#oh and copper the dog

[reddeadvoid]

Sometimes a marriage is you, your spouse, his ex, their adopted street urchins and sometimes a dog.

#hosea matthews #bessie matthews #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 #my art #oh and copper the dog #i don't really have time to make anything but i think i was about to explode with stress and naking this helped A LOT

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

Temporary Fix! || skirt chaser!Johnny

Rating: E Words: 4.1K~ CW: smut smut smut, a bit of BAD dirty talking, oral sex (m!receiving), protected piv sex, breath play (if you squint), praise kink (lots of 'that's it' + 1 'good girl'). Tags: afab!reader, fat/chubby!reader, you/your pronouns, one-night stand but more like one-week stand. Summary: Johnny's a dog who can't keep it in his pants. a/n: this is for my chubby gals and also for my @crashtestbunny because I wanted her to be able to read this and not have the previous cheating plot in place.

The thing about soldiers… Is that they tend to have lovers. As in, for as long as they stay deployed in a country, they’re bound to get themselves a toy they can have a shag with. Sometimes it’s prostitutes. Sometimes it’s regular women.

This is a lot more common for enlisted soldiers in the Army. The types that get deployed for 9 to 18 months at a time when they're very young, fighting in a war that keeps them far away from home for so long that they “can’t help” but seek affection from local women.

But that’s not to mean Special Forces soldiers, especially those kept on ‘stand by’, always ready for a quick deployment that, at most, lasts a month or two, don’t do it. They do.

John Alistair MacTavish is a grown man, not one of those young lads of 18, recently out basic, who need a whole to bury their cock in or else they'll die. But you wouldn’t think that, seeing as he's constantly seeking out action on the side.

He goes on and on about how childish those stupid recruits are, about some of his old mates who'd shag anything that walks... Only to then leave base with his team to end up at some bar or club in civvy clothes, find a nice bird or bloke (he’s not picky) and go home with them.

A hypocrite, any normal person would call him, a womanizer, a skirt chaser, a player... He’s not above calling himself that. But sometimes he just needs to decompress! That's his excuse anyway. Decompressing. Letting out pent-up aggression. Orgasms are great stress-relievers...

And as useful as his fist is, he’s not a sixteen-year-old anymore, rubbing one out in his bathroom during a quick shower. That just doesn’t cut it anymore. If he has the option to shag someone, why wouldn’t he?

Now that he’s in the 141, the philandering just gets much worse. Whenever they have downtime on a foreign location somewhere, a night free before they return to England, or a night before they get the go-ahead to go on a mission, what have you… He’s out getting himself a shag.

And, worse of all, he brings Gaz along. 

Gaz doesn’t have the same issue, unlike Johnny, he can actually contain himself. Maybe that makes Gaz a bit bad too, because he knows that Soap has a tendency to chase like they owe him money... And he still enables him. He still goes out with his mate and they both get wasted and laid without a care. 

Maybe Gaz doesn’t think it’s his place to intervene, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to.

Camaraderie and all.

That’s how they ended up in a club downtown, flashing lights all around them, loud reggaeton playing through the speakers, men and women around them with more skin on display than they had covered rubbing their bodies, sipping drinks, spilling them over each other… Oh, the wonders of a Colombian night club.

They saw you before you saw them. Kyle tapping at Johnny’s shoulder as their eyes perused the space individually, then, he drew the Scot’s eyes to you, standing with your friends, laughing, drinking, softly swaying to the music. 

Soft curves in a copper-colored dress that left little to the imagination, clinging tight to a round ass and a thick belly, the hem constantly pulled down by your hands, as it insisted on rolling up, up, up, exposing more of your smooth thighs than you wanted it to. 

It didn’t stop you from still rolling your hips to the music, however, turning the fixing of your dress a near impossible task, repetitive, useless, and maddening, Sisyphus-and-his-stone.

Turning to each other, the two sergeants hands shot to the middle of their bodies, a quick rock-paper-scissors ensuing… which Johnny won.

And that’s how you ended up turning around to the sight of a foreigner with the broadest shoulders, thickest arms and pecs, and bluest eyes you’ve ever seen… As well as a mohawk, something you didn’t often see on… anyone, really.

He was a soldier, you could tell, even out of uniform. Not your first time seeing one, this being a city with a military base attached, and certainly not your last time being approached by one.

Oh, how soldiers seem to love fat women. You’ve experienced your fair few, many of them assuming your weight would equal desperation for love and affection, which would result in you accepting a rushed wedding for the sole purpose of getting him out of the barracks. 

But you’re not desperate. Other than for a good lay, maybe.

“Erm… Hola.” The soldier in front of you says, blue eyes locked on your face for a surprisingly respectful amount of time considering the sinful cleavage that this dress and your bra give you. 

His Spanish has the thickest accent you’ve ever heard, meaning he’s not American… But his pronunciation is off, so he’s clearly an English speaker. Though he’s not English either, you can tell.

“I speak English. Hi.” You told him, watching as he let out a little sigh of relief. Then, the corner of his mouth popped up in a dirty little smirk. 

“Well, tha’ makes it easier. Hi.” He replied. “I saw ye from over there… Was wonderin’ if I can buy ye a drink?” He offered. Only then did he allow his blue eyes to slither down, down, down, trailing every inch of your exposed skin down to the black ankle booties you’re wearing, thick, square heels to prevent your hamstrings from feeling the pain of stilettos the next morning.

“Why?” You decided to ask him with a cocked brow, forcing his eyes to shoot upward to meet your face again, locking onto yours with a surprised expression.

“Why, what, pretty thing?” He replied, his own brows, thick, straight, rising up to meet his hairline. He’s confused, his eyes blinking a bit. His intentions had been clear as day. Obvious enough for you to pick up on, but you’re playing dumb, or maybe hard to get. 

“Why do you wanna buy me a drink?” You asked him as you dipped your head to the side, your eyes slowly trailing over every inch of his handsome face. Those blue eyes of his are locked on you, pupils slightly dilated, hands hanging off his hips, fingers looped onto the belt loops of his jeans.

“Because you’re proper beautiful.” He replied. Your cocked brow and unimpressed glances up and down, cause him to continue. “And I’d love to take you home, find out what you’ve got on under that dress, and make sure your neighbors hate you from today onward.”

His words are crude, his voice loud and crass, disregarding the public space you’re in, the fact that there are others around, not just your friends, but complete strangers too. Maybe he’s hoping they won’t understand English. But they do. Hell, your girlfriends look at you and exchange coy looks with you, before them, and you, break into a fit of giggles.

He looks at them, noticing they caught what he said, even through the loud music, but then looks at you again. “So? What do you say?” His brogue is getting easier and easier to listen to with every word he says.

