for him. “My minutes are up… I love you, Cat. I lov…”. The call ended.

I sat up in bed; and put my feet on the floor. Dance for me. I had to.

I went into the kitchen; and handed Gemma her phone. Abel was in his high chair; and I picked him up – kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry, baby boy… Momma Cat’s back now”. Gemma smiled at me. “I was gonna take him with me for groceries…”.

I put the baby back in his chair; and walked over to her – hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry, Gemma…”, I said. “I’m back”. She kissed my forehead. “I knew you’d be”, she whispered.

---

About a month later I was seated by a metal table; in a large cold room. All around me, men and women we’re talking quietly to each other – the men all in light blue pants and shirts. Spread throughout the room were uniformed men, with hard expressions on their faces. Every time the door opened, I jumped in my seat; hoping to see the man who’s absence had keft a gaping whole in my life.

The wait felt like forever – but suddenly the door opened – and a blonde, blue-eyed face grinned at me from the entrance. My breath hitched, and happy tears filled my eyes; when Jackson rushed over to pull me into his arms; planting his soft lips on mine. “Teller! No touching!”. A guard stepped towards us. “Yeah, I know. Just…”. He looked over his shoulder at the man, and let go of me.

We sat down next to each other – our fingers linking under the table. “God, I missed you!”, Jax grinned. “I missed you too”, I smiled. “Are you ok?”. He nodded. “I’m good. The guys are all good… Happy has to pretend to be Juice’s sugar daddy – but otherwise our asses are all in the clear”. I laughed. “Hey! Keep it down”, the guard growled. “Sorry”, Jax said, and looked into my eyes. “He’s a bit on edge… we better watch it”. “Have you had any trouble?... You sentence…”, I whispered. “No, we’re all on our best behavior”, Jax smiled. “We’re not risking doing all 3 years”. “Good”, I said.

“How’s our boy?”, Jax asked, furrowing his brow. I smiled brightly. “Growing… 7 teeth. He decided to let two grow at once”, I said. “Shit… you can’t have gotten much sleep”, Jax grinned. “I’m fine… we’re both fine”.

We stared at each other for a moment; both unsure what to say. “I wish I could kiss you…”, Jax whispered. I bit my lip. “No, darlin’. Please don’t do that. My hand is already callused, from thinking about those lips”. I had to stifle a laugh. “I’ll keep them nice and warm for you”. Jax grimaced, and groaned. “Shit, you’re so beautiful”. “And you still have a nice ass”, I smirked.

The guard came over. “Teller. 10 minutes are up. Let’s go”. Jax frowned. “Can I kiss my girl goodbye?”. The guard looked at me with hard eyes. “Hurry up”. Jax’s hands went to either side of my face; and he pressed his lips to mine again – for a second letting his tongue meet mine. “Ok, that’s enough. Wrap it up”, the guard said.

“I love you, Cat”, Jax breathed. “I love you, Jackson”, I replied.

The guard grabbed my old man’s arm; and led him out of the room. It would be another month before I could see him again.

---

The next two months went by slowly. I’d only been able to see Jax once; because Clay needed to use his visitation rights for club business. Jackson called me once a week, for a few minutes – making it difficult to share more than a few sweet words, and keeping Jax up to date on how Abel was doing.

We celebrated the baby’s first birthday at Gemma and Clay’s house. That was also the day, Abel decided to take his first steps, without holding on to anything. It was a bittersweet moment; to see our boy walking three steps; and then falling to his butt with a happy squeak – knowing that his dad should have been there to share the experience with the rest of us. Gemma squeezed my hand gently, before walking over to pick up her grandson, and kiss his chubby cheeks.

That night, I broke my promise to be strong – and let my tears fall into Jacksons pillow again.

Ray called me shortly after the birthday party. He wanted me back at the school; and apologized profusely for not having called sooner. I agreed to take on the arts position; along with 7’th grade English – wanting to have time to be a parent to Abel.

After settling in at work, I began dancing again, as well. In one of our short phone-calls; I was ecstatic to tell Jax how I’d managed to rent a small space in town; where I taught women the art of keeping them waiting, two nights a week. One of my students was Lyla – who in turn taught me how to use a pole, and her secrets in the arts of caffeine. “It’s perfect, baby! Gemma takes Abel the night’s I’m teaching. The space needed a fresh coat of paint; but I had the guys help me out”. “It sounds good, darlin’. I can’t wait to see it”, he said happily. “How’s my boy?”. “Walking around the house faster than I can catch him… and refusing to wear pants”. “That’s my boy!”, Jax chuckled.

After a recommendation letter from Wendy’s rehab, Jax agreed to let her have monthly visitations with the toddler – as long as I or Gemma was there to supervise. Gemma couldn’t promise not to punch the bitch in her stupid face; so I took on the visitations with Abels birth-mother. Wendy was kind. She was trying to turn her life around – and though it was difficult for her, to see another woman taking on the role as parent to her son – we grew friendly. I even began to look forward to her visits.

---

Six months and three visits, in to Jax’s sentencing; I was running down the hallway of the house – trying to catch Abel. “Pants, Teller!”, I yelled after the squealing toddler. Once I’d finally caught him; and wrestled him into a pair of blue pants – I placed him in his high chair, to get him some lunch.

The door knocked; and Chibs and Opie stepped inside. Their faces were both white. “Hey, guys”, I smiled. “Breakfast?”. Chibs swallowed hard. “You’re gonna want to sit down, luv’”, he said. I went cold. “What happened?”, I said. Abel began fussing in his chair; and Opie picked him up; kissing the top of his head. “Opie?”, I whimpered.

Chibs took my hand; and pulled me over to a kitchen chair – coaxing me to sit down. He pulled out another chair, and sat down to face me. “Cat… Jackson was stabbed”. I let out a desperate gasp; finding it hard to get air back into my lungs. “He’s alive, luv’… they’re working on him right now”. “No…”, I whimpered. “No, he’s not…”. I began sobbing. Chibs pulled me into his arms; and stroked my back. “Breathe, Cat. Don’t black out on me”, he muttered. “He has to come back… we said…”. My whole world crumbled.

Opie handed Abel to Chibs; and pulled me up to stand – a hand on each of my shoulders. He looked deep into my eyes. “Jax is strong, Cat. He’ll come back from this”, he said. “But he needs you now. Abel needs you”. I looked at the whimpering boy in Chibs’ arms. He was reaching for me, and I took him from the scot. “I’m here, baby… I’m here”. I looked at Opie. “Gemma?”. “She knows”, he said. “She’s at TM. We can take you right away”.

We drove to the clubhouse, where the rest of Samcro was waiting. Gemma’s eyes were full of tears; and we embraced – Abel between us. The whole day, we waited for a call from the state penitentiary, to let us know what was going on. Clay finally got Tig on a prepaid. Jax was alive, but in critical condition. Some pissed off Russians had – for some reason – decided that Samcro needed to learn a lesson on humility; and had tried to take out the VP. Tig couldn’t tell us much more, and had to give the phone back to the person he’d paid to borrow it.

We waited at the clubhouse the rest of the night. I slept restlessly in the dorm – Abel cradled in my arms. Calling in sick to work, the next day – Monday – I told the office I’d be out for a week. I decided not to fall apart. Our boy needed me. He didn’t understand why momma Cat was sad, and it wasn’t his fault. I did my best to smile every time he reached for me.

Around noon, state pen called. As I wasn’t married to Jax yet, Gemma was next of kin; so she was the one recieving the information we’d all hoped for. Jax was alive and kicking. Literally. After waking up from surgery; he’d kicked a doctor in the face, thinking he was under attack. The doc had been kind enough, not to report him officially – but was nursing a black eye.

The news made the whole room erupt into cheers – and Gemma and I held on to each other for a good two minutes afterwards – crying in joy.

Jax was well enough to call us himself the next morning. I’d slept Gemma and Clay’s, and the call went there. After a few minutes on the phone; Clay handed it to me. “Hey, darlin’”, Jackson croaked. “Jax? Are you ok? How do you feel?”, I whimpered. “Shanked”, he chuckled, before whispering an Ow. “I’m alive, baby. I’m ok”. “Thank god…”, I breathed. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”, he said. “Not funny… I was scared to death”. “Yeah, well; I was almost stabbed to death – so that should make us even”, he said. Once again, I could hear his smile in his voice. “I’ll be back in gen pop in a little over a week”. I frowned. “Is that safe? What if they go for you again?”. “I’ll be fine… Clay has something set up”, he muttered.

I looked at Clay, who was on his burner – talking to someone.

“Babe, I have to go. The doc is back”. “Ok. I love you”. “I love you, Cat. I’ll call when I can”. He hung up.

The russians decided not to make anymore attempts on any of the incarcerated Samcro-men. Apparently, someone named Otto - who had trouble seeing, due to his eyes being almost carved out - had tripped, and landed on one of their own; as he was holding a sharpened screwdriver.

---

9 months in, I was getting frustrated. I’d only seen Jax once since he was stabbed – and honestly; being a single mom was taking a toll on me. Samcro was on a “blooddrive” up north – transporting whatever it was they were transporting these days. Only Rat and Piney where left in Charming.

One night; after I’d left dance class – which Lyla had not attended that night – I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. Thinking there might be a chance Jax gotten a hold of a prepaid – I picked up. “Hello?”. “Hey, it’s Ima”. “Hi… why are you calling”, I said. “It’s nice to hear your voice too”, she sneered. “What do you want?”. If you say “your man”, I’m gonna track you down, and burst both of those implants. “Lyla needs your help. I can’t get a hold of Opie”, she muttered. “What happened?”, I asked. “Can you just get down to the studio? Please? She’s asking for you specifically”. “Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can”. I didn’t say goodbye – just hung up.

Gemma had Abel for the night; so I was free to go see what was wrong with my friend. Ima met me outside the large building that housed Cara Cara. “She’s inside… freaking out”, the blonde muttered, and showed me the way into the building. “What happened?”, I asked. “She took something…”, Ima said.

Ima walked me past a setup that resembled a doctor’s office; where all instruments where replaced with dildos and buttplugs. A pretty girl – who I recognized as broken nosed porn-star, from the lockdown months earlier – waved smilingly at me. It was then I realized, that the barely-there outfit she was wearing, was supposed to be a nurse’s uniform. “Hey Ima! Get your lazy ass back on set”, a bored looking man with a camera said. “Chill out, Dondo”, she said. “And get Lyla! She was supposed to be ready an hour ago”.

Ima led me to a door, adorned with a star. Inside, Lyla was curled up on the floor, sobbing and shaking. I fell to my knees in front of my friend. “Lyla! Sweetie, what happened?”, I said. “I’m sick…”, she cried.

There was an empty pill bottle on the floor next to her. “What did she take?”, I asked Ima. The porn-star shrugged. “Some uppers… I think”. I frowned at her; and began stroking Lyla’s hair. “Honey, come on. Sit up”. I pulled her up into a seated position. “How much did you take?”. “Two…”, Lyla croaked. Her pupils were blown.

“We need to get her to a hospital…”, I said, putting my friend’s arm over my shoulder – trying to get her to stand up. “No…!”, Lyla whimpered. “I’ve been clean so long… they’ll take away Piper”. “Shit…”, I muttered. “Where are the kids?”. “Piney… cabin”. I nodded. “Ok. Help me get her to my car”. Ima rolled her eyes, and put her arm around Lyla’s waist; and we walked her out of the room.

The guy with the camera saw us, and frowned. “What the shit, Lyla… What did you do? We got a movie to finish”. “She’s not shooting tonight”, I snarled, as we moved towards the exit. He walked towards us. “And who the hell are you?”, he growled. Miss nose-not-broken-anymore came over and grabbed his arm. “That’s Jax Tellers old lady”. The mans face went white. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Of course. Let me help”. He stepped over to us; and picked up Lyla in his arms. “Get her to my car”, I said.

Ima followed us outside. “She said she had a headache… I just thought she was faking it to get out of shooting”. I narrowed my eyes at her. “What did you do, Ima?”, I hissed. She rolled her eyes again. “Roll your eyes one more time, bitch…”, I warned. “What did you do?”.

Ima sighed. “I gave her a couple of pills. Told her they were advils, so she’d take them”. “You drugged her?”, I growled. Dondo managed to open the door to the back seat of my car; and deposited Lyla there. “They were just uppers… thought they would get her in a better mood”. I drew my lips back in a snarl. “Dondo. Movie’s dead. Pay the girl inside”. “What about my money?”, Ima asked. “Find a corner, skank!”, I roared at her; and got behind the wheel to drive away.

I took Lyla to my house; helping her into mine and Jackson’s bed. She was shaking and crying. I frantically called every number I had to the men on the blood drive – trying to get a hold of Opie. No luck. I spent the night stroking Lyla’s cheek, and holding her hair, when she threw up. In the morning, she finally fell asleep. I called Piney to let him know he needed to keep the kids for at least another day; and Gemma, to ask her to keep Abel.

Opie called me back around noon. Once I’d explained the situation, he promised to head back as soon as possible. Lyla was out cold for most of the day. In the afternoon, she woke up; and I helped her into the shower. Afterwards, I wrapped her up in my robe; and fed her toast and coffee. Opie arrived in the evening; and she fell crying into his arms. I left them alone in the living room, and went into the kitchen.

A little while later, Opie joined me. “She’s sleeping again”, he muttered. “Thanks…”. “Of course, Ope… you did the same for me”. A smile ghosted his face. “Ima did this?”, he asked. I frowned. “She’s a bitch… but she wasn’t trying to hurt her. At least I think she wasn’t”. I sighed. “Don’t hurt her, Ope… she’s just a sad, stupid woman, who doesn’t know better”.

Opie looked down. “Can Lyla stay here tonight again?”. “Sure. You both can”, I smiled. “Take the pullout in Abel’s room”. He hesitated for a second, before walking over to give me a slight hug. “I get it… why Jax loves you”, he said. I blushed.

After getting the couch in the nursery ready; Opie carried his fiancée into the room; and tucked her in. We shared a smoke; and both turned in for the night. The next day, Opie took Lyla home.

Jax called in the evening. “I heard about Lyla…”, he said. “How?”. “Opie called pen. Said she was my sister, and that I should be told about what happened”. “Why?”, I asked. “Guess he wanted me to know how amazing my old lady is…”, Jackson muttered. “I’m pretty awesome”, I joked. “You really are”.

---

A year. 12 months.

I’d lived. Danced. Been a momma. And I’d missed Jackson so fiercely, I felt it in my bones. This was the day.

Abel was seated with me on the tabletop of the picnic-table, where I’d first kissed his father. “Daddy”, he chuckled. “Yeah, daddy’s coming home, baby”, I smiled. “Bike”. “Yup, he’s coming in on his bike, in just a few minutes”.

A roar of engines sounded from the street, and our boy made sputtering sounds with his lips, to join in on the sound. Gemma walked out onto the middle of the lot; shielding her eyes from the sun. Bikes came driving in, Clay leading the group. He got off, and went to kiss his wife – before looking towards me and Abel with a big smile on his face.

I closed my eyes; and listened. I recognized the sound of Jax’s bike. For some reason, it was separate from the others. More cheerful. Opening my eyes again, I saw him driving into the lot, surrounded by the three men who’d been with him on the inside.

My heart skipped a beat; and I stood up on the seat of the table.

Jax drove all the way up to the front of the clubhouse; and halted – killing the engine. He got off his bike; and looked at me for a second; before running over – letting me falls into his arms. I straddled his waist; and held his face between my hands – looking into his bright blue eyes. His hair was cropped short, and his smile was brighter than the sun, but I had only a second to enjoy the beauty of the man I was looking at; before he put his lips to mine, in a passionate kiss. All around us, people were clapping and cheering for the returning heroes – but all I could focus on in the moment, was the man I loved; in my arms again.

“Hey, darlin’”, Jackson smiled against my lips. “Hi… you’re back”, I almost sobbed. “I am”, he said. “I’m here. It’s over”. I chuckled in glee. “I love you”, I said, and kissed his lips again. “I love you too, Cat”. “Are you going to put me down?”, I grinned. Jax shook his head, and squeezed my bottom. “Not in a million years”. “You mom might have a problem with that. She wants to hug you”.

Jax sighed, and set me down on the ground gently – pecking my lips one last time; before his mother attacked him with a hug. “I’m home, mom. I’m good”. I turned around, and helped Abel down from the table. Jax looked towards us. “I didn’t know you were bringing him”, he muttered, his eyes filling with tears. “Of course we did, baby”, Gemma smiled.

“Go say hi to daddy”, I whispered to our boy; and the toddler did a waddling run towards Jackson, who crouched down, and caught his son in a loving embrace. “Daddy!”, Abel squealed. “Yeah, I’m home, little man”, Jax croaked. “You’re so big!”. He kissed Abel’s cheek – who wiped it instantly – and picked him up from the ground; walking over to put his arm around me as well. “Thank you…”, he whispered into my ear. “Thank you, Cat”. I smiled, and kissed the top of Abel’s head. “No!”, Abel grimaced. “Ok, baby”, I sighed with a grin. I turned my head to kiss Jax instead.

“Yo, princess!”, Happy called out. “Don’t we get any hugs?”. I tore myself from Jacksons arms; and ran over to jump into his embrace. The big guy lifted me of the ground, and swung me around. I followed up with Juice and Tig – Tig flipping me backwards, and planting a wet one on my lips. “Tig! Hands of my girl, shitstain!”, Jax barked. “Sorry, brother”, Tig grinned. “Haven’t touched a woman in a year”. “We got some waiting inside for you, brother”, Chibs smiled, and pulled his friend into the clubhouse; where drinks, women and food were waiting.

Jax set down Abel, who went to climb into his grandmother’s arms. He walked over to me, and kissed me again. “Shit, I missed your face”, he grinned. “Just my face?”, I smiled. He raised a brow at me. “There are a few other parts of you I’m hoping to get my hands on, once we’re alone”, he smirked, and slid a hand down to grope my bottom.

He was home.

---

We celebrated the homecoming in Samcro style – with alcohol a plenty, and a pair of pretty girls for each of the former inmates – save Jax, who had a hand on either my waist, my butt or my shoulder the whole time. The only times he wasn’t touching me, was when he was playing with Abel, or changing him. “Shit, kid… we need to get you potty trained!”, he laughed; after the toddler had delivered an especially  putrid gift in his diaper. “Good luck, daddy. He’s terrified of toilets”, I grinned from the doorway to the dorm. Jax frowned. “Why?”. “He went into the bathroom here; after Piney had been there”, I sniggered. Jax took Abel into his arms. “Then, I don’t blame you, little man”. He kissed Abel’s cheek.