Rolling your head to the side, your squint your eyes at him and then shrug. “Do you have to buy me a drink for that?” You challenge him, your eyes snapping back and forth between his own, almost taunting him with your inquiry.

“Not if you don’t want to.” He tells you, eyes lit ablaze and a smirk on his lips.

So, you simply grab him by the arm, bid farewell to your friends, with a wave, and grab your clutch from the table, before dragging him out of the club.

Johnny was expecting a flat, a home, maybe even a university dorm room considering your age. What a surprise it came to him to find you taking him up to a hotel. Not that he’d complain when he noticed the large king-sized bed and the large view, providing a beautiful view of the illuminated city of Cartagena.

His hands were on your broad hips before you even got to closing the door, his mouth clashing onto yours as he pushed you against the wall by the door, calloused hands already sliding over the slinky fabric of your silky dress, tugging it up, so they could slip underneath.

His tongue pushed into your mouth, wet and drooling, saliva traded between your mouths as his strong fingers caught hold of a greedy handful of your ass, digging into the supple flesh and groaning in delight at just the feeling of you at his fingertips.

Your own hands already slid up and around his torso, feeling him up through the fabric of his t-shirt, before sliding down to pull the navy blue fabric out of its tuck into his jeans, rolling it up to expose a strong, bulky body covered in a generous amount of body hair.

Your lips broke apart for a moment, only long enough for you to take off his shirt, tossing it onto an armchair in the corner, and for him to unzip the side-zipper of your dress, taking it off you too.

Then, he grabbed you around the thighs, causing you to shriek, as he bounded for the bed, dropping you so hard onto it you almost swore you’d bounce off. Still wearing his jeans, he slotted himself between your parted thighs, his body bending over yours.

His stubble scratched your neck as he kissed you all over, licking stripes of your skin as his hands pulled off your boots, unfastened your bra… They were surprisingly nimble for such a hulking man. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Johnny cooed as he let his eyes run down your body.

He dragged his mouth down from your neck, across you clavicle, over one of your breasts, and caught your nipple between his teeth, beginning to suck on it, noticing how you hissed a bit, leaning back on your elbows as he did so.

One of his hands caught your other breast, grabbing and carefully kneading it between his fingers, as his eyes shot up to your face, blue irises beneath a pair of dark eyelashes, fluttering slowly as his pupils blew out from how horny he was. His other hand found your black panties and pulled them aside, (more so ripped them with how aggressive he pulled on them), the rough and calloused pads of his fingers catching your lips immediately and beginning to slide up and down, running over your slit.

The moment his cracked fingertips grazed your clit, you whined, your legs spreading apart even more, your body jumping a bit. “Fuck…” You grumbled under your breath, your eyes locked on his face and the way he eagerly played with your nipple. 

“Relax.” Johnny told you once he let go of your nipple. Then, he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, collecting some saliva, before letting it drip onto your slit, his fingers catching it and spreading it quickly as he resumed playing with your clit, hand craning in order to push a finger inside.

“Oh fuck…” You moaned softly, hips bucking up against his hand, following his ministrations as he pushed a second finger inside of you and hooked them up to graze your g-spot, pumping them in and out, the rugged feel of his cracked fingertips drawing a surprisingly pleasant sensation of pleasure from the depths of your soul.

His other hand moved away from your breasts in order to undo his belt, leaving it to hang around his waist as he also undid his jeans, sliding them and his boxer briefs down one-handed, in order to allow his cock to spring free.

Your eyes lock onto it as he continues fingering you, a bit sloppy and rough, his palm pressed to your clit and his fingers constantly drawing a ‘come hither’ motion inside your wet walls.

His cock is stubby, shorter than some of the men you’ve been with, but so thick you can’t help but wonder just how he’ll make it fit inside of you, and how straining the stretch of it will be. It’s heavy too, uncut, hanging down even while already full-mast, too heavy to spring back against his belly button. His balls are heavy too, full, round and strained as he continues to play with you, watching your reactions to his touch.

“You like what you see, huh?” He asks you, noticing the way your eyes don’t slip far from his cock before returning to it, watching it lay against one of your smooth thighs, the ruddy color and constant twitching only bringing more attention it as it rubs against your skin, dripping pre-cum over your stretch marks.

“Mhm…” You reply softly as your hand reaches down to tug at it, carefully wrapping around it and drawing it up and down over his length, only letting go to cup his taut balls and fondle them a few times.

“Tha’s it…” He murmurs and hisses under his breath as he looks you right in the eyes. “Wanna be good f’r me?” He coos at you, and you nod in reply as you bite your lip. “How about you get on your knees and let me see how you suck me off, hm?”

Nodding, you untangle yourself from around him, his fingers slipping out of you, as you took your spot on the floor, the soldier having been caring enough to toss a pillow from the bed onto the floor to cushion your knees.

He sits on the edge of the bed, strong, muscular thighs spread open, as you sunk your mouth onto him, without so much as a second’s worth of hesitation. The stretch as you tried to swallow as much of him as you can tugged at the corners of your mouth, making them feel a bit sore, your jaw already protesting at the size of him. But that doesn’t stop you.

You start lapping at the underside of his cock eagerly, wetting him as much as possible to make sure you could continue taking him down your throat. The sounds he was making were sinful, low groans and grunts, hissing through his teeth, one hand carefully fisting the bed covers.

He carefully gathered your hair away from your face, gripping it one handed. “Tha’s it… Greedy thign you are, wanna take all of my fat cock in your mouth, hm?” He goaded a bit as he looked down at you between his legs.

Any other time, any other place, any other man, you’d already be pulling off him, getting dressed, telling him to fuck off… But something in this soldier’s voice, in his accent, the growl behind his voice, the spark in his eyes… 

Maybe you are just desperate for a good lay with the thickest cock you’ve ever seen… But you don’t complain. You simply nod at him and bobbed your head even more enthusiastically, lips struggling to glide up and down his length, spread open sinfully to accommodate his size.

“Tha’s a good girl…” He praises, his free hand coming to grip you at the back of your neck, tugging you slowly, forward, to make you swallow more of him down into your throat, making you gag and sputter on his length, sloppily drooling around the size of him, saliva drooling down your chin and onto the carpeted floor of your hotel room.

“Pretty fucking thing… Gonna make that make-up run, hm?” He offers as he pulled you off and back onto his cock, moving your head for you. “Show some attention to that pretty pussy of yours, go on.” He demands, causing you to nod.

One of your hands found your wet slit between your legs, sliding two fingers inside, which felt like not nearly enough after having had his own, and considering the fat cock that would soon replace them, but you’d make do. 