“No!”, the toddler squealed; and slapped his father over the nose. Jax was guffawed. “He’s at a no kissing stage”, I grinned. “Well, he doesn’t take after his old man”, Jax said, and winked at me. I came over to pack up the diaper bag for him. “Or me…”, I said – not sure whether to continue the conversation.

Jax cleared his throat. “How’s Wendy?”, he asked quietly. “She’s good”, I muttered. “She split up with her girlfriend”. Jackson’s expression darkened. “She stumble?”, he said, clenching his jaw. I smiled and shook my head. “No, she’s been doing really well, Jax”, I said. I looked down at the floor. “She… offered sit for us, for the wedding”. Abel was reaching for me; and Jackson handed him over. “Neeta can’t do it?”, Jax grumbled. “Yes, she can… she could be there as well”. I took his hand. “She’s not going to be alone with him… and I trust her”.

Jackson looked at me for a moment; before his eyes grew warm. “Call her. Tell her she can be there, if Neeta is”. I kissed the corner of his lips. “This is right, Jackson”, I whispered. He smiled slightly, and nodded.

Out in the bar area; the party was going into high gear. When Abel suddenly pointed at a redheaded girl in Juice’s lap, and exclaimed Boobies!, we decided to take our leave. Outside, Chibs, Opie and Lyla where standing – laughing at a story Chibs was telling them. “I’m telling you, Fiona refused to wear a ring. I’m not your property, Filip. Free Scotland – free Fiona!”, he chuckled. “God, I miss her sour face”.

“We’re taking off”, Jax said. Lyla ran over to hug us both; planting a lipstick mark on Jax’s cheek. “I’m so happy we waited. Opie really wanted you next to him tomorrow”. “Of course, sweetheart”, Jax smiled. “We’ll see you there”. He went over to hug Opie and Chibs; taking them both in his arms at once. “I’ll never forget what you did for my family this year”, I heard him mutter. “She’s a strong lass, Jackie”, Chibs said, and looked towards me. I smiled warmly at him. “Any time, man”, Opie said.

I went over to strap Abel in, in the back of my car, and Jax went to get on his bike. We drove home, Jackson constantly within view of my back mirror.

---

Once in the house, Jax went to tuck in Abel in his room. I slipped into the bedroom, to make two minor alterations to my outfit. Closing the buttons of my summer dress again, I went into the kitchen, to start the dishwasher.

“The wall…”. Jax was standing in the doorway, with a soft smile on his lips. “It looks great”. “It was just something to keep me busy”, I blushed. I’d finished the mural of the nursery wall a few months before. The motorcycle on it was a copy of John Tellers – which was to this day displayed in the Samcro clubhouse. “Well, it’s beautiful, babe… thanks”. I smiled softly, feeling strangely embarrassed.

There was a strange silence in the room. It was the first time in just over a year, we’d been alone together. I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh… I have the rings for tomorrow. You just have to put them…”.

Jax stormed towards me; and threw his arms around me. His lips were on mine; greedily kissing me. “Jax…”, I panted; pulling my face away. “Air!”. He grinned at me; and suddenly I was over his shoulder – his hand meeting my bottom in a soft clap. I giggled, as he walked me into the bedroom, and put me down on the floor – once again attacking me with kisses.

I pushed his cut of his shoulders; and he went for the buttons on my dress – almost tearing them off. “Slow down Jackson”, I giggled. “I like this dress”. “A year, doll”, he grinned. “I’d like it better on the floor”. I shrugged the garment off, pulling it down my body – leaving me in a bra and panties – as Jax shed his shirt and t-shirt.

I stopped, and looked down his torso. On the right side of his torso were three white scars, I’d not seen before. I ran my fingers over them. Jackson grabbed my hand, and kissed my fingertips. “I’m ok, Cat”, he smiled. I swallowed hard. “I thought…”. He pulled me close to his naked chest. “I know… me too. But I’m here”. He kissed the top of my head.

I looked up, and met his lips again. Warmth spread from my core, all the way through my limbs. Hooking my fingers into his belt, I smirked. “Pants, Teller”. “Yes, ma’am”, he grinned; and opened his belt and jeans; pulling them down. I bit my lip in glee, looking at the straining fabric on his boxers. Jax looked down himself. “Yeah… he’s been a little lonely lately”, he smiled embarrassedly. I reached over, and gave his member a gentle squeeze through the fabric - making Jax gasp, and send me a menacing grin.

He ran a finger over the top of my breasts; meeting the lace of my bra. “Take it of”, he said. I tilted my head. “I thought you’d want to do that”. Jax’s eyes lit up, and I braced myself for what was coming up.

With shaky hands, my old man reached under my arms, and behind me – opening my bra, and pulling it off me. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit!”, he gasped. I grinned, and looked down at the tassels adorning my nipples; before meeting his eyes again. “I thought I’d give you a welcome home present”.

Jax dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over his face; before holding it out, as if he was admiring a work of art. “This… darlin’, you are the most…”. A smile, wider than any one I’d ever seen from him; spread over his face. “Did… could you…?”. I rolled my eyes, and bounced my body up and down for a second. The movement made the tassels spin around slightly. “Happy?”, I smirked. Jac lifted a brow at me. “Panties; off! Foreplay is over”.

He ripped my underwear down my legs; and with an arm around my waist, he threw me on the bed. His boxers disappeared quickly; and he began kissing the area around my nipples with a fervor. Moving his lips north, he licked over the sweet spot on my neck. “I want you – on top – making those tassels twirl!”, he growled into my ear. “Yes, sir”, I whimpered. He slid his hand down my belly; finding my folds; and sliding a finger inside me. I closed my eyes, and mewled. “You ready?”, he asked. I nodded.

Jax laid back on the bed; and I sat up to straddle him. Looking down on his wanton hardness; I took a deep breath; and began lowering myself onto it. Every inch that entered me, was heaven. Jacksons hands were on my hips – his fingers digging in to my skin. A desperate look in his eyes; he groaned. “Tighter…”, he gasped. “Bigger”, I panted. He grinned; and I began moving.

I put my hands on my head – making my breasts perk – and Jackson laughed, as I moved my body to make the tassels twirl. For a while I danced on top of my old man – moving my hips so that his penis thrusted in and out of me. I clenched my walls, and bit my lips. “Cat… please”, Jax pleaded. I did it again. “Holy sh…”, he almost roared. “Better than that calloused hand?”, I panted. “You don’t even know…”, he whimpered. “Show me”, I said.

Jax twisted his body; so that I fell to the mattress – his penis still inside me. He began thrusting rhythmically; and kissed me. Our tongues met and battled for dominance. “Pancakes again”, Jax smiled, when he came up for air. I rolled my hips upwards, to get him to hit my sweet spot inside. Jax caught on, and linked his arm under my knee – pushing into me hard, with a desperate groan. Before long I was feeling the warm sensation of an approaching orgasm. “Take me with you, baby”, Jax almost whimpered – and his words sent me over the edge.

I cried out; and came – my violent orgasm pulling Jackson into his own. He thrusted into me a few more times; trying desperately to prolong the sensation for us both. I was almost sobbing from the extreme jolts moving through my body; and I scratched my nails across his back. Jax let out a last hoarse groan, before – with a final thrust – he let himself go, and collapsed on top of me.

I held him in my arms, and kissed his temple. We were both panting, and had large smiles on our faces. “I love you”, I said. “I love you so much…”, he replied, and softly kissed my lips; before pulling out of me, and laying down next to me. Pulling me into his grasp, it was as if he thought I would disappear if he let go of me. “I’m here, baby”, I whispered. He smiled.

I looked down at my breasts. “Can I take them off now?”, I smiled. Jax grinned, and tore the patches off my nipples for me. “Ow!”, I yelped, as the adhesive pulled at my tender skin. “Sorry”, Jackson grimaced; and sucked gently at each of my nipples – sending another jolt through my core. He let out a slight chuckle, and put his arm over my belly; holding on to me.

“Thank you…”, he muttered. “This year… I only made it, because I knew you were outside, waiting for me”. “You had Abel��, I blushed. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to be the father he deserves, without you”. I smirked. “If I’m so great, why don’t you marry me?”, I said.

Jax took my left hand, and kissed the crow on my finger. “I plan to”.

---

And he did.

Opie and Lyla got married the day after Jax had returned. He and I stood beside each of our best friends, as the two of them exchanged vows – all the while, sending each other knowing looks and smiles.

Six months later, Jax stepped in to the bedroom where I was getting dressed. “You know, we forgot about the part where the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding”, I smiled – struggling to close the zipper on the back of my knee-length, off-white dress, with a red lace overlay. “Well, we’ve already broken every rule in the book, doll”, Jax chuckled; and stepped behind me, to help. His finger brushed down my spine, before pulling up the zipper. “You’re telling me! Your mom is pissed, I’m not wearing white”, I muttered. “You still can…”. “It didn’t feel right”, I said. “And I like this dress”. “Me too”, Jax whispered; and ran his hands over my breasts. My neckline wasn’t plunging – but it was deep enough to reveal a good bit of my cleavage. “Jax, we’ll be late…”, I whispered. He kissed my neck, and pressed against me. “Come on, darlin’”, he said. “Gemma already picked up the kid… We got a few minutes”. I laughed. “Since when did you only take a few minutes?”. “I’ll take that as a compliment”, he smiled.

Jax sat down on the bed in front of me, and put his hands on my slightly swollen belly. “How are you doing, baby girl?”, he whispered at my tummy. “She’s good”, I smiled, and stroked his cheek. “Don’t kick your mom too much today. She already has to pee every 30 minutes…”, Jackson grinned. I yanked slightly at his beard, and scowled at him. “Go finish up, Teller”, I chided. He looked at me questioningly. “You sure about the flannel?”, he asked. “Absolutely”, I smiled, and bent down to kiss him.

Jax slipped away to get his blue flannel from the dryer, and I finished getting ready – putting on some red lipstick. I looked at my smiling face in the mirror. “Let’s do this”.

---

A large group of motorcycles were parked on each side of the TM lot – making almost and aisle for us, as Jax and I came riding in. Cheers erupted all around, as suited and leather-clad people saw us arriving.

Jax stopped his bike, and I gingerly got off it – Jax holding my hand to support me. My center of gravity wasn’t the best these days. After he’d parked his bike, I took Jacksons hand, and we went over to greet Clay and Gemma – who was holding Abel’s hand. “Momma Cat’s pretty!”, our boy exclaimed. Gemma looked me over. “Ok, I surrender. You’re beautiful”, she smiled. I hugged her tightly, and let Clay kiss my cheek. “Looking good, teach’”, the president said. “Thank you”, I smiled.

Jax pulled at my hand. “We have out of town guests”, he smiled. I turned around, and saw the grinning face of Mike, and his guys from Chicago. I stepped over, and gave him a warm hug. “Hey there, miss Rose!”, he said. “Not much longer”, Jax said, and hugged his Chicago brother. “We talked about that”, I said with a chuckle. Jackson rolled his eyes. “Rose-Teller. Whatever”, he said. “Let’s just get married”.

We walked into the clubhouse; Gemma and Clay at our heels – and Abel sitting on his father’s hip. Inside stood friends and family, and all of our brothers from Samcro. They cheered and whooped, as Jax pulled me in for a slight kiss. “Hands off, Jackie! You’re not married yet”, Chibs barked. “Does that mean the rest of us still got a shot?”, Juice grinned. Jax smiled at him menacingly. “Funny, man. Keep it up”.

I stroked Jax’s cheek. “You know what…?”, I said. “Let me have at ‘em, while I’m still a free woman”. Jackson looked at me with narrowed his eyes. I patted his butt, and moved towards to the group of bikers. Behind me, Jax set Abel down on the floor. “Any of your uncles get to handsy with momma Cat, kick their asses”, Jackson muttered to his son.

Waving at people to move back, I smiled brightly. “Move back people. Pregnant lady coming through!”. People stepped away to give me space. “Line up, boys”, I grinned.

The entire crew of The Sons of Anarchy, Redwood originals; lined up in a row – and I went from biker to biker – planting a soft kiss on each of their lips. Opie grinned; Rat and Phil – who’d both finally patched in – blushed; Clay, Bobby and Piney smiled; Happy let out a silent oh yeah; Tig licked his lips, once I was finished with him – and once I got to Juice, he slipped an arm around me; holding on just a little longer than I had planned. A tiny foot kicked his shin. “No touching!”, Abel yelled; and Juice grinned – ending the kiss, and letting me go.

Lyla came over with a beautiful little bouquet of red roses; and a crown to match. She put the flower wreath on my head; and kissed my cheek. “You ready?”, she whispered. I nodded.

Someone opened the door to the chapel, where a flower arrangement with a reaper cutout was displayed on the table. “I charge by the hour, people!”, Lowen cried out, and stepped up to stand in the doorway. I was happy the club lawyer was also a registered officiant. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else wed us. Abel went over to hold Gemma’s hand; and Opie and Lyla stood on either side of the door, as best man, and matron of honor.

Jackson came over and took my hands. “Last chance to run, darlin’”, he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t get far before I had to stop to pee”, I smiled. “Besides… There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be, than here”. My old man gave me his trademark smirk. “Let’s get married”.

Hand in hand, we walked over to stand in front of our officiant. “Who gives this woman to be wed?”, Lowen said. A resounding We do!, came from the entire Samcro charter. “All right”, she smiled. “We’re gathered here today, to witness the union of Jackson Nathaniel Teller, and Catherine Rose. If anyone sees any reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace”. Gemma looked menacingly across the room. “I’ll put a 5-inch heel so far up your ass, you’ll be able to taste the dogshit I stepped in outside”, she growled. A low murmuring chuckle sounded all around.

“Jackson”, Lowen said. “Do you take Catherine to be your lawful wedded wife?”. Jax grinned – his blue eyes sparkling with joy. “Hell yeah. I do”. My cheeks flushed red. “Catherine”, Lowen continued. “Do you take Jackson to be your lawful wedded husband?”. “I do”, I smiled. Jax looked at Lowen. “Can I kiss her now?”, he asked. Laughter erupted. “Not yet…”, Lowen smiled. “Rings first”. “Shit, yeah”, Jax chuckled.

He waved over Abel, and took two bands from the boy’s hand. They had been JT’s and Gemma’s wedding rings. I sent my almost-mother-in-law a loving look. She nodded, and wiped away a tear. “Thanks, son”, Jax whispered, and kissed his son’s head. Abel hugged my leg for a second, before running back to Gemma.

“Do you have vows?”, Lowen asked. Jax nodded, and handed me the larger ring. I took his left hand, and held the band in front of his ring finger. “Jackson; with this ring, I vow my love and affection. I promise to try to learn how to cook, to dance on folding chairs whenever you ask me to – and to protect and cherish you and our children, with all I have. I will always be a faithful, devoted, and – sometimes – obedient wife and old lady”. I slid the ring onto his finger, and sent him a warm smile.

Jackson blew out a deep breath; and took my hand, holding the smaller ring in front of the finger I was already wearing my crow on. “Ok”, he said. “Catherine; with this ring, I vow my love and affection. I promise to do the dishes more often, to let you wear this flannel whenever you want…”. He gestured to the blue flannel he was wearing under his cut. “And to protect and cherish you and our children, with all I have. I will always be a faithful, devoted and respectful husband, and old man. I’ll treat you as good as my leather”.

Opie patted his shoulder. “What else…?”, he muttered. Jax grinned. “Come on! I already ride her, more than my Harley”, he chuckled. The whole room erupted in laughter, and I scrunched up my face in embarrassment.  “But I promise to continue doing so”, Jax finished; and slid on the ring – kissing my hand in the wake.

Lowen looked at us both meaningfully. “Then; by the power vested in me, by the state of California – I now pronounce you; husband and wife”. Jax looked at her questioningly. “Now?”, he asked. “Now”, Lowen nodded with a smile.

Jax yanked me into his embrace, put his hand my cheek – and we kissed as husband and wife. The room erupted in applause. Abel’s tiny foot met his father’s shin. “No touching!”, he yelled, to loud laughter.

Jax looked at me, and smiled. “Nah, kid. I’m holding on to this one. And I’m never letting go”.

THE END

[ktheist]

| the wrong star

warnings: mentions of gun, death, too much dick shoutouts and implied smut.

jimin isn’t exactly someone you’re supposed to get attached to. not that you were planning to in the first place. but things... things happen.

at first, it’s a trip to some island that’s supposed to be famous for its volcanic clay produce. the chalet they got you was nice. a single room with the bed facing the sea and almost translucent curtains covering a clear wall-sized sliding door that could let a sniper put a bullet in your head in your sleep.

but you tend to be more lax. it’s a hard-earned vacation and if someone is going to assassinate you in your sleep, they’re gonna wish they hadn’t.

after leading the devilishly handsome man you had a few too many drinks with at the bar, you find yourself in your room. articles of clothing falling onto the ground faster than you can register. it’s when the back of your calves hit the edge of the bed, do you wedge a foot around his ankle and swiftly step to the side, sending him tumbling down into the silken sheets.

a groan escapes his lips and you wonder if it’s made up. if he meant to sound like he’s caught off guard by your sudden movement, but you don’t have the time to ponder on it as you pull out a gun from beneath the gap between the bed and the floor.

“who sent you?” your voice is as cold as steel, hands groping around his chiseled body for a wire.

“easy, sweetheart,” his tone becomes more calculated when he feels the cold barrel against the back of his neck, hands coming up to his head, “believe it or not, i’m here for a vacation - well, or was.”

“oh, isn’t that just a big fat coincidence,” you mock, “two assassins, in the same island, at the same resort.”

as the odds stack up, you feel the muscles in jimin’s back tense up, “it’s got the best view of the beach and if you’re as good as you seem to be - which you are, judging from how you noticed i’m an assassin too - you probably earned as much as me which explains why you got the most expensive room they have.”

“even a child can come up with-” your words get lodged in your throat as the world spins for a split second before you’re slammed into the mattress.

your grip on the gun remains still but a larger hand seems to press on your wrist so it’s pointing in the direction of the sliding door and away from his veins. his thighs lock your hips down and his free hand holds a knife to your throat.

“is ___ even your real name?” he cocks his head to the side, as though giving you a once over before deciding whether you look like a ___.

“jimin can’t be yours,” you scoff. who would be foolish enough to-

“it is.” he cuts your train of thoughts, “you can check my social security number,” his offer seems a bit too willing, “i told you i’m here for a strictly non-working matter.”

all of a sudden, flashes of jimin’s - you’re not a hundred percent convinced, but let’s just call him that for now - suave smile, his hungry eyes and far too carefree hand plays at the back of your mind.

“to get laid.” you offer a better term for him, to which he rolls his eyes.

“yeah, okay,” he huffs, “it’s been sixteen months, don’t judge me.”

at the unsolicited information, you can’t help but narrow your eyes, “if you can’t get laid in the city, what makes you think you can get laid in some island with lesser population?”

“you must never had a girl you met at a club - and yes, from said city - try to cut your dick off when you thought you were getting some,” he says plainly, the moonlight pouring through the clear sliding door providing barely enough light to allow you to see the distorted expression he’s making. as though he hasn’t emotionally recovered from that yet.

“well, second time’s the charm, right?” the littlest gap between his crotch and your hips allows you to root your feet into the mattress and force yourself up, sending his balance off so you’d have enough time to slip your legs over his hips, switch your positions and point your gun against his sharp jawline.

but that also means his hand was free to secure his life by pressing the cold blade of the knife against your neck. and yes, again.

“you don’t look like you’re on a mission to kill either,” he asserts, eyes glinting with a sort of bloodthirsty desire you didn’t notice before - well, to be fair, before he was cracking jokes and wasn’t taking this life threatening situation seriously, “how bout we just... part ways and never speak of this to our organization ever again?”

you take the longest moment to weigh out the pros and cons. pros: you get to enjoy the rest of your vacation without being called back to or ordered to kill jimin. cons: you might have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of this vacation.

the answer teeters on the tip of your tongue but the tangibility of the tension seems to clasp against your lips, forbidding you from uttering-

“yeah, okay,” as soon as the words hit the air, it’s as though a thick blanket of haze has lifted.

you roll off the man at the same time he lets out an audible sigh, the knife falling off his hands and echoing in three thuds before the room goes silent again, save for your breathings.

“god,” jimin heaves out, “i thought i was gonna get my head blown off instead of my dick.”

“how is that better than getting a vasectomy... with a bullet... and on your dick?” you ask into the darkness, the gun lying a few inches from your hand after you let it slip away and fall against the mattress.

“trust me, sweetheart,” you catch him shooting a look at you, “anything is better than living a life without a dick.”

you don’t quite understand how an assassin would be so scared of pain, regardless if it’s around the genital area but you’re just glad your vacation doesn’t have to be cut short just because you cross the wrong star at the wrong time.

after the... incident, you’ve managed to avoid each other successfully. until your last night at the island. some big shot was throwing a pool party and everyone’s invited. jimin was surrounded with three girls with the prettiest faces and curviest bodies, hands trailing up his sculpted abdomen which he lets out to the world as his floral blue shirt hangs on his shoulders, unbuttoned.

guess, his sixteen month dry spell ends tonight.

“you,” an obnoxious voice calls - you have half the mind to slam him against the ground and make him beg for forgiveness for addressing a lady as ‘you’ but you twirl around with a smile and a certain roll in your hips. the host, a young man with a proportionate body and golden blond hair bites down on his lips as he undress you with his eyes, “you came.”

you met him while you were tanning - or rather, the sun seemed to have suddenly been covered by the clouds so you pried one eye open, only to see a man with too much ego and too small a dick standing over you.

taehyung - unfortunately, you don’t forget names that easily - tried to chat you up but after your third rejection, he’d left with a, “i’m having a pool party tonight - you should come and see what you’re missing out on.”

“thought i’d see what i’m missing out on,” you give him a once over, noticing how he’s looking at you with eyes full of anticipation before it darkens with devastation at your next words, “not much though.”

but that baby face instantly lights up when you take a step into the jacuzzi, one hand hovering over the water as you sip the tequila before finally closing the distance. the woman and men who were latching onto him began to leave the warmth of the tub one by one until you’re setting the flute glass on the edge.

“so, where you from?” taehyung begins, only to suck in a deep breath as you press your body up against him.

“less talking, more making out, yeah?” you murmur against his lips, your own curling into a pleased smirk when his hands cup your ass and he devours your lips.

it takes about five shots of jaeger for him to pass out on the suede long couch somewhere in a more private part near the pool. you asked for it because you weren’t drunk enough to ignore the eyes that seem to follow your every move and they aren’t taehyung’s.

with a dejected sigh, you tie the line of your bikini bra around your neck and back before slipping through the white curtain that hung around the gazebo, fully intending to call it a night... until a silhouette step into the pathway to your room.

“thought you were getting your dick blown,” you comment despite knowing that he was probably too busy trying to see through the gaps of the curtains around the gazebo to actually have his dick inside someone.

“thought you were getting one in you,” his tone bears more mockery than yours - dare you say, personal.

“i’m leaving tomorrow,” you brush past him, the sound of the waves crashing becoming louder as you tread further down the path.

“oh,” is all he says - not that you’re expecting much.

yet your chest still aches with a sort of disappointment much heavier than taehyung’s sleeping form and limp dick.

when you come to a stop in front of the wooden door, you finally break the silence, “___ is my real name, by the way.”

it doesn’t take long for jimin to soak in your words. barely more than a second. and before you know it, your lips are melding with a pair of luscious ones. they’re as soft and sweet as the words that come out of them the day you first started talking.

it should feel deja vu, how you’re backing up against nothing and how the two piece clothing you have on is easier to slip off your body than the tank top and skirt from the first time. and jimin’s shirt only needs being pushed off his shoulder - his trunks need a bit more attention because it got stuck around his hardening dick.

but the struggle is worth the wait because you woke up with black and blue bruises and a sort of soreness in your legs that could only mean one thing: that the sex was out of this world.

when you brush the man’s bleached hair out of his face, you half-expect him to grasp your hand like it’s some gun aimed at him while he’s at his most vulnerable. but his eyes flutter open a little too belatedly. they curve into crescents when they see you as does his lips.

“morning,” he murmurs ever so gently - you wonder how he does that with a groggy voice.

you order breakfast in bed and eat them together, laughing and messing around like you’ve known each other for longer than a week. but neither of you disclose what organization you work for. you just... cuddle on the bed until it’s time for you to pack, it isn’t much since you know not to bring too many thins in case you needed to leave quickly. perhaps in the middle of the night.

you part with kisses and hugs like you’re never going to see each other again.

well, you don’t because the organization sends you for jobs all around the country, sometimes even to neighboring ones until you hit your third month of coming back after the vacation. 

you’re decked in a fake diamond encrusted lingerie with thighs gripping the pole better than your wig. the person who requested you had company and among them is none other than jimin. his hair is dyed into a deep brown shade, giving him a mysterious air as he watches you put a bullet in your target’s mouth. a proud smile plastered over his face.

“please, don’t shoot me or my dick,” he holds his hands up in a playful manner once you discard the gun somewhere next to the bodies.

“i’m not even going to ask how you found me,” you trust him enough to know there isn’t any assassins you need to be wary of in the club until at least three minutes before you have to report to your own. his lips tastes like peppermint and beer.

and so it goes your little rendezvous. from tokyo to milan all the way to egypt, you’d somehow find a way to coordinate your jobs in the same city and spend the rest of the nights and days with each other after you’re done with your target. 

“i wanna quit,” jimin announces, one fine night in the hot summer air of the philippines.

“what? us?” it’s just your wishful thinking, because there’s no other reason for him to leave his job unless he wants a death wish.

he sits up despite having your head on his arm - and when he does that, you know he means business. or resignation, really.

“i’m only doing this because i had nothing to lose back then,” his callous thumb rubs the back of your hand - more specifically, the knuckle of your ring finger, “but i have everything to lose right now and i rather not second guess myself until it’s too late.”

“jimin,” you only ever say his name when you want to snap him out of his ludicrous thoughts - and the last time, he proposed getting into a cartel just and staging your deaths, “you do know they’re not going to let you go that easy - you’re an asset.”

it didn’t take too long for you to realize that. and it took you a shorter period of time to let it sink in that jimin had known you were an assassin all along that day but chose to place his bet on you not killing him so he flirted with you anyway.

“which is why i should go over to your organization - they’ll accept me for the information i have on mine,” he pulls out a hard drive from the drawer he kept his guns in.

“and what makes you think you won’t be killed once they got all the information they need from you?” you refute.

“well,” he squeezes your hand, eyes coming up to meet you, “that’ll probably take them six months to realize i have nothing more to give them - and by then, i’m hoping we’d be gone.”

he means dead. legally.

“i don’t know...” and for the first time since you were eighteen, you couldn’t draw up the best course of action to take to get yourself out of a sticky situation, but you do know one thing, “i don’t think of you as just a fling and if this is some heat-of-the-moment thing-”

“i want us to get married,” he cuts you off, or so he thought he got it right.

“not exactly what i was trying to say,” you can’t help but giggle, but you don’t oppose proposition.

it’s been an arduous process since then. scraping for information, risking your identities and suspicion of your own organization when you started to highly recommend jimin to the board. but your supervisor and trainer had backed you up - only because he personally went against jimin and it’d left him with a in his back that disallowed him from taking on jobs and subdued into a trainer for the newbies.

“how long?” the moment those words slip out of namjoon’s lips, you don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that your heart quite literally dropped.

“how long what?” yet you still manage to school your face into a stoic one - they make you take classes for that too.

“look, kid, i’ve known you since you were fifteen with snot running out of your nose every time you have to come in for shooting lessons,” those sharp eyes that seem to peel every layer of your lies with just a glance. he brings up one hand, cigarette in between his middle and ring finger while his index finger points at you, “and i know a look that screams i’ll die for the person i thought is the love of my life but really is just some hot flame i met while i’m in my 20′s, when i see one.”

“he’s not just some guy,” is all you say and hear.

but namjoon begs to differ, head shaking as he lowers his gaze - as though he couldn’t bear to look at a disappointment before he sucks in a breath and meets your eyes, “i don’t wanna see your face bloodied and bruised in that interrogation room,” he waves his index finger in the direction of the hallway where the infamous interrogation room lays, the smoke from the bud forming a circle before it disappears into the air, “or so help me god, i will kill you myself.”

“thank you, namjoon.” the gratitude scrapes against your throat like a knife, because this is him saying he’ll help you - both you and jimin get out of this god forsaken place and that means putting his life on the line for it.

then so begins jimin’s double agency, going back and forth, supplying every drop of information he can for yours until his organization caught wind of his betrayal. but by then, he’s already halfway across the world, taking a job as an assassin from your organization and under its protection.

you don’t talk even though you see each other in the hallway. pretend like neither existed while you fuck like you’ve never had a drop of water in the toilet of some club in the country you manage to coordinate your jobs in.

but that was rare. two assassins in the same country, taking a job.

then comes the ratchet moment. when jimin’s six months are up and they find him more of a liability than an opportunity. the better the agent, the high likely he’ll stab you in the back like he did with his last organization.

something like the saying if he cheats with you, he’ll cheat on you.

but in a way, you’re both cheaters. of life. of death. of everything that you were thrust into in a guise for a better life than the slumps you come from.

“get out of the way, ___,” jimin could have convinced you that he truly, honestly betrayed you as he holds the gun and points it at you.

“jimin, think about it, if you put your gun down, i shoot you, you die an instant death,” it’s not much of an offer but he’s in no position to refuse as the siren ring throughout the building and red lights begin to replace the bright luminescent ones.

it is in that moment, when namjoon slips through the vents and kicks takes your brown haired lover off guard, do you rush in to wrestle the gun out of his hands. someway, somehow, the struggle ended with a bullet in you and you’re like fish gasping for air, your vision slowly blurring as you watch namjoon run after jimin two seconds into hesitating whether to save you or abandon you because the others would come for you.

the chase continues until jimin slips into the sewer - possibly his planned escape route which he thought would be the last step to escaping his pursuers. only to meet his death. they found his body a good one hour later but he’s almost bloated from having been left in the cold water by namjoon who barely made it back to call for back up and sent people to get jimin’s body.

it’s exactly one year later, after going through rehab and barely managing to do menial, daily tasks do they discharge you. the bullet hit your spine and you had to go through multiple surgeries just to be able to feel your legs. it takes you longer than six months to be able to walk properly.

“i almost lost my life defending this very organization and even if you can’t relocate me to some nice, five star apartment,” tears fill your eyes as you speak in front of the board members, “at least let me live the rest of it without having to check my back if i have a red dot aimed at my heart.”

guess that speech was moving.

they never really let anyone go just like that but you’ve proved your loyalty by jumping in front of a volatile assassin and trying to tackle the gun out of his grasp with the help of namjoon.

oh and namjoon? he got promoted as a board member. he’d also been a major influence in your honorable discharge - as honorable as an assassin’s discharge can be.

now, you live somewhere on the outskirts of town. a tiny little house with a lawn and a one dog and one cat. you get by with writing articles and promotional posts for products.

it’s harder to write for longer hours than you remember it but you like it.

sometimes you get parcels every few days. sometimes they’re energy drinks, sometimes snack packs, and sometimes a pack of bullet for your guns in the most unlikely places.

today, moon, your doberman barks at from his special little area at the front yard, signaling the arrival of yet another package. it takes a moment for you to get to the door but when you do, it’s the the usual white and blue uniform wearing man.

“jimin,” you whisper his name like you’re afraid people from your organization is going to pop out of nowhere at the mention of him.

“hey sweetheart,” his smile still makes his eyes close, “i came to pick up my bride.”

you shake your head at his antics, tears filling your eyes as your own smile stretch across your face, “you’re just in time.”

x

note. check out my #excerpt from a fic i’ll never write for more excerpt-from-a-fic-i’ll-never-write-esque fics!

[imaginesmai]

Jax Teller-Safe

Plot: in your mind, it’s not his fault. It’s never his fault, becuase he’s your dad and he loves you. But there is one person who loves you more, and is willing to prove that what Clay does is not right. 

Warnings: physical abuse, bad parental behaviour. Clay is the bad guy, so he hits and abuses verbally the reader. Read at your own risk

The thing was, Clay hadn’t meant to hit so hard. For an old man like himself, he still didn’t control his strength, and sometimes the rage and the anger took the best out of him. He was a big man, strong and tall, so it was naturally that the slap had hurt so much. The rings on his fingers were only a plus, that had left a nasty red long mark on your cheek, from the corner of your eye to your nose.

Thousands of reasons flew through your mind. He was divorcing Gemma, after being framed for the murder of Opie’s wife and his father. The guilt, the pain and the sorrow led to the alcohol, the fights at home and the negativity in his life. After all, you kind of had been looking for it, right? Who leaves all the dishes dirty? Or forget to buy more beer for his father?

The answer came quickly; everyone can do that, but no one should hit his daughter over it. You told yourself that it wasn’t that bad, as you pressed the ice patch on your eye, the ring of black and blue bruises standing out against your skin.

It wasn’t the first time. Clay usually hit you in places that aren’t easily noticeable; your sides, upper arms, back. Places where the club wouldn’t see, and wouldn’t hate him more than he already did. You were the only reason he was back, because you had begged to Jax until he had agreed. Sometimes, you wondered if it had been worthy.

“Y/N? You there?” you heard Clay from the other side of the door, and you tensed. Putting away the ice pack, you ran to the door and opened it, not wanting to risk another fight.

What greeted your father wasn’t a beautiful sight. You had red eyes and tears stained cheeks, the bruise covering half of your cheek and you hair messy from being pulled at. He looked to his right and avoided the pang of guilt that filled his chest.

“I was, uh, are you okay?”

“Yeah”

You had learned not to expect any apologies. The first time it had happened, he knocked on your door two hours after, and you opened it ready to forgive him. Because he was the only person you had left, and didn’t want to be away from him. Clay repeated the same words he said in that moment, the first time he crushed your heart.

“We… we good? Do you want me to do anything?”

Are we good, so good that you aren’t telling anyone?

Do you want me to do anything in change of Jax not knowing?

“We’re fine, dad” you mumbled, looking at your feet. You could almost feel the relive radiating off him.

“Then, I’m heading to the bar. Make sure to leave something for the hangover on my room.”

There was a time, not so long ago, where Clay Morrow had loved you. Your mother had given you to him when you were just seven months, too busy with her lovers to take care of a little baby. Clay had raised you well, until the power and paranoias had consumed him.

When Gemma still lived with you, he tried to mask it. He only hit you when she was away for days, since she thought of you as her own daughter, and got by with degrading words that made you feel like shit when she was around. Clay needed someone to take out his frustrations on, and unluckily you were the only one who was still by his side.

The main door closing behind your father made your shoulders slump in defeat, and you vision became blurry again. You managed to get to your bed before breaking down, hiding your face in your hands and crying loudly. All you wanted was to be happy with your father, to have him back; because that monster wasn’t your father, you were sure. It had to be some cruel joke from where you had to get back at some point.

The phone ringing made you open your eyes, and you cringed when you saw the name pop up on the screen.

You didn’t want to answer it. Not answering would mean none of it had happened, that you were in a small bubble of comforting fantasy where nothing could touch you, and the spot under the blanket seemed very likely to be it. However, not answering meant too an angry blonde biker on your door in less than five minutes, who would see your face and probably burn down half of Charming until finding your dad. Your thumb pressed the green button without thinking much.

“Hey darling” Jax cheerful voice sounded through the speaker, and you smiled instantly. There was a lot of noise in the background, but you heard it go away as Jax moved further to talk to you.

“Hi” you mumbled, and then cleared your voice. “I almost thought you had forgotten about me”

You heard Jax chuckled, and suddenly everything seemed brighter. You were not anymore locked in your room, afraid of how much Clay was going to drink that night, and if the glass of water you had to left in his room could avoid you another beating. Instead, you were surrounded by the usual happiness that came with Jax, that got you a warm feeling in the bottom of your stomach.

“Sorry about that, Y/N. I’ve been busy with the club and that shit” he answered, and you almost could see the smirk. “I’m never too busy for you, though. That was actually why I was calling you”

“Oh”

The happiness quickly disappeared, and your hand moved on its own, touching the bruise on your eye lightly. You had been successful in avoiding him for a week; after all, he had been busy too, but you knew it couldn’t go on forever. If Jax knew only half of the things that your father did, you were sure he would ran him over with a bike.

So, yeah, you didn’t like where the conversation with your boyfriend was going.

“What? Tired of my hot ass already?” he joked, and you noticed it was almost quiet on the other side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see any hot ass around”

“I see how this is going, I see. I might go back to Opie after all”

For almost two hours, you managed to be happy again. Jax seemed to have a sixth sense about your distress, and picked up easily that you enjoyed more than usual talking to him. So, after he reassured you multiple times that he didn’t mind ditching the party on Friday’s night, he went back to his room and talked to you laying on his bed.

Time passed and you didn’t really noticed it, too busy letting the sleep almost crash you. Jax and you joked, laughed and remembered things, a week without knowing about each other long forgotten.

You had known Jax since you were children and your parents decided to date. Once you were over the phase of pulling pranks and hating each other, you started the relationship you had managed to keep for more than five years.