“Both hands, don’t be coy now.” He added. Your eyes widen, already anticipating the loss of balance that’d come from the lack of support from your free hand holding you up on the bed. But you do as you’re told, trying your best to keep a perch on your knees as your other hand starts slowly padding at your clit, rolling circles with it.

When you inevitably lose balance, as you knew you would, the soldier simply pulls you forward against him, making you bury your nose against his pelvis, swallowing his cock in its entiry, causing you to choke and gag, trying to catch a breath through your nose. He, in turn, lets out a loud groan of delight, eyes rolling back, as he feels the warm wetness of your throat.

“Keep your hands where they are.” He demands of you, preventing you from trying to pull away and find balance again with your hands on the bed or the floor or his thighs. You can barely do much more than nod against his hip.

He hooks a leg over your shoulder, pinning you close to him, while his hips begin to rock into your mouth, blindly and sloppily, making you gag more and more, more saliva slipping down from your parted lips, making a mess of him and yourself. “Tha’s it… yeah… just what I fuckin’ needed… Such a good girl f’r me…” He grunts as his hand swipes your hair out of your face as it slips from his grip.

“You like this?” He asks you as he abuses your mouth and your throat, while you sputter and try to fruitlessly breathe between each thrust of his into your throat. Nodding pathetically, mouth to full to speak, you whimper against him, making him shiver and shudder. “Of course you do… greedy fuckin’ mouth…”

He only pulls you off him after another couple of minutes, which felt like an eternity, allowing you to catch your breath only for long enough for him to pull you onto the bed, bending you over at the hips, presenting your round ass to him.

“Mmmmm, look at you…” He grunts out as he ruts his cock between your ass cheeks while tugging your head back at the scalp, causing your back to arch ever so slightly, your tits still pressed against the bed covers. “Round fuckin’ arse… Gonna love see it jiggle f’r me…”

He lets go of you again for a moment only to paw at your ass cheeks with one hand, while the other blindly looks for his wallet in his jeans. “Find me a condom, will ye?” He asks as he tosses the leather wallet next to your head, while he steps out of his jeans, underwear and boots, finally.

While looking for the little clip pocket containing them, you spot his military identification very briefly. It makes you realize you didn’t even ask him his name… Nor did he ask for yours. A green and white striped card titled ‘British Army’, with the name ‘John MacTavish’ and some extra info you don’t really pay attention to. John. That’s his name…

Once you pass him one of the silver wrappers, Johnny rips it open and puts on the slick condom quickly, barely waiting a moment before slipping himself inside of you, down to the hilt in one swift motion. You find yourself squirming against the bed covers with a whine, while he groans loudly behind you.

Although the stretch was still wildly bigger than any other man you’ve been with before, it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as you expected it too… probably because you were wetter and more eager than you expected.

He starts rutting inside of you immediately, huffing through clenched teeth as his big hands grip your ass cheeks and keep you spread open. His fingers dig deeply onto your extra fat, squeezing and kneading it, his blue eyes glued to the way your puffy lips part and stretch to swallow him whole. “Beautiful fuckin’ sight…”

“Fuck… Just like that… Don’t stop…” You beg him and whine loudly, fisting the white bed covers and digging your nails into them, your face resting on them sideways, sliding back and forth with each thrust of his.

You’re sure the hotel staff is going to have a field day washing the duvet, your make-up already staining the white fluffy fabric, sliding down with the sweat, and dragging across with each motion of your head.

You can barely speak or think, moaning in turn with him, each thrust of his causing you to croon and whimper in delight, his fat cock hitting you at every possible angle and rubbing every inch of your walls, the veins dragging against your g-spot, the condom barely there.

“Yeah… ye like tha’? Huh? Ye like it?” He coos at you, already slightly out of breath, hips barelling against your plump ass, making it jiggle as he bounces himself off them.

“Oh, fuck yes…!” You whine loudly. His hands slide up to find your hip, pushing you down against the mattress so he can shift more of his weight onto you, pumping at a downward angle, causing you to shriek desperately.

“Oh yeah…” Johnny grunts and starts huffing atop you, leaning all his weight atop of you as he pounds his hips against yours, his breath ragged against your shoulder and hair. “Fuck… Yer cunts feels so fuckin’ good…” He murmurs in your ear, his thick accent becoming.

“Oh, God…” You whimper, shuddering beneath him, feeling the familiar knot tightening in your stomach, each of his strong thrusts rattling every fiber of your being. “John…”

“Oh… tha’s it… Moan my name…” He orders as one of his hands suddenly shoots up and grips you by the back of the neck. “Moan my name…” He insists as he throws his hips down onto yours.

“John!” You call out, doing as you’re told, panting for air as he pushes your face harder into the mattress, slowing his thrusts down and bottoming out inside you each time at a slower pace.

Good thing he did too… Because the knot in your stomach only tightens more and more and more, and then snaps, making you cry out loudly with a choked moan that gets half-caught in your throat as your walls suddenly clamp down around him, tightening the grip on his fat shaft.

“Oh fuck…” Johnny grunts and picks up the pace again, grasp your hip as hard as his hands can, a bruising grip that’ll definitely leave a mark, as he pounds into your weeping cunt again and again and again…

He finally comes, losing his balance and landing on his elbows and forearms on either side of your body, his chest against your back, out of breath, as much as you, even though you feel like you barely did anything other than take him.

“Fuck… I needed that…” He grumbles under his breath as he speaks against your shoulder blade, before leaning up and biting at your earlobe. “That feel good f’r ye?” He whispers in your ear, an earnest question, receiving a little nod from you. “Good…”

Slowly, he pulled himself up, slipping his softening cock from you and rolling the condom off. “So… how long are ye and yer friends stayin’ here?” He asks you nonchalantly while tying off the condom.

“Are you trying to make small talk…?” You ask him, surprised that you can even find a voice or string together a coherent sentence in the aftermath of that. You try your best to drag yourself up and over onto the bed, and once you succeed, you look at him languidly.

“No. I have a reason to ask.” He assures you as he tosses the condom into the paper bin under the desk in the corner, before shuffling back over to you on the bed, lying lazily next to you, an arm behind his head, the other on his stomach.

“Four more days.” You tell him, and he nods at the reveal of information. You roll your head to the side to look at him, both of your bodies sweaty and sticky, your make-up undoubtedly a mess, not that he shows it in the way he looks at you… And even if he did, he’d likely only show pride at making you look like that.

“Well… I’m comin’ to pay ye a visit every night until then.” He tells you, before wrapping his free arm around you, pulling you close. “I plan on gettin’ that tight cunny wrapped around my cock fer as long as I can.”

yes, this is a repost of the original "Temporary Fix." but without the cheating :)

#ikea writes 💚 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap cod #cod smut #smut #johnny mactavish smut #johnny mactavish is a mutt

[shotmrmiller]

Loba

Pairing: John Price x GN!Reader

TW: Some gore description. Thats it, i think.

WC: 2.4k

There was something odd about you, John Price's neighbor. To the untrained eye, you were an average person. But John's been a sniper longer than he's been captain, which meant he was perspicacious. His ability to intake information and process it was second to none. And so, he'd like to think he knew what he saw when you once looked at him in passing. The eyes of something that sits atop the food chain.

Yet, he can't help but doubt himself. You're a small thing. Soft, plush, comely. You greet everyone with a smile. Bake homemade chocolate chip cookies for the surrounding neighbors on occasion. Sit on your knees, digging your fingers into damp soil, planting flowers in the garden. Had it been a trick of the light? He supposed it didn't matter. As much as you intrigued him, you had a partner you sent off to work with a polite kiss on the cheek and lunch bag in hand every day. Ordinary.

Until one day, normal turned abnormal.

John liked to sit on his porch, tea in hand, and people-watch. He hid it under the guise of reading the paper so he wouldn't put people off— but he liked to be observant. And being observant meant knowing the routines of his surrounding neighbors. So, John noticed that your partner hadn't been home in two weeks. And you, his pretty little neighbor, are irate. Slamming the front door closed after taking out the trash, hands digging into the planting soil with such ferocity he'd think it was hiding treasure, and not one greeting to anyone. Not even him.

And that definitely didn't sting, he tells himself. You were unavailable and clearly in love if your temper as of late had anything to say about it.

--

One afternoon, John is sitting outside in his customary spot when he watches your car pull up into the driveway and park. You open the driver's door with such force that he thinks it's about to come off the hinges and get out with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, and lips firmly pressed together.

Oh? That's a first. Granted, John's deployed a lot so he's not home all the time, but he's never seen you this upset since you moved in next door 6 months ago.

Your partner hops out of the passenger side and runs up behind you, trying to diffuse the situation.

"Honey, please, forgive-," and John watches you turn around, get in their face, and snarl— like a dog ready to fight. Teeth bared in evident hostility, the skin on your nose scrunched up in fury. You look unreservedly feral, John thinks.

He hears you let out an animalistic growl before you notice John sitting on his porch. Pivoting on the balls of your feet, you stalk towards the house not waiting for your partner to follow.

If John coughed to cover the chuckle he let out at the sight of your partner scrambling behind you like a pathetic puppy, he'd never admit it.

--

Later that evening, John hears frantic pounding on his front door, and he freezes. It's almost midnight. He can't help but think that his enemies have found him, so he quietly moves to his bookshelf and grabs his loaded handgun. Pulling the slide back to chamber a round, he moves to cover when he hears a recognizable voice alongside the knocking.

"Please, Mr. Price, I only want to ask you something!"

With the handgun behind his back, he approaches cautiously, before undoing the locks and cracking it open a smidge. It's your partner, and they look jumpy.

"This is not an appropriate hour to be knocking on doors, by the way," he grumbles.

"I know, Mr. Price, and I apologize but I had an emergency."

John frowns. "I'm not the coppers."

"I just had a quick question for you."

He points the gun as he opens the door wider, finger on the trigger while still holding the firearm out of sight of your partner on the other side.

"Right, then. What is it?"

"I wanted to ask if you've seen my partner. They still haven’t come back and they've been gone since before I got home. I already called to file a missing person report."

John clenches his jaw.

"No, I haven't. I'll keep an eye out for you, though. Now, if you'd excuse me."

"Yes, of course. Have a good night, Mr. Price."

Closing the door, he tightens the grip on his gun. John is an interrogation expert. Reading body language is his second nature— so he wonders why they lied about calling the police.

--

In the morning, John goes out to ask if you'd come home when he notices you in the yard gardening with a pleased smile on your lips. His heart stutters at the sight. Oh, how lovely you looked taking care of your home. What he'd do to have a person like you for him to come back to— that he wishes it was you is a secret he's taking to his grave.

John shakes his head and clears his throat to catch your attention and you turn your head.

"Mr. Price, Good morning!", you greet.

Walking over to stand next to your kneeled form, he says, "Good morning, love. I'm only wanting to check up on you. Your partner came over late and seemed very distraught at your disappearance."

You purse your lips in annoyance. Interesting.

"I'm so sorry. I hope they didn't wake you, Mr. Price."

"Not at all, love, I tend to stay up late. And please, it's John."

You curl your mouth into a dimpled, teasing smile— enchanting him.

"Alright, John."

The way you said his name so alluringly is going to haunt him in his dreams, he knows it. With flaming cheeks, John pulls at his facial hair to distract himself from the direction his thoughts take.

"Right," he swallows hard, "Well. I—uh, figure that you didn't want your partner to know where you were, so be aware that you could always tell me anything. If only to know that you aren't missing."

He hears you sigh before taking off your gardening gloves and moves to stand when John reaches his hand out to assist and you take it. Your hand is so tiny in his, it makes him reluctant to let go. Dusting your pants, you say, "They knew where I'd be going. They've been letting me starve, and I'm ravenous." And your eyes look up to his.

There it is again. That predatory gaze. Like you'd eat him whole.

"I don't—" and you cut him off.

"I've got to take care of myself. I'm not going to sit around hungry, and I can't eat apologies."

Tipping your head to the side, you open your mouth to tell him something when the both of you are startled by a car honk. John quickly moves to block your body with his, the need to protect being instinctual, when he realizes that it's your partner in front of the driveway— and they do not look pleased.

John feels your hand on his bicep as you step around him, and he feels the egotistical urge to flex.

"Seems like I'm needed elsewhere. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

He looks at you with ocean-blue eyes and murmurs, "Pleasure's all mine, love. Remember what I said."

John follows the movement of your hand tucking a lock of hair behind your ear before you say, "You'll be the first person I go to, John", and you jump again at another honk.

He sees your eyes flick from him to the car and back at him— and the toothy smile you give him sends dread, like molasses, down his spine.

"I'll be seeing you, then."

And then you're getting into the car and closing the door with a slam, tires screeching on the pavement. Gone.

As John walks back to his house, he tries hard to not think back on your pointed ears, or how sharp your canine teeth had been, or how your pupils had dilated when looking at your partner— like a predator catching sight of its prey.

--

It's the witching hour, and John startles awake to breaking glass and some crashing from next door. Your house. Ripping the blanket off of him, he sprints to his closet and slips on some sweats and laces on his boots before taking out his NATO rifle— heading towards the back of his house. He slips out through the back door and walks up to the fence separating his backyard and yours. John slings the rifle to his back and jumps, fingers hooking over the edge of the fence, and climbs over it.