“I hate telling you this, but my eyes are dropping and I’m going to fall asleep any second” you said, your voice quiet. You were used to sleeping next to him, but since your father incident you had decided to go back to your home, or what used to be.

“That’s fine, you don’t have to hung up” Jax said, and you heard the bed covers shuffling on the other side. “I like hearing your breathing, it helps me go to sleep”

“That’s so romantic” you chuckled, closing your eyes. “But phone’s bills are something real, Jax.”

“I can’t wait to have you back here” he groaned, and your heart clenched. “Really, Y/N, you need to come back here. I know, he’s your father and all that. But I miss you. A lot”

“I miss you too, baby” you pouted, even though he couldn’t see you. “I just-My dad is not able to take care of himself right now… I’m the only thing he has left.”

“I know”

Over the last months where you had been living with Clay, there was an oncoming argument about it, and both of you knew it. You had tried it to keep it as bay as long as you could, but you knew Jax wasn’t going to give up. There were a few seconds of silence until he talked again.

“You’ll need to pay me back for all this lost time” Jax teased. “What about lunch tomorrow? Bobby and Tig are begging me to see you, and I’m quite afraid my mother will kidnap you.”

“How can I say no then” you laughed, before yawning. “Night baby, I love you.”

“Love you too darling” he didn’t cut the line off immediately, but waited until you were almost sleep. “A lot”

Clumsily, you dropped the phone on your nightstand and drifted to sleep. Not remembering the pill, the glass of water and the problems that that decision was going to bring you next morning.

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

“Is-Is that a black eye?”

Jax’s voice startled you as you walked inside the club, gripping a trait of homemade cookies with both of your hands. You had already greeted Gemma and Chibs, and they had put a smile on your face; despite the huge cover up in your face, they had only cheered for the cookies, not noticing anything. It had put you in a good mood, yeah, and it had made you forget the argument with Clay that morning and those awful words.

But it didn’t last long.

Looking up, you nearly flinched back when Jax ran towards you with an impressive speed, his body almost crashing yours. He took the cookies and placed them in the nearest table. His warm hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up, so you could meet his worried blue eyes. Behind all of that concern, there was the murderous rage that was going to pop any second.

More than ten different excuses ran through your head while you opened and closed your mouth, Jax demanding an answer with a faint movement of his head.

“It’s nothing” you answered, struggling to keep your voice steady. “I was-I was m-messing with some things at the storage room, and some boxes fell on me”

Jax’s eyes narrowed, and anyone could see that the lie hadn’t ran past him. He studied your face with a soft intensity, far from the anger he was feeling. His thumb moved up and down your cheek, and you had to keep your lip from trembling.

“I was there yesterday, and everything was in its place” he casually said, his grip tightened slightly. “Anything you need to tell me?”

Instead of coming up with another lie, you shrugged, gaze going to the floor. Jax could read you like an open book, and wouldn’t have any problem in finding out that you didn’t fall off the stairs. Someone entered the club and you swore you heard Tig whistling under his breath, but before you could turn around, Jax had them out with a stern look.

His eyes became softer when he saw your sad face, and he moved one of his hands to your waist. Pulling you closer, he made you rest your head on his chest, so that the bruise was visible. It took Jax a long minute, yet by then he had managed to take off all the makeup and observe properly the dark circle.

“I just want to help you, Y/N” he muttered, caressing your hair. “Let me help you”

“I know”

“Then, what is it?” Jace waited for you to answer, but you only closed your eyes. “If the prospect has hit you again without meaning you, it’s okay. I’m not gonna kick him out, just a few-“

“No!” your head snapped up, eyes wide in panic at the thought of poor Halfsack being beaten up again because of a silly mistake. “It’s not him! I swear, I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

At least, that was not a lie. In the first year of being a prospect, the boy had had the bad luck of knocking you unconscious with a door opened with too much force, and Jax had screamed at him until he had a panic attack. You almost smiled at the memory of Halfsack chasing you with a apologies for a month.

“Then what is it, darling?” his voice was serious, as he teared away and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been spending less and less time with us, and you keep cancelling our dates.”

Your insides twisted painfully, and you went cold. There was no way of getting out of that without hurting someone, and the protective barrier that had raised over the truth did its job when the words left your mouth.

“Well, you aren’t around neither” you scoffed. “It’s not my fault that we don’t see each other, you’re always busy! With parties, club’s businesses and all of that!”

The moment hurt flickered through Jax’s eyes was the one where you regretted everything that had been going on. He took a deep breath before answering. If you had been any other person, he would have kicked you out and forgot about you. If he hadn’t been by your side for so long, he would have turned on his heels and walked out on you. But you were his Y/N, and worry overpowered anger.

“Darling” he whispered as your face heated up. “I want to help you. But, you’ve gotta let me in. Please, Y/N. I just want to help you.”

And for a second, you doubted. You’ve always counted on Jax for everything. First period, he was the thirteen year’s old kid who ran to the store with nervous legs while you waited in the bathroom. First time using make up, he let you use his face to practice. And you wanted to tell him desperately, you wanted him to hug you and tell you that everything is okay.

“I-I…”

But then, you saw his face. You saw Clay’s face as he was framed, as he came back home and cried in your arms for the whole night. It wasn’t his fault that the world had been so cruel to him, and you also wanted, needed, to believe that. After all, he was your father, and you didn’t know what you would do without him.

“I….’m fine” you spitted out rushed, forcing yourself to step backwards. You watched as Jax ran a hand down his face, exhaling loudly.

Before he could say anything else, people started coming into the club, the loud laughs and noises crushing your peace. You were wrapped in Bobby’s arms and heard someone already trying to take one of your cookies.

For the next five hours, you didn’t talk to Jax.

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

The dim light of the night lamp created weird shadows in Jax’s closet. You were laying on his bed, in the room that he still had in the club. His chest moved under your clammy hands, silence surrounding you.

Everyone had left a while ago, and you had tried to keep yourself busy until then. Doing unnecessary things, cleaning already neat dishes, talking to Gemma about the new shop. Jax had picked up easily your behaviour, noticing that you were doing everything in your power to stay there for a little longer. So, after five hours of not talking, he mumbled if you wanted to spend the night with him there.

Leaving would probably meant another beating, because it was late and you hadn’t told your father you would be out for so long. Staying would lead to the conversation you had wanted to avoid for the whole day. With a little hesitation, you had gripped his hand and had let him guide you to his room.

Once in his clothes and tucked in bed, you didn’t know if you were ready for it. You had changed in front of him; so he had seen the yellow marks on your ribs, the purple circles on your wrists and the fingers printed on your arm. Jax had seen it all, but only clenched his jaw and hugged you closer, waiting for you to talk.

“I’m not fine” you whispered, almost thirty minutes after going to bed. “And I’m sorry”

“It’s okay” Jax kissed the top of your head. “It’s okay”

“He doesn’t mean to do it” you shivered , ducking down and sniffing. You cursed when tears filled your eyes. However, his hand was there to stop them before they fell onto his chest. “I know he doesn’t mean to. Please, Jax, he doesn’t mean to.”

“Who, Y/N?” his voice was dark, and you could feel his body shaking along with his hand clenching and unclenching. “Who doesn’t mean to hurt you?”

“He doesn’t mean to” you repeated, wanting to print those words in your mind. “I-I just, I make him… angry, and he loses control. But he doesn’t mean to.”

By then, Jax was sure he was going to break one tooth. He didn’t dare to look anywhere apart from the ceiling, where a small crack was beginning to show. It reminded him of the nights were you two would cuddle together as kids, whispering jokes until Gemma scolded you for being so loud. It only made him angrier.

“And what does he do?” he asked. He didn’t want to hear it, he just wanted to have a name and to start his bike, a baseball on his hand. Imagining the walls drenched with that fuckers blood made him regain the patience to talk to you.

“He… he gets a little rough sometimes”

“He hits you”

“No!”

You turned around and looked up when Jax said those words, horrified by its meaning. In your eyes, Clay didn’t hit you, just pushed you around and sometimes shoved you a little too hard. You were ready to say so when you noticed the tears in Jax’s cheeks. They were falling freely down, and just then you understood how difficult was it being for him. He didn’t look at you, too afraid to throw all the rage.

It was silent, until he finally looked down and whispered your name. You broke.

You broke, and you told him how Clay pushed you to the floor when he walked past you in the mornings. How he made you feel worthless every day, and how the names he called you hurt you. You sobbed to him about all those times when he threatened to kill you if you told Jax or any of the guys. And, besides all of that, you begged him to understand that Clay didn’t mean to hit you.

Breathing heavily when you finished, you leaned farther into Jax’s arms and hid your face on his neck, the tears not stopping. One shaky hand came up and covered your bruised cheeks, and with that he assured you it would be okay.

“How long has it been going on?” he asked finally, his voice breaking. During your explanation, he had tried to be strong, but he couldn’t help the heavy heart and tearful eyes.

“I don’t know” you whispered. Trying to remember a time where Clay didn’t hit you became more difficult, and you gasped when you realised it was nearly impossible. “I don’t-I really don’t know, Jax.”

“Darling” Jax said, agony on his words.

He squeezed his eyes and fisted the hand that wasn’t holding you, imagining that his neck was between his fingers. When the truth about Donna had been out, Jax had wanted to kill Clay. The man had been giving him reasons nonstop to be killed, but he had managed to stop himself for you. After hearing your words, he would wish Jax would have killed him.

“It’s stopping now” he said, and kissed your head. “I promise, it’s-it’s stopping now. He’s not looking at you ever again, Y/N. I’ve got you”

“I’m sorry” you said, throat dry and eyes aching.

Confusion clouded Jax’s eyes, his grip tightening for a split of second before he let go.

“Why?”

You looked away, keeping your gaze on the wall next to you. Sorry, for not telling him sooner and making him worry. Sorry, for getting him in that situation, where he was going to have to tell the club and his mother. Sorry, because you wished life could be different for you, and for him.

No words left your mouth, and Jax shifter impossibly closer. You didn’t hear what he said next, only the soft tone he used and the caring hand that ran through your hair. He touched two or three bumps that your father had gave you when he had pushed you against the wall, and he almost got out of bed. Too caught up in steady rise of exhaustion and safety, your mind drifted off and your brain muffled the noise and your limbs fell heavy.

For the first time in who knew how long, you slept without fearing what was awaiting for you in the morning. For Jax, it probably was a lot of problems with other clubs that still made deals with Clay. For your father, the worst of the fates, since the blonde didn’t sleep a beat thinking about how he was going to make him pay.

For you, just a new beginning where you were going to be finally happy. And safe.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[written-adventures]

The Girl Next Door: Last Light Pt. 64

“Sophia!” Lance called as he walked into the bookstore. “Let me hide here, these customers are driving me cra-” 

The bookstore was so cold, Lance could see his breath. 

“Sophia?” he called again. The musty smell of old books didn’t hit his nose. It instead smelled like rain. Or flowers? It was hard to place, whatever it was, but it filled his mind and made his eyes water. 

“Where are you? Are you ok?” Lance passed the counter. It was too quiet in the shop, save for quietly crackling static. Sophia normally had the public radio station playing, but the speakers just sputtered out white noise. 

“Sophia?” he paused at the counter. A mug of coffee sat undisturbed and Lance reached over to touch it. “Still warm. Ok, she’s still here.” 

“Sophia? It’s not spooky season so please don’t try a jump scare,” he said. “Did you fall? Do you need LifeAlert?” 

The joke fell on seemingly deaf ears. 

“Come on, please answer me!” Lance weaved between the shelves. Nothing. No sign at all of her. Then he heard a thud up above and a muted cry of pain. He turned towards the stairs that lead up to the storage area. “Sophia, I’m coming up!” 

Lance unhooked the rope blocking the way and started up the creaky stairs. 

“Sohpia, I’m really worried, please answer me,” Lance said. His stomach twisted and turned into knots. She had to be ok. She was a healthy woman, she wasn’t old by any means! If her grandfather still had the shop, it would be one thing but Sophia was in her thirties! 

“Sophia!” 

Dust hung suspended in the air, like the world was frozen. A figure in red robes brandished a knife at Sophia. Sophia dodged the blade with surprising ease. A nasty cut on her arm bled freely. At Lance’s cry, the figure turned towards him, its face contorted and Sophia-like. But the skin was wrong, very, very wrong. Like melting wax or clay. 

“Get away from her!” Lance instinctively shoved his hand forward, using his magic to make a nearby box fly at the figure. It was the first time he’d managed to use Arro’s gravity spell but Lance didn’t have time to feel proud. 

The heavy book box crashed into the figure, knocking it back. Sophia gasped in a breath and screamed. 

“No!” the figure scrambled to its feet and the wax-like visage faded. The woman from his vision rounded on Lance.

“Pyrrha?!” Lance gasped. 

Her face twisted in fury. “Good, I can just take you now!” she rushed towards Lance, an arm outstretched. 

But Sophia caught the arm and, in a move like something out of an action movie, used Pyrrha’s momentum to twist the woman around with the arm like a lever. Sophia didn’t have to use much energy, she let Pyrrha do all the work. Sophia hooked one arm under Pyrrha’s chin and forced her onto her back. 

“Messed with the wrong shop, bitch,” Sophia snapped, pinning Pyrrha’s arm between her legs. She pressed a knee into Pyrrha’s shoulder. 

“Malaka!” Pyrrha cried and tried to roll over. Once again, Sophia only had to use Pyrrha’s movement against her and with a loud snap!, Pyrrha’s arm popped right out of its sockets. Pyrrha screamed in pain and a black cloud formed around her. 

“Sophia, get out of there!” Lance grabbed Sophia by the back of the shirt and pulled. 

And just in the nick of time. The black cloud dissipated and Pyrrha was gone. 

“Holy shit!” Lance panted. “That was so fucking cool! Where did you learn that!?”

“I’m a black belt in taekwondo,” Sophia said. “Never thought I’d actually need to use it against a legit attacker.” She hugged him suddenly. “Thank you, Lance.”

“Why are you thanking me? You kicked her ass!” Lance laughed. 

“Thanks,” She put a hand over the cut on her arm. 

“Nah, I just helped a little.” Lance laughed. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”

“Cool,” Sophia nodded. “And you’ll tell me about who the hell tried to rob my store.” 

“Oh you know, rival psychic,” Lance lied easily. “Must have gotten the wrong store. It’s cutthroat in the psychic and magic business. Quite literally.”

“U-huh...” Sophia sighed, not believing a word of it.

[13-reasons-ideas]

Finding Peace in Another Part 15

A/N: I’m sorry this chapter is out late. I got sick right when school started and then got busy with school stuff. I had to split it into at least 3 parts so the next few weeks are set to be posted on their days. I hope you guys like it! As always, feedback is appreciated. Much love 

Word count: 1655

After Zach left, I sat back down with Montgomery. “Monty?” I asked, shyly.

“Hmmm?” he responded, distracted, clearly still trying to process all of the information he had been told tonight.

“A-are you mad at me…?” I picked at the hem of my shirt, avoiding eye contact. I was afraid of his answer. He was silent for a long time. It felt like hours in my mind but was actually only a handful of minutes.

“I’m not mad Rebecca. I’m hurt that you felt like you couldn’t tell me about Jake. Now that you’ve explained why I can sort of understand but it still hurts.” He told me, placing his index finger under my chin and lifting my face to look at him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. I-I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. And the way you looked at me. I haven’t seen you look at me like that since you came to me that first night to clean and care for your wounds.”

Montgomery pulled me into his lap gently rubbing my back in soothing circles.

We sat like that for a while just thinking over the past 24 hours and the past few weeks. We had been through so much in such a short time that it was hard to comprehend. I wondered what it could mean for us going forward. Will this change anything? Is he going to look at me like everyone else now? I know he hadn’t indicated that he would, but he also didn’t answer the unspoken question either. I deliberated if I should ask him or not. Biting back my fear, I decided that would be the best course of action. I needed to know. “Monty?”

“Yeah Becks?” he responded. He sounded almost resigned and that scared me more than anything.

“This isn’t going to change anything, will it? You won’t look at me differently now?” my voice had a lilt to it that I could not hide, indicating my fear of his answer.

“No. This isn’t going to make me look at you differently.” He answered quickly, though it didn’t do much to put my mind at ease. He seemed to want to continue so I remained silent, trying to contain my emotions and stop myself from physically giving away my fear. “I can’t say that this won’t change anything about our relationship. I also can’t say that it will change anything. We just have to move forward from here. I can tell you that this won’t change how I feel.” I nodded, relieved. “It also won’t make me not fight with you because you’re a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Well you can be a stubborn prick sometimes.” I responded, cheekily, my head still stuck in his shoulder. He mussed up my hair and I felt him shake his head.

“We can continue this chat in the morning babe. It’s getting late.”

“Really? Its only like-” I looked at the clock on the wall behind the couch “Eight o’clock. That’s not late. Unless you have… other reasons for wanting to get me into bed?” I said, nipping at his neck softly. He cleared his throat.

“N-no. We’ve had a long day. You’ve had a difficult day. You need to sleep. And no. You can’t argue with me on this. Stubborn prick remember?” I sighed heavily, knowing that arguing would do no good. Monty placed me back on the empty couch cushions briefly. After he adjusted himself, he picked me up and carried me bridal style up to my room. I ran my fingers through his hair, determined to get my way, though my efforts were futile. When we got to my room he simply placed me on my feet and grabbed me some pyjamas. He went so far as to go into my bathroom while I changed, just so I couldn’t change his mind. “You better be in those and in bed by the time I get back Miss. Samuels.” He told me, his dominant tone leaving no room for argument. I finally resigned myself to the fact that we really were just going to go to bed and nothing more. Begrudgingly, I changed and grabbed a book to read before going to sleep. If this boy thinks I’m going to sleep at fucking 8:20pm he has another thing coming. When he returned, I was still feeling rather cheeky.

“Do I have permission to read a book for a while Mr. De La Cruz?” I asked, smartly. He rolled his eyes playfully while trying to keep up his dominant role and climbed over me to get into his spot. He nodded his consent as I got comfortable against him. “Could you maybe…” I started.

“Yes Becca? Could I what?” he urged me on.

“Could you maybe read to me? You were right earlier. It has been a long day.” I finished, burying my head in his broad chest to hide my blush. He chuckled as he took the book from my hands and opened it. Pulling me closer, he began to read to me. It wasn’t long before his soothing voice had lulled me to sleep, my body finally letting go of the tension from the day.

The following morning was quiet but the tension I expected yesterday finally surfaced. I realized that Monty had stayed up much later than I had as soon as my alarm went off. He’s not a morning person on a good day, but he was particularly short and snippy about the alarm. His grumpiness continued even after he had his morning coffee and shower. I knew he was still trying to process yesterday and he wasn’t exactly thrilled about learning just how close Zach and I had grown. With that being said, he didn’t need to be snippy with me. We made it clear last night that there was nothing more than friendship between us and he seemed to understand. Looking back on his response however, he may have been a little too understanding. I decided it was best to let him cool off before broaching the subject again. Before we parted to go to school, he kissed me the same way he had any other day. I counted that as a small victory and light of hope that all was still good for us. On my way to school I texted Tony to see if he wanted a coffee, which he politely declined.

Arriving at Monet’s I ordered my usual, swapping Monty’s black coffee for a chocolate raspberry muffin for Tony. I thought he could use a peace offering for my being so short yesterday. And who says no to a free muffin?

Upon my arrival at school I quickly spotted Tony and Clay talking by his car. “Tony!” I called, trying to get his attention as I walked over. He looked up past Clay’s shoulder and waved. I held up the muffin bag when I got to them, weaving my way through the crowds of students. Why do people hang out in the parking lot here? Some things about this place still confused me even after the adjustment period ended. Clay smiled and waved as I gave Tony the muffin.

“Where’s mine?” Clay asked, his eyes shining so I knew he was kidding.

“Hmm… I seem to recall someone’s brother gets free leftovers, so I think you’ve had enough muffins man.” I laughed, shaking my head. Justin pulled up in the Prius citing forgetting his jacket at work the night before. Low and behold, he had a bag of muffins on his person. “Speak of the muffin man and he shall appear.” I laughed harder, pointing out the bag with my arm. Poor Justin looked so confused Clay couldn’t help himself and doubled over in laughter. Ah, brotherly love. Once he had recovered, we made our way inside to our respective lockers. Clay and Justin stopped at their lockers before joining Tony and I on the overcrowded waltz to my locker. Zach immediately caught my eye and arched his prefect brow as I opened it to retrieve my books. I shot him a confused look and shrugged, not understanding the unspoken inquiry nor noticing the absence of my favourite defensive back.

“I see she-Yoda got Yoda a muffin. Where’s mine Becca?” Bryce asked, smirking.

In unison, Tony and I responded “is that a crack at our height?” Bryce and the rest of the team looked surprised at our response but I caught Zach and Scott trying not to laugh. The suppressed laughter quickly died down as Cyrus came running over.

“Hey Walker, you want to call off your watchdog?” He seethed.

“What are you talking about man?” Bryce asked him, his pretty teeth showing in a smile though he looked confused.

“I’m talking about Monty giving my friends a hard time.” I froze at the mention of his name and did a quick headcount. Matt, Clarke, Scott, Aaron, Zach… no Montgomery. Fuck. Zach shot me a ‘now you see?’ look as my eyes widened. Waiting for someone to jump into action seemed to take forever. I couldn’t be first because that would be suspect. As his best friend, Scott was quick to step up and lead the group over to a growing number of students crowding in the courtyard. When students noticed the blue and white leather coming their way, the crowd parted quickly in hopes of avoiding teachers getting involved. Clay, Tony, and Justin hung back behind the group trying to pass off their interest. Zach and Matt, being the bigger members of our mismatched group got involved and pulled Monty away from Eric and Chad who were trying to protect Tyler. Cyrus jumped in and checked that his friends were okay. I felt dwarfed by the crowd until they started to disperse, realizing they weren’t getting any action this morning. So much for everything being fine.

[freddy-hughes]

Trials and Tribulations - Velvet Spinnerets Pt 2

Freddy crashed through the forest like a bat out of hell. 

His ursine form was both a blessing, and a curse. The thickness of his hide made the underbrush, and low hanging branches hardly more than a nuisance, but the clumsiness of his large paws made him stumble. He was fumbling through the web wrought trees, mindful of his steps as the spider had captured him that way before. However the skittering above his head did little to bolster focus: she was hot on his heels. 

“Why do you run, little cub?” She asked, voice condescending as she chased him. “Do you think the bear will save you now? Where is he, hmm? Do you see him?” 

Freddy didn’t bother to answer. He just ran. Massive paws pushed the thick brush aside, head ducking to avoid the webs, but his lungs were heaving. He hadn’t been in this form in years, and though it felt inviting, and gave him comfort he couldn’t help but feel just as helpless as he had before. Though he had large paws tipped with even bigger claws, and a maw with fangs cut to size, he didn’t know how to use them effectively. Instead he just felt like a bigger target. 

“What do you think you’re running too? There is nothing beyond this forest for you. Nothing worth going home too. Why do you bother? Give in, little cub. Give in, and succumb.” 

His limbs felt heavy. Whatever the Spider had done when she bit him it was now beginning to settle into his bones. He felt sluggish, and no matter how hard Freddy pushed himself it seemed as though he were running through thick mud mixed with clay. He couldn’t get away fast enough. Couldn’t run far enough. He felt himself start to slow down. Tears that his eyes could not shed burned at the corners, frustration tearing through his heart like white hot lightning. 

I just have to get home. Just a little further. Come on. Come on Freddy! Damn it, come on!!

He made it through the thick underbrush, only to find himself in a clearing of felled trees, their stumps covered in webs, and egg sacks. Death was heavy in the air here. It hung over the area like a dense fog, and sprinkled within the webs were the bones of meals long forgotten, those already finished, and the remains of fresh kills wrapped up in webs, and left to hang. His paws fumbled in the dirt to slow his momentum, legs flailing as he barely avoided crashing right into one of the webs. 

It was, effectively, a dead end. It was time to turn, and fight. Freddy whipped around, limbs feeling numb, and searched the canopy for the spider that chased him here. He couldn’t see her, the dense branches casting everything in obscure light. He knew she was there though. Slowly, Freddy moved around the clearing, head on a swivel, and when a branch cracked behind him, he turned, and wildly swung. His paw found nothing but air, and the forward momentum pitched him ass over tea kettle. Freddy fumbled to the ground, and laid there for a moment. His chest rose with labored breaths, eyes closed, and when he opened them he noticed the deep rivers of blood soaking through his massive furred arm. 

The wounds from where the spider had bitten him, fed off his life essence, had not closed. Instead they bled freely, leaving his brown fur soaked in the sanguine liquid, and his body weak. The small pool of it soaked into the ground around his paw, and though it took more effort than necessary to get back to his feet, Freddy did what he could. 

“How do you feel, little morsel? Weak? Like your head is swimming? It’s only a matter of time now. All I have to do is wait.” 

Freddy wobbled on his paws. The weight was too much to hold up, and his legs shook with the effort. He whipped his head from side to side vigorously, trying to clear the fog, and focus. It would dissipate for a moment, only to roll in denser, and thicker than before. So this would be it then. This would be the way it had to be. What the forest claimed, belonged to the forest. Freddy knew this. He had learned this. He thought he could change it. He couldn’t. 

“Come, and finish it then.” he called to the trees. “What’s the point in just waiting? Why don’t we end this now. Come on. Let it be finished.” 

She laughed, the sound echoing through the canopy almost mockingly. It came from every direction, the cacophony of a thousand condescending voices laughing all at once. If she had an army of spiders, then she had that. If they all descended on him at once, then that is how it would be. Though his legs wobbled beneath him, he would stand as firmly as he could. 

“What are you waiting for? Let this be done.” He tried again, and though his vision fell in and out of focus, he could see her massive body emerging from the tree line. She had forgone the earlier human visage, and instead stood before him in all her glory. Massive, larger than the human mind could comprehend, with hundreds of black eyes fixated on him. They were each an abyss so deep one could lose their mind if they looked within them long enough. Yet he knew they were all looking at him, and him alone. Massive mandibles twitched as though salivating, the large fangs glinting in the low evening light. 

“I haven’t had a meal fight as hard as you, little morsel. It’s been such a nice change of pace. Such a wonderful treat. It’s also been quite fun to see what they promised me on the other side. To see their little creation wander around, act the part of the mad fool, only to lure more, and more here to me.” 

If she could smile, she would be, and Freddy felt a shiver roll up his spine at the prospect of seeing it. 

“It would almost be a shame to kill you. You’ve provided me with such wonderful entertainment. I wonder how long I can keep you alive here. I wonder what would happen if I did kill you. Would their little wicker doll just fall apart? Oh that would be so gloriously wonderful. Especially if it happened at her house, don’t you think? I wonder if she would come looking for you. Oh that would be a delight. Let her find your bones picked clean in my webs…” 

She was stalling him. Waiting to let the venom takes hold, to fog his mind until he collapsed. What she didn’t realize, is that while Freddy was shaking, it wasn’t due to his beleaguered legs. He was angry. Furious really. Decaying ursine lips pulled back over yellow fangs, a growl from deep in his bones rumbling through his body. 

“Shut your mouth,” He growled, a threatening tone to his voice he didn’t think possible. “You leave her out of this. This is between you, and me.” 

Again she laughed. 

“Oh but that’s just it, little morsel. What makes you think you can stop me?” 

Freddy felt something inside him snap. Something he had long repressed. Something he didn’t think he had in him, because his teacher had taught him to quiet the primal side of their transformations. He had promised Freddy that his hands would only bring healing, and never harm, and Freddy had believed that. However, all those that took on the animal forms of the forest, knew that primal yearning lurked deep in their souls. The bear was no different. Whatever it was that sparked within him, now blazed to life like a wildfire. It shot through his veins, white hot, and everything seemed to blur as he roared so loudly his throat ruptured, sending blood, and spit flying. 

Freddy charged forward, rage blinding him. He barreled towards the Spider, everything but her grotesque carapace blurred around him. He saw her, and only her. The rest was red. He crashed into her with a resounding splat, the strength of his shoulders slamming into her legs in a vain attempt to topple her. She was much too big to take on her own, but her legs, and girth were a weakness. If he could take out her legs, he could get her vulnerable. Black legs skittered along his back, and sides, feeling him all over in an attempt to get a foothold. Fangs glinted against his face, but two massive paws pressed against either side of her mandibles. Freddy growled, the fires burning within eyeless sockets blazing with his emotional response. 

“Give in, little morsel,” She struggled against his paws to speak, but managed to get the words out. “You are nothing but a stone in the forest. Forgotten. You are but a memory no longer visited.” 

“I said shut your mouth!” 

Freddy dug his claws into either side of those twitching mandibles, and with a resounding roar, ripped them downwards. He felt the carapace rip asunder, the black goop she called blood spilling onto the forest floor. She howled in pain, legs recoiling beneath her, but those eyes stayed fixated on him. The mandibles were holding on by a mere thread, the two of them twitching awkwardly, and oozing the same black goop like saliva onto the grass below. She shook with rage, legs unfurling from beneath her, and pushing her back to her full height. The spider dwarfed Freddy, even in his bear form. 

“How dare you,” She seethed. “I’ll make sure you die painfully slowly in my webs, and when she comes to look for you? I’ll make her watch you decay even further.” 

She lunged at Freddy, massive fangs digging deep into the back of his neck as instincts made him duck his head low. Her legs wrapped all the way around his body, clamping down tightly to try, and pin him down. Her fangs punctured deep, on either side of his spine, but the sting of it invigorated Freddy further. Now that she was attached to him, she went where he went. So Freddy ran. He barreled through the forest in a way that would seem almost comical if he didn’t have a massive spider attached to his back. His legs were clumsy, purposefully crashing into rocks, trees,  trunks, the ground, or really anything that would potentially dislodge her. A particularly low hanging fallen tree came into view, and Freddy made a straight line for it. He would fit beneath it, but the spider atop his back wasn’t quite so lucky. She slammed against the tree, the force of Freddy’s forward momentum knocking her off of him with a sickening thud. Blood went flying as her fangs were dislodged, and though she skittered against the ground to try and find her footing, Freddy didn’t stop. 

The edge of the forest was right ahead of him, the webs having slowly begun to recede as he got closer, and closer to the edge of her domain. If he could just make it a few more feet, a little more, he would be safe. The spider was howling, wailing, screaming with a thousand voices behind him. The skittering sounds of her legs upon the webs above him were booming in his ears, frantic in her chase, but Freddy was getting closer, and closer to his destination. 

With the last of his energy, the venom coursing through his body twice over now, Freddy crashed into the clearing, and fell down a small incline. His body rag dolled, tumbling ass over tea kettle, until finally he landed with a sickening thud against the cold ground beneath him. Blood pooled around him, soaking the once pristine green red. He heaved, body shaking, and with the last of his energy felt the well worn cloak of the bear slip away. 

Freddy laid there on the grass for a moment, feeling it beneath his skin as he tried to focus on breathing. Everything felt fuzzy, far away, and spinning. He coughed, warm blood soaking his tongue as it dribbled down his chin. “Shit…” He whispered, those tears that stung at his eyes finally spilling free. “I just want to get home...please...please, I just want to get home…” 

With great effort, Freddy pushed himself to roll over onto his back. His arms rag dolled above his head, fingers twitching as the venom coursed through his veins. It would destroy him from the inside out, he knew this. He felt the fire of it burning away all sensations, and liquefying the muscles. The fox was right: he would die here in the forest, alone, and forgotten. The spider was right: he would now become a stone in the forest, visited, and then forgotten. 

The tears came endlessly now, dry sobs racking his body as blood pooled in the back of his throat, and threatened to choke him. He thought of happier times, days spent on porches watching the clouds. Tea filled mugs cradled between hands, legs tangled together, sharing a single blanket before the fire. Laughter, and happiness. Plans for a family. Giddily discussing names for future children. Tender touches in the low morning light. Things that could have been. Things that should have been. 

“I wish you would’ve listened for once in your fuckin’ life about venturin’ so deep into the forest on your own…” 

Her voice floats on the wind, barely audible whispers rustled between the leaves. He hears it so perfectly, and a sad kind of smile touches at his blood stained lips. He hadn’t listened. No matter who would warn him: Lydia, Grams, his mother. It didn’t matter. He knew the corruption was out there, he just had to find it. So he looked, and he looked, and wound up here. What arrogance. The guilt strikes him in the heart, rips what’s left of it asunder as new sobs mixed with wet coughs send blood splattering around his face. 

“I’m so sorry Lyds,” He whispers to the forest, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t listen. I should’ve. I’m sorry I didn’t make it home…” 

His eyes feel heavy, the feeling in his limbs having long since vanished. He lays there on the forest floor, looking upwards at the never ending dusk as the leaves sway in the breeze. It would have been pretty, if it were any other time. “I’m so sorry…” 

His eyes closed, the lids to heavy to fight anymore. It was time, he decided. What the Forest claimed, belonged to it. What it wanted, it took. He was no different, like the hatching on the ground, or the mother fox in the hovel, or the deer in the webs. It was time. 

A nearly imperceptible weight pressed against his chest. A wet nose sniffing at his face. Paws as light as feathers grew frantic, pushing, and digging against his chest. The nose grew more insistent, pushing against his cheeks, and licking up the blood in a vain attempt at healing. Soft cries pierced through the fog of his mind, and with monumental effort, Freddy peeked one eye open. 

Haskell sat on his chest, looking down at him with mismatched eyes: one blue, one gold. 

“Hey buddy,” He croaked, blood seeping into a river down the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry buddy...I’m so sorry…” 

“Come on Freddy,” The gentle voice whispered in his mind. “It isn’t time yet. Come on. We have to keep going.” 

“I know, buddy, I know...but...I don’t think I’ll make it this time.” 

“Yes, Freddy, you will. Through death, comes new life. The cycle never ends. Give unto the forest what it is due, but you are not due to it. Not yet. Get up. You are not done here. You still have to go home.”

Freddy laughed, softly, and with great pain. His eyes closed, squeezing more tears from his beleaguered eyes. “I don’t think I can make it home, Haskell ...not anymore.” 

The little fox sat atop his chest, tail wrapped around his body. He looked down at Freddy with sad eyes, watching him struggle to stay awake, and breath. 

“Though death may claim all things, it is not the end. New life springs anew. As the fires burn away the old, through the ashes the grass still grows. Though decay, and rot may take away the flesh, life flourishes above. You are one with the forest, and the forest is you. What the forest takes, it will grant anew. Have you forgotten this?”

Where his blood had pooled around him, grass had begun to grow. Where once decayed leaves laid beneath frost, flowers bloomed. Warmth radiated from the once cold earth, humming comfortably beneath him. Vines sprung from the fauna, wrapping around his arms, legs, and chest like a lovers warm embrace. The flowers bloomed along his chest, sprouting with life giving fragrance as they drank deep of his life essence. What Freddy gave the forest, it took, and returned to him. 

“I’m sorry, Haskell. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” Freddy whispered, eyes growing fuzzy. 

“Rest, Freddy. Rest, and bloom anew. What you have given, will be returned to you.” 

He closed his eyes, unable to fight it, but instead of a cold, dreamless sleep, he wandered verdant fields of ever blooming flowers, with the warm sun on his face.

[yumeironogenesis]

[Drama CD] Re: Phantom of the Masquerade Part 3: Aristocrats’ Masquerade

Part 1 |  Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Hey guys! it’s been over a month, I know. I have no excuse, I was just a lazy ass. But hey, better late than never! This 16 minute monster is all under the cut!

Characters

Kyoya Asahina as Louis

Hinata Sakuragi as Hippolyte

Kaito Shindo as Gustav

Subaru Jougasaki as Rudolfus

Jin Amamiya as Clovis

Jin: One two three! One two three! From the tips of your feet, take it slow and steady… Yes, like that! Smoothly get into your rhythm.

Jin: Subaru! Softer!

Subaru: Ah yes! One two three! One two three!  Then naturally turn!!

Jin: *claps* Stop! Stop! Subaru, you’re spinning your partner too roughly. A man should escort his lady delicately.

Subaru: Urgh... I’m sorry.

Hinata: Subaru you’re hella struggling. You nailed it much better before. Forgot the basics already?

Kaito: At this rate it’s a brawny waltz. No elegance at all.

Iori: B-brawny waltz… Pft, hahaha…

Hinata: Oh, this is rare. Iorin’s snickering.

Kyoya: The previous number’s intense dance moves are probably still stuck in his body. Subaru’s vigorous emotions and movements are his appeal, but now it’s getting in the way. Subaru, you realize you’re putting too much strength in your movements, do you?

Subaru: Yes… It’s in my head but I just can’t grasp the trick to it.

Jin: Hm. You might just not be aware enough that you are leading a woman.

Subaru: Huh?

Jin: In the masquerade scene, you should be dancing like the heroine you are leading is on stage with you. Your movements now look like you’re only dancing by yourself.

Hinata: Hm… Ok, then how about actually dancing with someone? Sis is in the office sorting out documents, so… With Kaito?