On light feet, he crouch-walks while aiming the rifle at your house fully alert. His ears pick up some human whimpering, and then a deep, low rumble that sends vibrations into his chest. What is that?

Clenching his teeth, he walks up and peers into the door window and his blood freezes in his veins. The house is a mess. Glass litters the floor, and the dining room table is splintered into pieces. Some blood splattered on the walls and smeared on the kitchen tiles. He turns the door handle, and it opens. Unlocked.

John thinks the worst has happened. A home invasion turned homicide. That he'll find your body lying in a pool of blood. Your normally captivating eyes lifeless. He shakes himself of his mild panic— now is not the time. Walking further into your home, boots softly crunching on debris, he spots your partner on the living room floor.

And they're bloody with injuries, trembling violently. John runs up to them and grabs their shoulder.

"Are you alright?!" he shouts. But your partner isn't responding, rather looking unblinkingly into a darkened hallway. John notices and swiftly aims his rifle down the hall. Then he hears or rather feels, another vicious guttural growl. Then he spots two glowing orbs in the dark like reflective tape shining with artificial light.

The orbs then rise, almost to the ceiling, and draw near slowly. John can't remember the last time he froze during a tense altercation, but then again, whatever the hell that is, isn't something he's ever dealt with in combat. He's snapped out of his reverie when the figure is lit up by the living room light and his jaw drops.

It's something out of stories. Tall, human body-shaped covered in black fur standing on two legs. Large human hands tipped with curved claws. Saliva dripping from its bared teeth and extra-long canines. Golden eyes with black slits and a long, scrunched snout. A werewolf.

Your partner screams before scrambling to hide behind John's body like a shield.

"Please! I didn't mean—", their pleading is cut off by another ferocious growl. John looks up at the werewolf and instantly recognizes those eyes. He's seen them before, on you— his cute little neighbor.

John remembers saying once that if you cannot recognize the target, you are the target. And those molten-gold eyes weren't looking at him but rather behind him. The werewolf's long arm reaches out to touch John's shoulder, slightly pushing him to the side. Its intent is clear— It's a predator on the hunt.

He shuffles out of the way and witnesses the werewolf wrap one clawed hand around your partner's ankle and yank— pulling them into the darkness. John hears them wailing, pleading for their life. Sees them clawing at the floor trying to stop the drag of their body but to no avail.

Not even a minute later, there's a sickening crunch and then the screaming stops— nothing but John's heavy breathing, soft gnashing of teeth, and more bones breaking. He slowly gets up from the ground and waits. For what, he doesn't know.

John then hears a door open and close. Something sounds like sticks being snapped into place, a loud muffled whimper, and then a door opening again. Out steps you, wrapped in a blanket with your hands and mouth dripping blood. Exhaling, he slowly walks up to you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

"That was you, then," he questions and you nod.

John sucks in a breath before asking another question.

"Why did you eat them?"

"They took the role of handler yet wanted me human. Domesticated. Shoved in a closet during a full moon. As if that could stop me."

You lock eyes with John, pupils blown wide open.

"Besides, no man can tame a predator by acting like prey."

He nods, head hanging low, conceding. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders and the other on your lower back, he kneels and with a grunt picks you up— carrying you out the front door.

"Let's get over to my house, I'll have this taken care of."

John feels your warm breath against his neck and grips your body tighter. Unlocking the door, he steps inside and deposits you on his couch, then jogs to his bedroom and gets his phone. He's tapping the screen when he hears you.

"John, I'm still hungry."

He stops and closes his eyes for a second, before moving to the door and holding it open.

Looking at you with a stony gaze, he says, "You will be home before daybreak. Not a minute later. Do I make myself clear?"

You nod and run up to him. Picking up his hand, you press his open calloused palm onto your cheek— nuzzling it— and give it a bloodied kiss, before running out and disappearing into the night.

John raises his hand to look at his palm and closes it tight. He already has blood on his hands, what's a little more. Back to his phone, he dials a number and puts it up to his ear.

"Simon. Yeah, I know it's late. Listen, I need you to come over. There's some cleaning up we have to do. Bring a mop." and hangs up.

If holding on to your leash is how you stay with him, then he's holding it with an iron fist and never letting go. Although, it'd probably be a good idea to move away from this neighborhood if he wants to show off his cute little neighbor wife.

A/N: I got inspired by shakira's song ofc. love it. Thank you to my beta for gassing it up. You a real one.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price #cod x reader #mw2 #john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain price x you

[seat-safety-switch]

When I was a kid, going to the zoo was a joyous occasion. You'd get to see a giraffe, maybe your dad would stay home from work, and at the end there'd be a root-beer-flavoured candy stick from the gift shop. Nowadays, I'm an adult, and adults most definitely do not go to the zoo on their own. So I did.

As soon as I arrived, and paid the eyewatering sum required for the parking and admission, I immediately had a rush of childhood euphoria upon seeing my favourite animal again. That animal is a John Deere Gator 6x6 all-terrain-vehicle and utility tractor. The groundskeepers were still using this reliable workhorse, and, thinking they were dealing with nothing more than rebellious toddlers, had left it parked in front of the penguin exhibit with a length of chain link fencing and copper wiring in the back.

Oh yes, copper wiring. They should be more careful about that. A real creepazoid thief would steal that stuff, get a couple bucks. I, however, pride myself on respecting the private property of others a little bit more than that. As I plunked the Gator into low range and began climbing the stairs to the wildebeest area, I gave myself a pat on the back for being such a good citizen and having so much restraint and impulse control.

I'd like to say that the resulting chase through the facility involved a bunch of daring high-speed turns, but the scrub radius on one of these six-wheel-drive abominations is just terrible. Every time I even went near the steering wheel, I was rewarded with copious understeer. Despite what the evening news says, it is to my credit as a race driver that I managed to only gently skim the butterfly exhibit, rather than crash through it. Security did catch up to me when I stopped to get a corn dog, but that's only because the lines were so long.

As I lay there on the ground, my arms handcuffed behind me, the cop's knee in my back, I had no regrets. Well, maybe one. You see, I had picked the wrong snack counter, not realizing just how far a giraffe's neck could bend. Being forced to watch that long-necked asshole swallow my corn dog – which I paid for – whole is the real injustice here.

[whalesforhands]

for what i have overlooked

fleeting memories and unsaid words, there’s a beauty in all of them.

HBD GOJO SATORU

“So? So? Wanna spend time with your lovely teacher and tell him all about your training?” A wink that cannot be seen from under his blindfold as he throws out a peace sign, holding it up to his eyes, awaiting the replies of his precious students.

His antics are ignored.