Kaito: Ha?! Why me?

Hinata: Your Amaterasu! Your elegant kagura dance was legendary.

Kyoya: Yeah, he was awesome as Amaterasu.

Kaito: That’s a different story! I don’t want some muscle head dragging me down. Besides, kabuki is much more suited for this. *points at Iori* This dude’s been an oyama [1] this whole time!

Subaru: Yeah yeah! If Iori becomes my partner, I think I can learn the tricks!

Iori: Why me…

Subaru: Please Iori! I want to be able to dance properly! Ok? Please!

Iori: I guess, if you say so…

Subaru: Hell yeah! Thanks, Iori!

Hinata: Hehe! Despite all he says, Iori is super soft with Subaru, right?

Jin: Alright, let’s resume practice. Subaru, Iori, are you ready?

Subaru: Yeah!

Iori: Yes.

Jin: Ok then, from the top! One two three! One two three! One two three!

Subaru: One two three! One two three! Then naturally turn!!

Iori: Urgh..

Subaru: Ahhh! Sorry, Iori! I stepped on your foot!

Iori: Females and males have different strides. Instead of trying to perfect your own dancing, you should think about how to lead a woman to make it easier for her.

Subaru: Got it!

Jin: One two three! One two three! That’s right, Subaru! Just like that! One two three! One two three!

Jin: Ok, that’s it! Subaru, it seems you got that feeling back.

Subaru: Yep! I’m good now! *walks over to Iori* Thank you, Iori! It was so easy to get into my role. Your movements were so elegant… I knew it, Iori is amazing! I wonder if I can do it too?

Subaru: *glides across the floor* Kinda like this? Weeee…

Hinata: Hahaha! Subaru! Ain’t you just wriggling?

Kaito: What the hell is that? You’re looking more like a clay statue!

Subaru: Eh?! I only wanted to do it like Iori!!

Iori: Wait a moment. Is that what my dancing looked like to you?

Subaru: Huh?? Iori are you mad?

Iori: No, I’m not.

Subaru: Then why aren’t you looking me in the eyes? You’re always doing that “averting your gaze” thing-

Jin: Come on guys, stop fooling around and let’s continue practicing.

Kyoya: Partner, huh….

Sousei: Hm? Kyoya, is something wrong?

Kyoya: No… I thought, why don’t we act out the ball scene with Iori acting as the follow?

Iori: What?

Kyoya: Jin-nii said that we have to act out the ball scene as if we are leading a heroine, right? So I thought, if everyone could practice their line of sight and stride with a real partner, then it’d feel more natural.

Hinata: Ooh! Kyo-chin, good idea!!

Subaru: Yeah, I agree! Let’s do it!

Iori: Wait, then what about my own practice-

Kaito: Well, it’s a good way to learn the ropes.

Jin: Yeah, sounds interesting. Hina, can you get me the audio player?

Hinata: Yessir! *runs to get player*

Iori: Hey, listen to me-

Kyoya: Alright let’s review the scene.

Iori: *sighs in exasperation*

Kyoya: In a certain aristocrat’s mansion, a masquerade is held. The eyes of the ball’s participants were all fixed on one beautiful woman. She stole the heart of the mansion’s phantom. That suffocating love brought tragedy. Hinata, the BGM, please.

Hinata: Yessir! Tuning in!

*BGM plays*

Kyoya: The mansion’s door opens and the heroine enters. Alright, start from Clovis’s line.

Jin: Alright.

Clovis: Welcome to the masquerade! I am Clovis. I am the host. Is this your first time at a masquerade? Haha, don’t be so stiff. First, won’t you dance with me? I will dance my finest dance for you. *they dance*

Clovis: You’re doing great. It seems like you’re no longer nervous.

Gustav: “Clovis. Would you mind introducing me to this beautiful woman?”

Clovis: “Yes, of course. She is the young mistress of the Darchen family.”

Gustav: “Darchen family? I see. She has the eyes.”

Gustav: Young mistress, do you not like dancing? Would you fancy dancing to a song with me? Come here. *they dance* I’m sorry for the late introduction. I am Gustav of the Renier family. It seems I was right to come to tonight’s masquerade. To think I would be able to meet a fine lady such as you… Haha, your embarrassed face is cute. How about it? After the masquerade, just the two of us…

Hippolyte: Gustav! I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight. Can we talk for a while?

Gustav: Hippolyte! Can’t you see? I’m spending my time with this beautiful princess.

Hippolyte: Oh? Isn’t today’s princess different from yesterday’s? It’s just as the rumors say. You sure are a busy man.

Gustav: Yeah, well, not as busy as you, of course. Princess, it pains me, but I have to take my leave. If fate guides us, then we are sure to meet again. *walks away*

Hippolyte: H-hey! Gustav! Ah… He left. We were unable to talk again tonight…

Hippolyte: Ah, no, it’s not your fault. I just wanted to talk about our families. Besides, he isn’t the only [young master of] Renier. If I could just talk to Hughes. I’m sure… Ah, I’m sorry! It’s a masquerade but I’ve only been ignoring you. If you don’t mind, can I ask for this dance?” *song changes, they dance*

Hippolyte: There’s no need to be afraid. Just let your body and your mind go. You are very good at the waltz. If I could only let time pass as I dance with you…

Hippolyte: Isn���t that Hughes? Young mistress, I am sorry, I have business to take care off. Excuse me. *runs to Hughes*

Rudolfus: *approaches her* Young mistress, are you alone? If you’d like, would you dance with me? In truth, I haven’t found a dancing partner yet. *song changes* Hehe, this is my first time at a masquerade. It’s very interesting that we can’t see our partner’s face. Haha! I’m glad. What a waste of a perfect night it would’ve been if I couldn’t dance. Alright, lend me your hand. *they dance*

Rudolfus: It feels quite strange. Is it because of the mask? I wonder how you’re smiling right now? To think that a mask would vex me… If you would allow me this indulgence, I’d like to face you… without the masks.

Louis: *comes running* Rudolfus! So this where you were. There’s a little hiccup over the-

Louis: Oh? Who is this young mistress?

Rudolfus: Hey Louis! It seems this is also her first time at a masquerade.

Louis: *grabs her shoulders* Ah… So that’s how it is.

Rudolfus: Louis. What’s wrong?

Louis: I finally understand. This masquerade was held so that you and I could meet. Do you think I’m joking? Then, please look into my eyes. They say the eyes hold the truth. Even when covered by a mask, my feelings can never be hidden. The moment I saw you, you stole my heart.

Rudolfus: Louis… don’t tell me you…

Louis: That’s right, Rudolfus. She is my fated person.

Rudolfus: I… see… Then I shall leave you with my friend here. I’ll be taking my leave. *walks away*

Louis: I hope I didn’t make my best friend uncomfortable. [2] *song changes to Behind the Masquerade* Ah, the song changed. May I have this dance? Together with you, let’s dance as if in a dream. *they dance* I wish I could dance with you forever. May this song, may this day never end. I cannot help but hope.

Louis: Is something wrong? Huh? You see a figure in a black mantle through the window? Have you heard of the rumor? They say that a phantom haunts this mansion.

Louis: Ah, did I scare you? It’s just a rumor. If there were really a phantom, I will protect you. That’s why tonight, do not leave my side. I don’t want this sweet dream to end just yet.

Jin: *claps* Alright! That’s it!

Hinata: Wah! It was a piece of cake thanks to Iorin!

Subaru: I also felt like I could dance the way I wanted to!

Jin: Yeah, it wasn’t just Subaru, everyone was moving very naturally.

Kaito: Well, it doesn’t hurt to do things this way sometimes.

Kyoya: But, as expected of Iori. Even the intricate moves and expression were just like the heroine’s.

Iori: Yes. If I am to do something, I would not hold back, no matter the role. Are you satisfied? Then, let’s continue to my prac-

Sousei: Everyone! It’s time for the magazine interview. There’s a photoshoot too. Can we head out now?

Kyoya: Huh? It’s that late already? I’m sorry guys! I forgot!

Subaru: Wahhhh! Wait!! I’ll go change! I sweat a lot!

Hinata: I’ll go fix my hair, too! I can’t do a photoshoot looking like this!

Kaito: Aight, I’ll go take a shower.

Jin: Eh? I don’t think there’s enough time for that….

Sousei: Kyoya, did you forget about the interview? Didn’t I send you a reminder email yesterday?

Kyoya: Sorry! We got too into practicing with Iori’s follow…

Sousei: *sighs* I swear…

(in the background

Sousei: Kaito, where are you going?

Kaito: I said, I’m taking a shower.

Sousei: There’s no time for that! No time! No time!)

Iori: Hey… what about… my practice…..

Notes:

1) Oyama are men who play (most of the time almost exclusively) female roles in kabuki.

2) The original audio was 気を付けて, which means “to be careful/considerate”, in this case, of Louis’s feelings. Though uncomfortable is definitely not accurate, it means more like “holding back” in this case, but I couldn’t make it flow very well in English. Especially with the way Louis said it.

3)  Soooo there’s def something going on with Hippolyte and Gustav, I feel it in my bones.

4) I know for the dancing scene I have to imagine a girl dancing with them, but knowing it’s Iori I just-

Thank you for reading!

Buy me a coffee!

[tinyliltina]

Prompt 8: Rules

What gave him the right? Chris huffed and slammed the door behind her. What gave him the damned right to tell her what to do? She stalked to the edge of the front patio, ignoring the length it took her just to reach the first step. He wasn’t her boss, her mother, or family! Hell, he’d tried to kill her! What gave him the right to worry about her now? Scowling, the human plopped on the edge of the first step. Shimmied to the edge, and dropped. Repeated that three times, once per step. Then she was on the ground.

Chris dug her tennis shoes into the dirt. For a moment, she watched it billow around her feet. How long had it been since she’d been on the actual ground? Too long. A frustrated growl left her lips, and she kicked at the soil before continuing her warpath. It’s dangerous, my ass! She cast a glance to the house behind her. Twenty feet away and she was fine! What was Kellian so worried about? She rolled her eyes and hiked onwards, deciding to stay straight for now.

As she walked, Chris took in the sights and sounds of the outside. Things she’d taken for granted. The sounds of birdsong, feeling of insects wings, the fresh breath of wind on her face. Little things she'd missed since moving in with a giant. A rude, bossy, and overprotective giant. The further she walked, the more relaxed she became. Her hands slid into the pockets of her jacket, and she walked with less purpose. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to walk this way.

Eventually Chris stopped. Tired eyes traced the trees around her. How long had she been walking? Had it been this dark when she’d left? She brushed a wrist over her damp forehead. Well, shit. Maybe she could retrace her steps. Yes, that sounded smart. Chris turned around. So far, so good. There was a path.

The further Chris went, the less confident she became. In her rage, she’d forgotten grass shifted when undisturbed. She continued regardless, now paranoid of every rustle around her. Chris quickened her pace the darker it got, until it was almost black. Her legs pumped like an engine, her feet skidding like tires with no grip.

When she crashed, it was with a yelp. She gasped as the air left her lungs. Her head smacked the ground, throbbing the instant she raised it. Once the world stopped pulsing, Chris pushed herself up. She hissed. Her legs stung, ankles throbbed, and head pounded. But she couldn’t stay down, no. Staying down meant she was easy prey. Being human made her a treat. She grimaced and stood, limping forwards.

The direction didn’t matter anymore. If she grit her teeth, the pain faded just enough to focus. Anything was better than out in the open. As long as she was out of sight, she was out of mind...hopefully off the menu, too. Focus on moving, don’t stop moving. Her legs shook. Don’t stop moving. You’ll be okay.

How did she end up on the ground? Chris raised her head and winced. Right, legs gave out. That happened sometimes. But she had to move, she had to hide. Stubborn tears burned her eyes. Her fingernails dug into the dirt, and she silently pulled herself forwards. Kellian was right. Her chest dragged against rocks, mud, and grass. She was just a human, she wasn’t going to survive out here. The fact she’d lived over eighteen was a miracle.

Chris’ head lowered into the dirt. She sobbed. It hurt, but she couldn’t stop. She never stopped. She’d had to go since her mom passed. She’d gone for so long, so fucking long. The one time she didn’t have to run, the one time she was safe, she ran away. Just when she was safe, somewhere she was cared for, she ran.

“Oh, looky here~.”

Chris hiccupped. She didn’t, couldn’t raise her head as something moved towards her. The creature behind her chuckled, baritone voice sickly sweet as he spoke.

“Hm...a human. Scared too, wonderful~.” It purred. Naga? Maybe, Chrish didn’t hear any footstep. “It’s awful late for you to be out, little lady...are you lost?”

Chris’ answer was a whimper. If she could just stand-

“Where are you going?” Scaley smoothness grasped her waist. “I’m just trying to be friendly, and when I do you wiggle away? Awful rude, don’tcha think?”

She was lifted like a ragdoll. Limp and lifeless. Her eyes barely met his before it drooped, and her tears washed away the caked dirt. The naga was large, its scaled half nearly twice the length of Chris’ body. Red, ravenous eyes raced the curves of her sides like an artist would his muse. Chris sniffled, trying to look away. A clawed finger drew her gaze right back to that face, a sinister smile taunting her in the light of the moon.

“Don’t cry, hon~” the naga’s tongue clicked. “You’ll taste salty.” Fingers thicker than her arms brushed at her cheeks. Chris tried to flinch away, but the naga was persistent. “This won’t do at all...no, you’ll need cleaned up.” More coils moved, cocooning Chris in their cool grip. The naga slithered, holding Chris up and away from the ground. Chris only sniffled, empty eyes watching the ground moving beneath her. Maybe this was it. Maybe she’d die tonight. Her eyes fluttered. Why was she so tired?

“...now with some greens, that’d be delightful~. That iron from the blood-...”

When she woke up, they’d stopped. She’d been asleep? Her head was fuzzy. That naga… Her eyes opened. The naga was sitting away from her, gaze focused on a stream. His pointed ears weren’t turned in her direction. Did he mean to set her down? Probably. She was too tired to run, and in no condition to fight him off.

“You’re awake,” it stated. Chris winced, and it turned to face her. “Good, now hold your breath!”

The naga’s coils returned to her. Without warning, without fanfare, she was tossed into the lake. The water hit like a ton of rocks, knocking what little breath she had out. It swallowed her up, soaked her clothes, chilled her bones. Exhausted as she was, Chris clawed towards the surface. She didn’t need to see to know where up was. The water bubbled in her ear, whispers of her demise. Precious air from her lungs were replaced by mouthfuls of pungent, oily water. Somewhere above her, she heard a rumble and a scream. She wasn’t entirely sure it was her. What did it matter?

It sounded like something dove into the water. Her time was up. The naga was retrieving her to further dinner plans. If she could cry, she would. But she was tired. Something warm and heavy hooked her waist, and she was yanked upwards. She didn’t fight it.

Her head broke the surface. Chris’ first instinct was to retch, and she did. Whatever was left in her stomach and lungs burned her throat, and fell into the water. She coughed, and threw up again. Was someone speaking to her? That’s what it sounded like. Her body sank into the grip of her captor. If she was dinner, she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of fighting, even if she had the energy.

“Chrissy?”

That wasn’t the naga. Chris opened her eyes, looked down. The thing holding her wasn’t a tail. It was a finger. A very, very big finger. Her eyes traced the digit to the arm it was connected to. Up the shoulder, up the neck. Past pierced lips, beyond the ringed nose. There they were. Those big, stupid, beautiful blue eyes. Chris smiled.

“Oh, thank god-” relief painted the giant’s face. “Had me worried, kiddo...fuckin’ell, ye look rough…” He scowled. “The hell were ye thinkin’, runnin’ out like that? Had me worried half t’death!...been lookin’ all night-an’ yer bleedin, gods kiddo, what got inta ya?”

But she didn’t care. Kellian’s voice faded to white noise. Chris melted into his hold, letting herself lie in his palm. It was warm. Smelled like home. She sank into the skin, and closed her eyes.

If this was death, she was grateful it was comforting.

Chris groaned. Her head ached, and her arms were clay. Each breath was heavy, but she was alive. Slowly, her eyes opened. She was in a bed. Not her bed. She sucked in a breath. The naga? Her head turned. Light filtered in from a window at her left, casting the messy room in a warm light. Piles of clothes littered the floor, and the air smelled like tea. She was home?

Kellian. The name pinged her mind, grabbing her attention. That was right. He’d saved her from the water, he’d found her… After she’d stormed out, after she’d called him a controlling asshole...he’d found her. He’d saved her. She groaned again, trying to bury herself in the bed sheet. Some friend she was.

“Yer up,” his voice was somber. “Feelin’ any better?”

She turned her head. He was in a chair, legs spread and arms crossed atop them. Even like that, hunched over and head low, he towered over her. Her mouth opened, but she had nothing to say. Tears slid down her face, and she smiled. Kellian shook his head, watching her with a scowl.

“Don’tcha go cryin’ on me,” he hissed. “Yer na’ off th’hook.” But Chris didn’t care. She sniffled again, nodded, hoping he’d go on. He did. “Kiddo, th’ell were ya thinkin’, running off?”

He’d asked her that last night. Why had she run off? Her gratefulness faded into something pained. Not angry, and not upset. But pained. Did he really not know why she ran?

“Th-” her voice cracked. Her throat was raw. Chris swallowed, wetting her lips. “Rules.”

Kellian’s brow raised. “Rules?...ya mean, m’rules?” He frowned when Chris nodded. “Chris, I put those in place t’keep things from last night happenin’-I don’t wanna have ‘em just as much as you, but-I can’t-” Kellian lowered his head to his hands. He didn’t want to lose her, too. Chris knew that; he’d already lost one sister.

“Not...fa...n...not fair,” Chris muttered. And it wasn’t. It wasn’t fair she was stuck here. Wasn’t fair he’d tried using crude traps and poison on her. Wasn’t fair he tried to keep her safe after all the danger he’d put her in. He knew that. She’d told him that. “I want...out.”

His gaze fell heavy on her. Chris’ stare was just as weighted, and twice as sincere. Kellian opened his mouth, shook his head, and rubbed his head.

“I know ya wanna be out more, Chris-but it’s...it’s na’ safe, y’know?” Why did he keep saying that? She knew it was dangerous, she still had the scars from life outside. He didn’t have to live life in fear for almost twenty years. She gave him a hard stare. “What d’ya want me t’do?…”

Chris tried to sit up and reply, but couldn’t. She was too tired, too sore. Kellian rumbled at her side and suggested she rest. When she felt better, they would talk more. Reluctantly, Chris agreed. For now, she needed to regain her strength.

It took a day for Chris to feel like herself. She walked with less of a limp now, and her voice was getting stronger. She and Kellian spoke about why she ran away. He’d been worried when she said she’d sneak out again. However, he relented when she insisted it was important she had her space.

“Fine, fine...ye stay out when it’s light then, yeah? No wanderin’ around in tha dark.”

Chris nodded. “I’ll do my best to be home before dark.”

“An’...since yer so insistent, maybe I’ll fetch a up some li’l hidin’ places. That way, if ya gotta, ye can go somewhere safe. Fair?”

“Fair!”

They shook on it. Technically, Kellian shook Chris, but the intention was clear. They spent the rest of their day resting, as Chris was in no mood to play. She wanted to feel close, safe, and relaxed. As annoying as the rules were, they were fair. For now, she’d abide by them...probably.

~~~~

So holy hell its been a minute huh

Tina did original content hoho boy-and she’s proud of this one fellas

Involving my oc Chris and my bud’s ( @oliverthesaltyedgelord ‘s) babe Kellian in our pest!verse, where humans are treated like edible vermin and are generally dislike. Shenanigans ensue.

This was so much fun to write and thanks to Ollie for letting me abuse the shit outta our characters hahaA angst time baby.

PLEASE REBLOG OR COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED-thanks!!

[hismissharley13]

Recompense IV

“Why don’t we dance again huh?” he suggested in your ear.  A shrill whistle had you stiffening up, pecking him on the cheek before turning to Tig.  He crooked his finger at you to come and you obliged.  As you neared him, the come-hither motion stopped and he extended his middle finger at Kozik with a lazy smile.  He grabbed your hip and pulled you forward to straddle him, one hand running straight between your legs,

“Hey mama,” he purred, “you been having fun honey?”

You chewed your lip, one of Tig’s favourite looks, “Yeah I have, have you?”

“Oh little bird, nowhere near enough yet,” he growled, biting the lobe of your ear.  You shifted slightly at the pain, shooting pleasure straight to your core.

His fingertips teased along your folds, barely concealed by your short skirt.  Tig didn’t care though, he’d fuck you completely naked in front of everyone if he had the choice.  You automatically started rolling your hips, surreptitiously at first.  You glanced around, but only one set of eyes was still on you.  Almost murderous in their expression, you leaned into Tig and whispered,

“Baby we’re being watched,”

“Yeah, I know.  Let’s give him a show,”

“But…” Tig silenced your question with a look,

“Little birds don’t ask. Little birds do as they’re told.” He pushed you back to your feet, “Little birds don’t use people’s rides as goddamn sunbeds,”

You blushed a little. So this was retribution, you thought. Tig stood up and put a hand on your waist, kissing you hungrily, “go take off those panties and bring ‘em to me,” he instructed.  You nodded, heading off to the bathroom.

In your haste, you hadn’t checked that the lock had caught on the door.  Kozik slid through as you had your underwear at your knees. You froze, bent at the waist, and dragged your eyes up to his, your mouth in a perfect ‘o’.

“Aha, they drop for the right demand I see? So, tell me, is it one a night or…?” he asked casually, gesturing in the direction of the club.

“Excuse me?” you straightened up, wadding the black material into a ball in your fist.

“When you fuck ‘em.” He shrugged, “do you pick one for the night or do they take turns?  How do you work it?” he approached you slowly with a small smile.  “I’m curious,”

“Who-what?!” you demanded, incredulous.

“You’re a good lookin’ girl, must be a pretty decent fuck for them all to share you like that, so hows about I get a taste,”

“Nah, you were fun, blondie, but I don’t fuck around.”

“Jax don’t need to know,”

“Tig would,”

“Tig?!” he spluttered with a laugh, “Oh baby, in that case,” he made to grab you, but you were ready for him.  You swung your fist in an arc and it landed square on Kozik’s pretty mouth.  He reeled back in shock, giving you time to stride out and back to the party.  You felt a warm glow in your chest as you tucked your knickers into the inside pocket of Tig’s cut.  Jax intercepted you by the bar, noticing your change in demeanour,

“Hey darlin’” he draped an arm over your shoulders as he pulled you close, “What you been up to?”

“I went to the bathroom, Jax.  Why so interested?”

“Because I’ve just seen the face of the guy who you were in there with,”

“Misunderstanding, sweetie.” You beamed at him, “It’s been explained in simpler terms for him,” you pressed a kiss to your friend’s lips.

“You let me know about any trouble, okay?”

“Always, Prince,” you winked at him.

“Oh and (Y/N)?” he called a little louder,

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you take ‘Sergeant’ to bed before you fuck him this time,” he winked at you. You blushed furiously, flipping him the bird as you grabbed a couple of glasses from the bar.

“Where you been, little bird?” Tig dragged you straight over to the wall, sitting you on a stool and standing between your legs,

“Bathroom,” you replied simply, feeling his fingers tighten on your thigh you added, “Sergeant,”

“Took a while,” he observed, “not doing things we shouldn’t, were we?”

“No, Sergeant, I’m all for you,” you fluttered your eyelashes at him coyly.  His fingers found your pussy, making you gasp as he pushed a finger straight inside,

“Mmmm, all for me and all wet, I like it,” he purred, “Open your mouth.”  As you obliged, Tig took a slug of scotch and spat it into yours, allowing you to swallow before his lips clamped onto yours and kissed you ferociously. He started moving his finger in and out as his mouth worked along your jaw, nipping and sucking along your neck and down along your collar bone.  You felt the need grow as he kept moving the single digit slowly, not fast enough to satisfy yet not so slowly that it didn’t make you ache for him.

“Oh Sergeant, fuck me, please,” you whimpered in his ear, “I need you,”

A lazy surprise showed on his face, you were usually the last to beg.  He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the stool.  Knowing that Tig’s exhibitionism would not be satisfied by going back to your room, you led him outside to the parking lot.

“Little bird is feeling pretty needy right now, hey?” Tig teased as you got outside.  You didn’t answer, rather dropping to your knees as you undid the buttons of his pants and exposing his hard cock.  You sucked him hungrily, driven on by the moans your actions drew from his throat.  He stilled your head and guided you up to your feet.  He walked you over to one of the visitor’s bikes and you had a feeling you knew who’s it was.  Ripping your shirt open, he tugged down your bra to free your breasts, instantly covering one with his mouth and the other with his hand.  As he rolled the nipple between his teeth, you let out a small moan as the sensation travelled like a lightning bolt to your clit.

“Lay back,” Tig instructed, guiding you onto the cool leather of the seat.  He lifted your leg to hook over his elbow as he lined the tip of his cock with your pulsing folds.  Pushing in slowly, he allowed you time to adjust to the stretch.  He stroked in and out a few times, savouring the feeling of you adjusting around his shaft.

“Tell me what you want, little bird,”

“I need you to fuck me hard, Sergeant,” you practically whispered.  The edges of his mouth curled up into a salacious grin and he drew back, driving his hips hard into you.  Your head fell back as he pounded into you, the slapping sounds accompanied by your involuntary moans of pleasure as he quickened the pace,

“Sergeant, I’m – I’m gonna-“ you gasped as your body jerked beneath him.

“I know, baby, give it to me,” he purred.  You stopped fighting the sensation and relaxed your body, the spring coiling so tight within you it almost hurt.  Tig moved his fingers to your clit and expertly manipulated the bundle of nerves, lifting you into his arms as he rode you through your orgasm, the deeper penetration causing you to cry out as your body shuddered.  He backed you against the wall, hooking your legs around his hips and continued bouncing you on his cock until he came, biting into your shoulder as he did.  Breathless, you remained still for a moment, staring into his blue eyes until he kissed you, soft and loving.  He eased your legs to the floor one at a time and tucked himself back into his trousers. You pressed your thighs together as you felt the hot sticky aftermath start to run.  You readjusted your bra and despaired at the remnants of your t-shirt. You shrugged out of it and Tig balled it up, using it to clean you up gently before tossing it on the seat of the bike,

“Call it a souvenir for the prick,” he sneered, “C’mon doll, the party’ll be missing us,”

“Uhm, my shirt?” you gestured to your nearly-naked torso.  Tig grinned again and shrugged out of his cut, zipping it up over you,

“You look good in leather, baby,” he kissed at your neck as he walked into the bar behind you.  Kozik was standing by the door, looking mad.

“On my fucking bike?” he hollered incredulously over the music.  Tig just looked pleased with himself,

“Hell of a ride,” he taunted, smacking your ass as he returned to the couch.  You settled on his lap again, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m not finished with you, Trager,” Kozik snarled.  Tig just looked over again, running his fingers along your arm,

“Yeah, y’are.  Touch my Old Lady again and it’ll be more than a split lip you get,” he pointed at Kozik then grasped your chin, turning your head towards his kiss.  He stroked your cheek softly,

“I’m assuming that was the delay earlier?” he muttered, stroking your hair fondly.  You nodded discretely, face falling slightly.  You knew what this meant.  You hated the thought of him fighting, let alone watching it. Standing up, you kissed his cheek,

“Come to bed when it’s over,” you whispered, nibbling at his ear. He nodded, crushing you against him as he stood.  He took off his rings and placed them on your fingers for safe keeping.

“It won’t take long, doll.” He promised, knocking back his whiskey and kissing you again.  You watched him disappear out of the front door after Kozik and a couple of Samcro and headed off to your room.

You freshened up in the bathroom after undressing and donned one of Tig’s plaid shirts, crushing the soft brushed cotton to your face and inhaling his scent.  True to his word, it wasn’t long before he came in, breathing heavy and flopping down onto the bed next to you,

“Everything ok?”

“I kicked his ass,” he announced.  You grinned,

“My hero,”

You hopped off the bed and went to fetch the first aid kit from the bathroom.  As you cleaned the grazes on his face and hands, you kissed each mark with soft lips.  You replaced his jewellery on their respective fingers and he took one back off. You frowned at him questioningly until he slid it onto your ring finger.

“You’re officially my Old Lady,” he shrugged, “Clay told me to marry ya,”

You smacked his arm, grinning at his cheeky smirk, “Yeah, you could have asked me properly, asshole!” you complained.  He laughed,

“Call it recompense for treating my bike so badly,” he raised an eyebrow, “or I could punish you some more,”

“Can I have both?” you asked shyly, pressing up against him and looking up through your lashes.

----

@hanaissupergirl

[tuliptx]

Lexi loves the club and the club loves her.. maybe a little too much. Will she find her place or is this the kind of love that kills? Rated M for sex and adult themes. (a charming mix of relationships including Jax, Happy and David Hale)

Read CH1 here!

Lexi huffed, turning and moving toward the club house. Happy’s dark obeservative eyes followed her, he’d usually be watching that perfect round ass swaying in those denim cut offs, but instead all he could see was the way she was limping and trying to keep the weight off her left foot. Tig took a moment to watch the car turn out of the lot before rushing after his little sister. 

Happy took a second to gather himself. He didn’t know what the hell was up with Tara and Jax, but that relationship was shitting all over the club and bleeding all over Lexi- which in his mind was completely unacceptable.

He lit his cigarette and continued to stare at the Club House door. Arriving late last night, he hadn’t noticed that the door had been painted. A reaper stared back with cold empty eyes. It was beautifully done in blue black and white, shaded to perfection. It was well edited, not too much detail not too little- he wondered if one of the guys had done it. He flicked out his cigarette and braced himself before walking into what he was sure was going to be a tense clubhouse.

He froze in the door way not sure what to make of the scene in front of him. Lexi was leaning over the counter, standing on the rung of the bar stool, trying to reach a bottle of Jack that the Prospect was trying to keep as far away from her as possible. “It’s 9 in the morning Lex, Gemma told me not to give you booze until after 1!” She growled and snarled, these are special circumstances Sac, give me the fucking bottle.” Half Sac was struggling to hold her back without hurting her further and looking desperately at Tig who was trying hard not to laugh. “You don’t have to die this way Sac, give me the bottle!” Sac stretched a little further causing Lexi to shift and put weight on her bad leg. She hissed in pain but refused to stop her siege. “She’s hurt Prospect, be fucking careful” came a sharp bark from Tig who had moved to retrieve the first aid kit from the other side of the bar. While the Prospect was distracted Lexi had taken the opportunity to slip under his arm in one fluid movement and to pull another bottle out from under him.  

Lexi smiled hopping up onto the bar and taking a long victory pull straight out of the bottle. She leaned her head back letting out a long sigh and then gently rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You know about thirty minutes ago I thought this was going to be one of those really good days.” Happy had grabbed a beer and was now leaning against the bar. He had placed himself a few feet away from her, between where she sat gingerly poking at her leg and the door. Tig approached her slowly with an ice pack and gauze in one hand, his other held out in a calming gesture. She glared at him slightly. It was like watching someone trying to convince a wild mountain lion not to eat them. “How you doing there Rocky Balboa?” Lexi scoffed, “Pfft if anything I’m Manny Pacquiao, I put that bitch down.” Happy took a long sip from his drink trying to hide the grin on his face. Tig smiled proudly at his sister, “yeah you did, you handled your shit like a pro.” They tapped fists, something they always did to celebrate victory. “So, what hurts?” asked Tig delicately as he tried to gently maneuver her left boot off. She pulled her foot away, not letting him, of course because she was stubborn like that. “Tara’s face.”

Yup, that did it. Happy shot beer out his nose, laughing, hard. Lexi gave him her brightest smile and he couldn’t help but shake his head. While she was distracted Tig grabbed her ankle holding it still despite his laughter and yanking off her boot. She hissed at him and froze. “Yeah that’s what I thought,” muttered Tig as he revealed an obviously swelling left ankle. “Mother fucker,” she grumbled as she took another pull off the Jack. Tig rubbed his forehead as he applied ice to her ankle and tried to dab at her bleeding thigh. “Hey Sac, go get Chibs.” Sac stood there for a second looking conflicted. “What is it now Prospect?” demanded Tig. Half Sac flushed as he looked towards the hallways, “Chibs is in there with Emily Duncan. He said not to bother him unless someone was trying to burn the club house down.” Tig rolled his eyes standing from his stool in front of Lex and tossing the pack at Happy. “He’ll come running for her you dumb shit. Happy take over for a minute. Tig cuffed the back of the prospect’s neck and led him around the bar and toward Chibs’ room.

Happy sat down on his bar stool in front of the luscious Lexi and gently picked her ankle up examining it. After determining where the swelling was the worse he gently placed the ice on the outside of her ankle and set both in his lap. Lexi swallowed hard taking a long pull, desperately trying to pull herself together. The feel of Happy’s strong rough hands brushing against her leg brought back heated memories.

Happy locked eyes with Lexi as he slid his calloused, masculine, strong right hand under her left knee. Lexi couldn't help the sudden intake of breath, her lips parting ever so slightly. The room suddenly felt way too small. No man had ever made her nervous like Happy did. She had no idea what to do with that. It had been years since their one night. One night of mindless pleasure. No names had been exchanged. No club affiliation ever discussed. That night had gone completely unacknowledged even after they realized. Verbally at least. It was for the better. 

Thank God he wasn't around more because as is, these moments are getting far too frequent. As his hand slid slowly but with purpose down her calf lifting her ankle onto his jean clad knee she held her breath. He lifted it just off his knee sliding the ice pack under to cool it from behind where it looked to be the most bruised. "Hand me that gauze." His voice was slightly deeper than normal- less raspy. She nodded dumbly and then, and then the most embarrassing thing ever, she let out a loud hiccup that was so violent it actually caused her to bounce slightly off the bar. Lexi was mortified; she couldn't look up at him. She hadn't even had warning enough to cover her mouth. Her face immediately began to heat up and she handed him the gauze as quickly as she could before taking a long pull from the bottle of Jack at her side tossing the lid across the room. This day had been exhausting- she had every intention of making it all go away by drinking as much of this bottle as she could. 'At least the hiccup had killed that moment before anyone could walk in on that super sexy eye contact,' she thought.

Her leg was so smooth and warm from the sun. Happy's mind went blank when she bounced- he'd been captivated by the jiggle of her DDs. Really, he had to get ahold of himself. If Tig kept catching him staring like this- it'd be his nuts. Especially now that she had an old man. His eyes wandered over a fresh piece of ink on her calf. She was lucky her boots had protected it. A beautiful reaper curved along her calf. The style very reminiscent of the one painted on the door- this one held more color. It was centered in a golden frame with the shadows of crows dancing behind its head and in its extended palm instead of the traditional anarchy sign it held a glowing sacred heart. He had to rein this shit in. Happy didn't like being out of control of anything- with Lexi he felt he was out of control of EVERYTHING. From the moment he arrived in Charming five years ago only to learn that sweet wild delicious piece of ass he’d fucked on the road was actually Tig’s sister, he’d been fighting to get a solid grip on things. She never followed direction, she was always putting herself in bad situations, she was ever chasing adventure and danger. That he was attached to her in the slightest was dangerous. EVERTHING about Lexi was dangerous for him.

"So what was all of that about?" he distracted as he began to gingerly wipe the blood off of her leg, putting slight pressure on the scrapes to stop the bleeding. "Fucking idiot probably should have done this first," he muttered. Lexi laughed, "yeah well you know my brother- more bullets then brain." Hap smirked nodding his head and continuing to work on her- long golden soft warm- leg. "That stick in Tara's ass has been super-sized lately. It's starting to affect the functionality of her brain." Hap glanced up at her, "but why? Why you?" Lexi scoffed taking another pull off her bottle, "I honestly don't know where this started. She's always hated me, but since she came back- she wants me dead." She took another pull, "Jax definitely isn't helping things. This reminds me I have to find a new place to hide my key." "Wasn't your old man mad when he showed up like that?" Lexi almost shot whiskey out her nose- which burns for a very long time if you've never done it. "What old man? What have you been smoking Hap and can I have some?" Hap reached into his pocket with his left hand using his right to apply light pressure. He fished out a joint and handed it over and she giggled in delight.

After a deep inhale, holding the smoke in her lungs, "What're you talking about Hap?" her accent continued to thicken with each vice she partook in. He gently tapped her tattoo and then ran a finger firmly down one side of the frame. "OH!" She was becoming more animated; her hands were now flying as she was speaking to him causing some of the booze to slosh out. "No, I got that just for me. It's not a crow. I got shot six months ago, Clay and Gem and Tig and the boys all said I earned my own reaper. I had to make it a little more girly though. I'm just not the kind of girl to rock anything overly masculine." Happy's brain had stopped on the shot part, "see this is what I'm talking about! How the hell did you get shot?" Lexi's eyebrows furrowed as she leaned forward, "what you're talking about?" He shook his head, "How the hell did you get shot?" She leaned back eyeing him suspiciously but in her buzzed state quickly let it go shrugging and smiling, "drive by." She unbuttoned the top button on her blouse allowing her to shift the collar so he could see the vibrant pink shiny new flesh where she had taken the bullet. And also a good flash of skin and pink lace. Happy shook his head. Focus. He took the bottle from her taking a long pull only to realize she’d already knocked back more than half of it. Well that wasn’t good. 