“Panda, that punch needs some work. Loosen your fist a little next time.” She takes a bite of the ice pop, the crunch of the cold treat loud.

“Oh yeah? Inumaki said that I got a mean kick though. Should I try that next time?” The crinkling of plastic as he unwraps the ice cream sandwich, licking his lips.

“Salmon!”

Maki wipes the sweat from her brow, confident grin upon her face. “Yeah, bring it.”

Oh well. Guess he’ll just eat by himself, then. Rummaging through the remains of the plastic bag and digging around, he hums. He was sure he had bought enough— Scooping up all the remaining ice creams they had and dumping it at the counter as he took a phone call.

Oh! There it is! His hand pulls out still chilled plastic, excited grin on his face as he flips it over to inspect the flavour. Like a roulette for ice cream flavours, would he like it? Love it? Hate—

His brows furrow as he looks at the packaging, his eyes squinting at he looks at the tiny prints and lackluster colours. Man, he got one of those old timey flavours…

“And there!” A hand catches the ice cream bar midair. “Red bean flavour for the masses!”

“And my cigarettes?”

“Heh.” He runs a hand through his hair dramatically, swiping hair away from his eyes as he poses with the mentioned item. “The great Gojo Satoru never forgets!”

A plastic packaging is thrown at the girl who seamlessly catches it in one hand, lax smile on her face as she nods in thanks. “The great Gojo Satoru should remember to tie his shoelaces.”

“Wha—?!” That nasty trickster of a woman! His complaint dies on the tip of his tongue when he watches her settle down beside you on that familiar bench, the sun already beginning to set as the blue of the sky starts to fade into a colourway of pink and orange.

Was the day over already? These summer days always seemed like they were far too short.

Watching as you chomp down on the ice cream held to your lips, the cold taking over your teeth as you feel a tingle up your spine. “Mmm… Suguru, I think they changed the flavour on this one.”

“Really?” He leans towards you. “I’ll have a try then—“

“I want a biteeeeeee!~” Satoru has an arm around your shoulders as he drags you in closer towards him, “Pleaseeeeee?” Puppy dog eyes and a whimpered plead, he bought it all, so please?

This… Was meant to be a shared treat between yourself and Geto to compare the red bean ice cream brands. Though, you suppose a variance in your experiment wouldn’t hurt. A peek over at Suguru only catches him rolling his eyes with a smile. That’s a yes, then.

“I’m not quite sure if you’ll like this though, Satoru. It’s a bit different to the ones we usually eat.” You’re slightly worried as you turn to hand him the stick, only for his hand to wrap around yours and aid in personally bringing it to his mouth.

“Don’t you worry about it~” Perhaps you don’t understand yet; but he would take anything as long as it’s from you.

“One bite, Satoru.” Geto is unwittingly firm despite his lax expression, his copper-amethyst eyes watch intently as Gojo starts opening his mouth. “One.”

And one bite he did take, engulfing the entire treat in his mouth.

“Ahh, this greedy—!” Suguru’s arm flies across Shoko to grab onto the ice cream that was about to be swallowed whole, hand immediately around Satoru’s and yours, attempting to pull it away only to end up with empty wooden remains.

You’re too shocked to even react.

“And that’s why I hide my ice cream.” Shoko only nods in, her head against your shoulder as the straw of her iced tea is held in between her lips.

“That was one bite!” He’s speaking through chews as he feels the icy chill seep into his teeth, feeling Suguru smack his shoulder lightly in revenge. “Bleg— Sour!”

Maybe he’s glad that this brand has lasted the test of time, despite the unappealing flavour profile. Maybe— He’ll enjoy it this time?

Gojo Satoru’s grin doesn’t falter as he tears the plastic away with ease, blindfolded eyes staring at the cold treat only momentarily, before he takes a bite.

Oh. It’s still a little too sour for his tastes.

——

“Gojo-sensei! Ya sure you’ll be fine without an umbrella?” Yuuji waves at him from under the umbrella the first-year trio stood, calling out to him from the heavy rain. Does he not want to share with them?

“Aha, don’t worry about a thing, Itadori! Look!” His hand is held out for the three to observe, outstretched and showing off just how perfectly dry it remained despite the pouring rain. Infinity truly was quite the gift.

“Ehhhh?! Gojo-sensei, you’re amazing!”

“Don’t flatter his ego.”

“Ahhh, lucky! He doesn’t have to worry about the rain messing up his hair…”

“Heh, I’m the strongest, after all!” There’s a ringing in his chest, a thump in his heart. “See ya later!” A salute before he departs.

The crowd shifting about him, the patter of the rain against umbrellas and concrete as he walks, easily navigating through as he treks the way back to campus.

He used to love rainy days, you know?

He notices you holding a palm out, letting the rain droplets fall onto your hand as you sigh, staring up at the darkened skies.

“Well, well, well! Look what we got here!” An arm around your shoulders as you hear him laugh from behind you. “Looks like it’ll be raining for quite a bit!”

You only let out a sigh, leaning back into his arm as you pout at the dreary weather. “I didn’t think it would rain this heavily today…” You really should’ve listened when Nanami started squinting at the clear sky and reminded you to take an umbrella.

A hum from the white-haired sorcerer as mischievous blue glint from underneath black frames, the impish grin alluding to something more. “Sayyyyyy, you were only gonna go back to the dorms, right?” He’s starting to unbutton his uniform jacket.

You nod. What… Is he planning?

“Then, let’s go! Brace yourself!” You feel fabric fall softly over your head, your eyesight shrouded in darkness as you feel your hand being grabbed, larger fingers intertwining with your own as you’re dragged forward and out into the unforgiving rain.

It doesn’t take long before you’re both at the entrance of your dorm home, sweating, wet, muddy and messy from the trip. “See?” He holds a thumbs up. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

Your hand still hasn’t loosened its grip on his as you suddenly feel him shiver, a sneeze being let out. It wasn’t bad at all, but you think you’re both about to be sick. You sigh, but thumb grazing over the skin of his hand. “We’re both gonna be sick because of this, you know?” He feels extremely cold.

“And you shouldn’t have given your jacket to me, you don’t look well at all.” His white buttonup had been completely soaked through, water dripping from his head as you stare up at him, removing the wet jacket from your shoulders. A shift in your hands results in you letting go, a whine dying on his lips when he feels your dryer palms go up to his face. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

He could retort, tell you at least he made it back with you in one piece. Though, the way you look at him causes a stutter in his heart, pleading worry and concern in your eyes has him feeling… Guilty. He’s Gojo Satoru- He doesn’t get sick, nobody was ever concerned about his wellbeing till this point. Why would they? He’s one of the greatest. He didn’t have people like you or Suguru, hells, even Shoko—

Maybe he gets it. Maybe this is what the word of ‘love’ means. He should do this again sometime—

“Are you both insane?” Shoko is absolutely unimpressed as she stops in front of the both of you, towels already in hand.