Focus. He hadn't heard of a drive by. "Drive by where?" "Oakland." "What the fuck were you doing in Oakland?" "I had a meeting with a gallery in Oakland. I sold three paintings- Jax took me to a bar after to celebrate." "What the fuck?"

Jax should know better than that.

He had put Lexi in danger.

He had started this thing with Tara too.

Lexi was the artist of the door and the tattoo. Well that made her hotter. Fuck.

Happy filed it away at the look of confusion on Lexi's face. Her blue eyes were sharp, even in her inebriated state. He schooled his features trying to look casual. He'd have to ask around about this when she wasn't around. Something about all of this didn't seem right. What the hell was Jax thinking- or better yet what was Jax thinking with?

 Before he could even process all of this new information two things happened: One, Tig, the Prospect and Chibs came laughing and rough housing out of the dorms; two, the front door to the club house was thrown open with a loud BANG. Gemma cut a formidable figure in her bitch heels; large black hobo bag slung over her shoulder.

"Little girl, you have a lot of explaining to do!" Lexi was immediately off the bar forgetting her swollen foot and leaving the half smoked joint in an ash tray. The pain immediately reminded her why she’d been smoking it in the first place and she reached out gripping Happy's shoulder for support. He stood and maneuvered her to his stool. The way the two moved with each other was so natural- the all-seeing mother bear quirked an eyebrow, not missing a thing. Happy pulled up a second bar stool and lifter her foot; replacing the ice pack, only when she was situated did he step away. Then again Alexia is family and Happy was notoriously protective of SOA family- especially the women. Though, no one would ever label him a nurturer. Gemma filed this new observation away for a later date.

"You fucking broke the doc's nose! You better have a damn good reason!" Gemma scolded charging toward her beloved pseudo daughter. "Gemma you know me better than that! The bitch started something she didn't have the ass to back up." "Why the fuck would she do that Lex? Jax was at your house last night! That's why!" Happy’s shoulders tensed and he leaned back against the bar staring at the juke box intently. Lex rolled her eyes, "that's an issue you should take up with your son." Gemma threw her purse on the counter, "I would if I could but he's too busy talking Tara down." Lexi threw her hands up, "this is nuts! Why do I have to defend myself when I was just defending myself!" "Lex, you know I’ve always thought you were better for Jax then that little tart, but when you sleep with another woman's old man she has every right to give you hell. You screwed up you should take it!" Lexi, now seeing red, threw that mother fucking bottle of booze against the wall behind Gemma who covered her head and stared at her pseudo daughter in shock. "I didn't do shit!" The entire club was silent in the wake of the bottles shatter.

Tig came up behind Lex quietly, putting an affectionate and comforting hand on her shoulder. Her chest was heaving from screaming and a tear of rage sank down her cheek. Lexi was not an angry girl but she had a temper that she struggled with at times- one that had been passed down to both of his children by Dan Trager. Chibs turned to the Prospect, "go get me medics bag." Half Sack nodded and slipped out of the room silently, relieved to be anywhere but here. "You know what Gem?" came a low soft lilting Texas accent, "If I had slept with Jax, yes, Tara would have every right. I have never slept with Jax. I don't intend to sleep with Jax. I. Don't. Want. Him." She took another long deep breath and the queen opened her mouth as if to say something but quickly shut it. "Jax," Lexi was disgusted, "broke into my house last night. I had no idea he was there until the morning. I am sick,” her voice hitched, “I am sick and tired of your fucking son putting me in the middle." Lexi looked up from where her eyes had been glued to her lap. Making eye contact with Gemma, Gemma felt her spine go cold at a look that was violent and fed up. "Tara jumped me- pulled me off the bike- Jax did nothing- I defended myself. That is the last time I am saying it to you Gemma. Believe who you want."

Gemma sat down in the nearest chair with a dramatic sigh. "Well why didn’t you just say so?”

Cueing up Ch3 for later this week. To make up for the delays. Sorry guys! I have over 20 chapters written and ready to publish but I’m taking a second pass over them to try and weed out the weird quote mark switcheroos for random characters. If you have any comments or would like to be added to a tag list- just let me know. 

@lunarbear93

[othercat2]

Fic: Build a Life from Scratch 1/?

In which Bro has an existential crisis, the Grand Highblood is in the middle of having a Crisis of Faith and the Demoness is going to cut the next bitch who calls her “Handmaid.”

Clan of the Cave Hobbits

So, the first thing is, you wake up. Starting a story with someone waking up is a cliché. It’s not a thing you’re supposed to do. But this is you. Waking up and blinking at the sunlight between the trees. You are lying on the ground, which feels soft and damp. At ground level are ferns, various shrubberies, mosses and flowers. You don’t know the names of anything you’re looking at. The trees are not easy trees; maple, or oak. They are definitely deciduous though, and the climate is temperate (as far as you can tell from ironically watched nature programs).

You are as naked as some short asshole in a fantasy novel where citizenship means you can wear clothes.

Your head is empty.

You have to think about the latter for a moment. And maybe the former, because well, naked in the middle of a mysterious forest. This is generally a thing that happens in certain fantasy novels you may have read when you were a kid in your favorite foster home. (Not that you’d ever admit it out loud since that foster home also involved getting dragged to church every Sunday. Also, Pam kept trying to get you to give up Cal.) You will go to great lengths for talking unicorns, horses, and bizarre sexual interactions. The games may have also piqued your interest in the series.

You’re wandering in your head, and nothing is pulling you back to the subject, which is naked, in the middle of nowhere.

You sit up slowly, taking stock. You are entirely in one piece, no scars, and your hands free of calluses. (You remember being run through with a sword, the knowledge everything had fallen apart, the thing in your head snarling.) And your head is completely empty. And Cal is nowhere in sight.

Your chest tightens and you fold up, you feel hot and sick, sweat sheening your arms, sliding down your back. Cal is gone and your head is empty. You think you’re maybe going to throw up, but there’s nothing to throw up so you just gag on acid and try to breathe while it feels like your gut has turned into a nest of snakes. Your face is wet with sweat or tears and you rock back and forth for a while.

The moment passes, the feeling of sickness fades. Vague thoughts surface: the kid, where was the kid? There was a kid, right? The kid and the weird floating bird kid who tried to help you against the chessman-bird-dog-thing. You think of Texas summer heat and the roof. And you think about the kid.

(You think about Pam frowning over the lack of food, the lack of safety and security. Pam is long dead and wouldn’t understand what you were trying to accomplish. Wouldn’t understand the game that would render everything she believed in irrelevant. You don’t know why you’re thinking of her. You haven’t thought about her in years, but now you can almost see her; a short, round woman with thinning hair going gray at the temples. She’d had brown eyes.)

Where was Cal? Why does your head feel empty?

Your stomach also feels empty, and you aren’t sure what’s safe to eat around here. You rise up on legs that feel shakier than they should. The ground is uneven, but you try to walk. The undergrowth prickles against your skin, and you hope you aren’t brushing through the equivalent of poison ivy or sumac. There’s insects and birds, and the occasional fast, bounding shape heading away from your presence.

(You are more than a little worried about predators, and about lacking any kind of protection from same.)

Downhill leads you to the sound of water and the thirst that had been burning away at you for the past however many miles makes you hurry toward the sound. When you reach the bank of the stream you drop down to your knees. You’re about to scoop up a double handful of water when someone throws a fucking rock at you. It hits you in the back and you yelp, whirling around.

There’s a girl. Something like a girl standing a few yards away. She’s tall, has gray skin, huge curling horns that look too big for her to be standing under their weight. She has short black curly hair that looks like it had been mostly hacked off with a knife and dark eyes--you’re too far away to make out their color as anything other than dark. She’s wearing a leather skirt and tunic that has a feeling that’s more functional than sexy. There’s a bundle of some kind at her feet.

“What the fuck?” is the only thing that comes to mind to say.

“I should say that,” the girl says. Sort of says. Under the words you’re hearing in English are words in some other language you don’t know. “You want to be sick, go ahead and drink, foul yourself from both ends.” She smiles like a razor.

“Water’s clear?”

“Upstream a big prey beast fell in the water, too big for hunter beasts or carrion beasts to carry off easily. It rotted and sent foulness downstream. You drank and then gut pains started. You took fever and saw shit and broke your head falling down.” She says it not like it’s something she’s predicting, but like she’s telling you that this is something that already happened.

The realization is somehow more disturbing than anything else at the moment. “Well aren’t you a Good Samaritan,” you say slowly. “Think you coulda told me instead of throwing a rock?”

“No,” the girl says, smiling like she thinks she’s said something that’s fucking hilarious. You would definitely beg to differ on that. She picks up the bundle at her feet and tosses it gently toward you. It lands about a foot away. It’s a bundle of leather. You stoop to pick it up and find it’s a leather skirt and tunic like the one the girl’s wearing, and an honest to god flint knife. The blade’s about six inches long, and the hilt is wrapped in a leather cord. “Use ties,” she says, showing you a place in the waistband of her skirt that has a “ties” and a flint knife similar to yours held in place by them.  

“Okay.” So the skirt ties off with a leather cord draw string. There are ties in the waist band for apparently knives and you think maybe also pouches or something. The tunic sleeves end at about the elbow, and it laces up the front with more leather cord. No shoes are included in the ensemble, and you can see that the girl isn’t wearing any.

“Come with me,” she says.

“Sure why don’t I follow the mysterious gray demon lady off into the unknown,” you say, even though you don’t have a lot of--any--options right now.

“You have somewhere else to go?” She asks, and heads off into the woods.

At a loss for anything else to do, you follow her. Up close her eyes are a warm garnet red and her sclera area gold yellow. It turns out she has a waterskin. The water is warm and tastes like ass, but is hopefully free of anything that sounds like dysentery from hell. You try to hand it back to her, but she lets you--makes you--keep it.

You walk, and the sunlight above the trees shifts considerably. Your feet hurt, your legs hurt, and you go uphill and then downhill at least three times, and then turn something like a bend that opens up into a clearing. The ground dips down and then back up again, and where it comes back up there’s something like a roof sticking out of a hill. Near the house is a garden, and what’s either a well or a cistern. “You’re kind of tall to be a fucking hobbit,” you tell the girl.

“Sleep under trees, if you don’t like,” she says, and heads down to her house.

You follow, because you might as well, having gone this far. The door is pretty big, so is the actual house. As you get closer, you realize food is being cooked, and you are even hungrier than you were when you first woke up.

The girl opens the door to her house and ducks inside, saying something loud that’s just a buzz in your ears. When you follow after her you have a moment of disorientation because there are two girls, absolutely identical standing by a fire pit in the center of the room. Then there’s just one girl. “Of course leave me to explain to the stupid clown,” the girl says glaring that the space formerly occupied by the other girl.

“Hard crowd tonight,” you say.

“Not you,” the girl says. She tilts her head deeper into the house. “Stupid high blood clown.”

This doesn’t explain a lot. The room’s lit by the fire in the pit, and the room is ventilated by the smoke hole and what look like a wicker grille covering holes in the roof. Meat is cooking on skewers over the fire, and something’s bubbling away in something like a leather pot. “Hot rocks from the fire,” she says, though you’d already figured out it was something like that. She shows you where to find what passes for dinnerware in the Neolithic: horn spoons and leather bowls, flat wood planks. (“I’ll figure out clay eventually,” she grumbles.)

She has you wash your hands twice before you touch the dinnerware or eat. (Cleanliness level: several hundred points above Clan of the Cave Bear.) The soap is soft and horrible and it feels like it’s trying to eat the skin off your hands. She only gives you a little of whatever had been cooking in the pot, a nutty smelling mush. “Wait, see if it makes you sick.” The meat is apparently safe for you to eat. You sample the food and wait a while to see if it makes you sick. When it doesn’t make you sick, you eat all of it.    

You both eat in silence at a table that’s basically a section of tree trunk polished smooth and set up on smooth river rocks. She doesn’t ask questions any more than her twin sister had. It’s some variation of either she’d not curious or she doesn’t care. You don’t ask any questions either. It’s quiet, except for the crackling of the fire, and the sounds of whatever kind of crickets and frogs live out in the forest. You jump a little and then pretend you didn’t at the sound of something howling off in the distance. (The girl doesn’t react.)

The interior walls of the house are flat slabs of stone fit closely together without mortar. The floor is loose, coarse grained sand. It looks like someone took a piece of charcoal and sketched wild, abstract images on the walls. “Sooner or later he stop bitching about pigments,” she says. “Then my house look like fucking clown temple.” She rolls her eyes.    

“Shit hole could use some color,” grumbles a voice like a bass drum for the dark of the next room. (Rooms.) “You bitching about my art again, Handmaid?”

“You call me that again and see how I serve, Highblood,” the girl snarls.

The voice laughs, and a skittering feeling runs over your skin and down your spine. “Who fuck’s out there?” the voice asks. “That ain’t you Demoness. That ain’t a fucking troll. This mudball have sentient life after all?”  

“Has sentient life, just not here,” the girl--Demoness apparently--says. “Not yet.”

“Then who the fuck you breaking loaves with, geographically inclined rustblood?”

“Stupid fucker who breaks his head open three weeks from now,” Demoness says with an indifferent glacier coldness you can’t help but admire. “Just woke up, so takes too long to make him right.”

“Woke up. You mean like you and me woke up?”

“Come out and see, or are you sticking to your pile all spring like you did all winter?”

“Like you were traipsing out and about in the dark season ice,” the voice grumbles.

“Come out,” Demoness says. “I would threaten to give him your pile, but the rot from your maggot filled corpse would kill him, and my work all gone to waste.”

“You are the nastiest little bitch,” the voice says.

“Weak, hiding in your miasma all winter made you weak,” Demoness says.

“Motherfucking pale for you too,” the voice replies. There’s movement coming from the next room, followed by grumbling and cursing.

“Demoness” is pretty tall. Six foot eight, and not thin. She’s big and curvy with a lot of muscle mass under a pad of fat. Her skin has a kind of armored look to it, and had a smooth gleam that made you half expect to see your reflection in it. What comes out of the back room is maybe ten, eleven feet tall, and that’s not including the towering horns and wild, long hair like unto an eighties hair band. This guy is also broad as a house and his eyes are an indigo-purple that almost seems to glow. He’s wearing the same kind of skirt the girl is, along with something that’s more like a vest than a tunic. The armored look Demoness has is even more evident with him. He looks hard, almost segmented, though he doesn’t have the same gleam Demoness has.

“Highblood,” Demoness says.

“It’s a soft little thing, isn’t it?” Highblood asks, looming over you. He reaches out a hand and--

--you try not to be there--

--but he’s faster than you--

--And you freeze while he manhandles you. You’re frozen stiff and anything you might say is frozen behind a stone in your throat. Your heart however is going like a jackhammer. He moves your arms and legs, studies your joints, he touches your skin. He is so, so much colder than you. It’s weird and clinical, and it is way too much, he is way too close and he is manipulating your limbs like he wants to figure out the best way to tear you apart.

He lets you go finally, and you just kind of drop in a folded up heap on the floor. Highblood starts to rumble something to Demoness, but you don’t understand what he’s saying. Everything is a white washed blur and there’s a knife in your hand and you don’t understand anything. You uncoil at Highblood and lunge knife first--

And he isn’t there. You whirl, knowing, and this time you connect. It’s just a scratch, barely a scratch for this giant, blood thick and weird purple-blue. Then you are flying in the air and land on the far side of the firepit and Demoness holding back the giant with two slim white wands that are flickering a deep and furious red. “Yes poke at a damn sting tail and you’re surprised it stings! Stupid highblood fucker!” She screams up at the giant.

The big guy backs up, hands up and palm outward. “Not touching him, not touching you,” he says. “See, this is me backing right the fuck up. No need for the ashen conciliations”

You would very much like to abscond, but you’re knocked breathless and your mind is still crawling and shuddering from the giant touching you, from attacking the giant. You don’t think anything’s broken; it was just one hell of a belly flop. Anything you might say at this point is stuck behind the stone in your throat. You fold up and shake, your brain a tangled mess, listening to the shouting that is only occasionally comprehensible.

Demoness is snarling at Highblood. Highblood is talking fast and low, and under it is this deep humming sound that you are feeling more than hearing. You have no idea of what is going on or why he’s gone from fighting with you to trying to calm Demoness down.

You realize that’s exactly what he’s doing. It hadn’t been the giant who’d knocked you across the room, it had been the Demoness. The giant, Highblood, treating him (you) like a curiosity, like something to be studied, taken apart, broken. She’s angry because she hadn’t brought Highblood a toy, she’d taken in someone who was like them. (You don’t see how. You really don’t see how.) She’s angry because Highblood had been fucking around and underestimated someone because they weren’t another troll. Weren’t another highblood. Highblood was a fucking moron who could have been killed and he was just fucking around like he thought it was a game.

Demoness was right, Highblood is saying. He’d acted like the creature was tribute instead of a person. It had been so fascinatingly trolllike. He hadn’t planned on scaring it. He wasn’t going to hurt it. He had definitely underestimated it. Breathe girl, put down the fangs. Go check on the human, he’ll get his penitent ass out to the well for an ice cold scrub up.

“Go drown,” Demoness growls, and Highblood absconds. Then she comes over and pokes you with one of the white wands. “You alive?”

The stone is still pretty firmly lodged, so you grunt in more or less an affirmative, and bat at the wand. She steps back, and walks into the back of the house and emerges with a huge pile of bones, furs, rocks and who the fuck knows what else hovering behind her. This is not any more weird than anything else that’s happened since you woke up this morning. She opens the door and tosses all of it outside. “Clean your stinking pile!” She screams out the door, and shuts it. She glares at the door, and then turns back to you. “You tired?”

“Yeah,” you manage to croak.

She helps you to your feet, and takes you into the back, which is deeper into the hill, and a little lower than the main room. It’s a short tunnel that turns branches left and right. She goes right and the tunnel widens out into a room. Same stone walls and sand floor. Against one wall is a pile of dry grass covered by furs. There’s also a couple of shelves set in the wall with baskets full of clothes, bone, stone and wood tools. A few feet away from it is an area that looks like it was previously occupied by a similar pile with similar shelves and baskets. The light in the room is from little round candles set in niches in the wall.

Demoness grabs some furs from the shelf, measures out a space about three steps away from her pile, and dumps the furs on the sand. “Sleep here,” she says.  

You collapse down into the furs and drop right over the edge into sleep.

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