Maybe he is, if he gets to evoke such reactions from you all.

He stares up at those grey skies, his palm having an itching, almost phantom warmth as he feels a subconscious twitch of his lips.

He hopes the rain stops soon.

——

“Ah- He’s waking up.” There’s a hand upon his cheek as he starts to crack open his eyes, smooth skin stroking his own and the usual weight of his sunglasses off his face.

Gentle voices, gentle touches. His nose picks up on the scent of grass, the feel of the summer breeze upon his cheeks, his head against something soft, something comforting.

“Satoru, you finally awake?” He hears a deep chuckle, a gentle voice stroking his ears, another graze of fingers upon his soft face. “You’ve been asleep for almost an hour.”

“Hrmm…” He doesn’t feel like waking up, doesn’t wanna leave this overwhelming warmth.

“Suguru, we should let him sleep a little more.” You were always the soft-hearted one. “I think he deserves it.”

Gojo Satoru thinks he’s deserving of a lot of things, such as his position upon your lap where he naps with comfort. He flips onto his side, enjoying the way you continued to stroke his head, fingers running through snow-white locks.

“Fine, just a little longer. Then it’s my turn.”

He opens his eyes to realize it was another dream. A frequent occurrence that leaves his eyes feeling dry when he lifts his blindfold up, fingers grazing across a wetness to the soft fabric.

Oh.

It hurts to breathe till the point of bruising on the days his lingering regrets stir within him, the swirling uneasiness causing him strife that he long thought he had gotten over.

It’s with those days that he thinks he’s pathetic; made to give up on things he never wanted to let go of, but with those feelings come a forgotten reminder of warmth. The blank lines that had been filled with nothing but those days.

Memories, dreams, hopes and all that was alike. He holds onto them, clawing at the remainder of their existence. A blue of youth that was unlike no other, a spring of sun-filled bloom that he wants to keep.

Because, only then will he be fine alone, wouldn’t he? It serves as a way to keep him together, keep him whole. He has to be.

He’s the strongest, after all.

next

Notes:

Gojo could’ve used Infinity when running through the rain with you. But you wouldn’t have been able to touch him.

He thinks he’s found a newfound taste for red bean ice cream.

#dyf au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #gojo x reader

[the-froschamethyst4]

Baby talk

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Price x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, daddy Price, married couple, children, language,

𖤐Summary: Y/n was on a girls trip with her friends and Price was told by his wife that when he's not around his daughter Iris talks, so he tries when Y/n is away.

————

—————

"Okay, you got everything?" Price asked his wife.

"Yes, I have everything, do you have everything under control?"

"Yes, my love, I have everything under control, now go have fun," Price hurried his wife out of the house as she went to her best friends car. "Bye-Bye, see ya' Saturday night," Price kisses her lips and pats her butt as she walked off the porch.

"MAKE SURE MY WIFE COMES BACK IN ONE PIECE PLEASE!!"

"WE'LL TRY!!"

Price walked back into his house and saw his 12 month old daughter Iris, sitting on the ground hitting her knees and kicking her feet as there was a cardboard book sitting at her feet.

"Baby girl," he coos getting her to look up at him, she smiles and kicks her feet again. "Come on, baby," he claps his hands and grabbed the book from her feet and laid next to her.

"Okay, baby, I was told by mama, that you are talking...I bet I can get you to say dada before mama gets home...I should not say m a m a in front of you first off," he says. Iris laughs and kicks her feet. He smiles at her and gently pinches at her plump tummy.

"Huh? Dada...dada...da...da..." he says, by Iris laughs and crawls on her hands and knees to grab her stuff lion that sat a few feet in front of her. "Iris, baby girl, say dada for me please. M a m a, says you can talk, you've talked before, say dada." Price begs her but she doesn't listen.

Price let's out a groan and fell on his back arms out wide and he looked up at the ceiling. Price mumbled to himself as Iris waddled to Price, she squats next to him and then gets on his chest.

He gives out a soft huff as she plopped on his chest. She laughs at him.

"Are you laughing at my pain?" He asked, looking up at her, she just giggles. "You are such a giggly girl," he says.

Price picked up his daughter, she laughed and kissed Price's cheek. "Aww~, thank you, baby girl," he says, kissing her forehead.

--------

Iris sat on the couch next to Price, he was watching his football match (soccer for the Americans). Price looked down at Iris and picked her up on the cushions and made her look at him, she was giggling kicking her feet and bring her fists to her mouth.

"Ah! Don't do that, you're too old to do that," he says, giggling at her and pulling her hands from her mouth.

"Ah!" She coos.

"...Dada?" He says.

"Ah!" She coos again.

"Okay..." he sounded like he was going to give up but wanted to keep trying. "Can you say football?"

"Ah!"

"Come on, I know you can talk, baby girl."

"Ah!" She points at the Christmas decorations and pointed to an ornaments on the Christmas tree. He gets up and holds Iris to his chest.

"Which one, baby?" He asks, she points to one that had all the classic Disney dogs like Tramp, Lady, Pluto, Pongo, Max, Copper and Bolt. In the middle was a picture of Iris when she was first born.

"What's his name?" He points the classic dalmatian.

"B-Bongo," she says. It shocked Price hearing her speak.

"P, baby. Pongo."

"Bongo."

"Close enough," he chuckles rubbing his noses on hers. "Who's this one?" Price points to the white dog.

"Bolt!" The one she could pronounce.

---------

Price had called Y/n and she thought something was wrong but luckily Price was able to reasure her.

"No, my love, everything is fine, she finally talked!" He says, excitedly.

"Oh, Price, that's good news," she says, he can feel her smile through the phone.

"Her first word is bongo."

"Bongo?"

"Not so long story, we were looking at that ornament with the dogs on it."

"Oh the Disney dogs?"

"Yep," he says popping the 'P'.

"Well, not really, Price. Her first word was mama."

"WHAT!?"

"I told you that, remember?"

"I honestly think I was half asleep when you told me that." She giggles at him. "Man, I wanted her to say dada first."

"You're a little late in the game there, daddy."

"Don't tease me like that."

"Like what? Daddy."

"Y/n."

"Price~" Price was trying to hold back some words of his own but he was interrupted by Iris whining from the couch on where Price might have gone.

"I'm being called, I'll talk to you later?"

"Maybe~" she teases. He shakes his head.

"Bye, my love." He says, hanging up. He places his phone down on the marble counter and goes back to his daughter picking her up and kissing her forehead and cheek to tell her he was back and everything was just fine.

"It's okay, baby," he says as her whines slowly disappeared.

"Mama," she whines.

"I know, baby, mama's away right now, she'll be back soon, I promise," he says.

---------

"UNCLE SOAP IS IN THE HOUSE!" Soap calls out kicking the front door open and holding bags in his hands.

"Don't kick his door, you fucking idiot," Ghost hits Soap upside his head.

"Ow."

"Hey, fellas," Price said, picking Iris up. Iris immediately makes grabby hands towards Ghost. His mask fascinates Iris. He takes her from Price's grasp, she's immediately trying to take his mask off. But he does it for her exposing his face that was slightly covered in scars and a busted up bottom lip.

"What happened to your lip, Simon?" Price asked, taking the bags from Soap.

"He got into a bar, fight." Soap says.

"I didn't know she has a boyfriend."

"Ohh~ Simon," Price says.

"She flirted with me first," Simons says.

"Can we start cooking? I wanna watch the game," Soap asks.

--------

The guys had made burritos for the night, their own style and Iris was eating some food Price had made for her some mash potatoes, mashes peas and some diced carrots.

She sat between Price and Simon eating her food, she was pushed against the back cushions, her plate on her lap and sat ate the peas and carrots, Price leaned back to look at her as Simon leaned on his knees and turned to look at her as well.

She just eats her carrots with her plastic pink fork and looked up at her father and gave him a big smile. Simons' heart fluttered seeing her smile.

"See what I mean, Simon?"

"It's the baby fever," Simon says, leaning back against the couch cushions and looking down at Iris.

"COME ON!" Soap yells making the other two men see what they are missing and yelled with Soap, Iris didn't know what was happening and wanted to yell as well.

So, as the grown men yelled, you can barely hear a high pitched scream over the loud men. Once the goal was made the guys cheered some more and Price looks down at his daughter smiling at her.

--------

Saturday

"Mama's coming home," Price says to his daughter.

"Mama?" She says.

"Yep, mama," he says, kissing her puffy cheeks.

As Price and Iris stood by the kitchen window they saw Y/n's best friends' car pull up into the driveway. Price opened the front door as Y/n was getting out of the car.

"My baby!" She calls out. Iris giggled and kicked her feet as Y/n took her from her father's arms, she kissed her daughter's forehead and kissed Price's lips.

Price got her bags from the car and waved 'goodbye' to her best friend and they went back inside the house. Y/n kissed her daughters cheeks again and rubbed her nose on her cheeks as well.

"You smell like lavender baby," Y/n says.

"I just gave her bath," Price says, coming up behind Y/n and holding her waist as Iris placed her head on Y/n's shoulder and played with her necklace that Price gave her on their honeymoon.

"I'm missed you two," she says, cupping her husbands face with her right hand and kissing his lips and looking down at her daughter in her arms.

"Dada!" Iris says, looking up at her father.

"HUH! YES, ME DADA!!" Price takes his daughter and peppered kisses all over her face.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #price x reader #cod price #captain john price #john price #captain price #price x you #price x y/n

[kangals]

ok so here's what we found out from kepler's embark results! buckle up, it's a novel:

to start, i did what i've done for the past 2 embark tests i've sent in, in that when activating the kit i said that my dog was a mixed breed of unknown type, and i opted to not upload a photo beforehand. and like the last 2 times, embark correctly deduced that kep was a purebred collie. so while there's some dna tests out there that definitely suck, i can at least confirm that in my own blind trial, embark got it right 3/3 times. they're great. anyway:

also keeping very in line with being a purebred collie, kep's COI came back at 42% - very high for a typical dog, but dead-on average for a collie. he shares 60% DNA with stellina (despite being on paper second cousins, which should be around 1-2% shared. woe to the collie genepool). he's got a bunch of the same relatives that show up for stellina, which is, again, not surprising. dogs from windcrest, overland, and thistlebrae pop up a lot - if you're familiar with US collie lines, you probably know them.

color traits! kep is confirmed as white-factored, which i was almost certain of based on the pattern of his white markings - you can find more info on it here (referred to as "flashy irish" white) but essentially collies that are white-factored carry the gene for "extreme white" or color-headed white. white is an "incomplete dominant" gene, meaning that one copy affects the dog a little, and two copies affects the dog a lot (remember this term!) two copies of the gene makes the dog almost entirely white (an accepted color in the US, but not the UK/europe i believe), whereas one copy of the gene makes the regular "irish white" markings (the classic white neck ruff and white socks) extend a little further than usual - you'll notice that on kep, his white extends over his shoulders and up to his knees. whereas on stellina (who does not carry the white gene), her white is restricted to her neck, front stockings, and back paws. one of kep's brothers is white, so we knew he likely carried the gene too.

he is confirmed as not a secret merle, though he technically could have been a cryptic/phantom merle - didn't think so, but worth a check.

so all of this is very expected - the health testing is where things get interesting!

embark tests for 265 different genetic health conditions, 4 of which are considered "breed-relevant" for collies: collie eye anomaly (CEA), mdr1 drug sensitivity, degenerative myleopathy (DM), and some immune thing with a long name.

immune thing - clear

DM - clear (not particularly common in collies, but it does show up sometimes and it is a nasty disease)

MDR1 - double copies! this is a recessive gene and kep is mutant/mutant, aka he carries both copies which makes him clinically affected. this is common in collies, as about 60-70% of collies have at least one copy. the good news is this just means we have to avoid/take smaller doses of certain medications and he otherwise shouldn't be impacted by it at all. also his breeder already tested him for this so i already was aware.

CEA - single copy! this is also a recessive gene, which means that kep is not affected/normal-eyed, which is actually pretty uncommon! it's estimated that between 70-85% of collies are affected by CEA (yes, the gene literally called collie eye is common in collies. wow.). i also was already aware of this since he was already tested (worth mentioning that if you buy a collie puppy in the US, a screening by an ophthalmologist to check for CEA is required by the breed club).

and then the plot twist:

embark tells me "oh hey, btw, there's two other genes you should know about"

"your dog has one copy of the gene for accumulating copper toxicosis"

fucking what

so yeah, after a lot of reading into this: there's a gene called ATP7B that's almost exclusively found in labradors, goldens, and dobermans which affects a dog's ability to filter out copper. excessive amounts of copper start to build up in the liver, and if it gets to be too much it can cause liver disease, failure, and neurological problems. remember when we talked about white and white-factored dogs, several thousands words ago? ATP7B is also an incomplete dominant gene - one copy affects the dog a little, two copies affects a lot. kep has one copy, which in theory means he is at no risk, mild risk, or moderate risk of developing copper storage disease in his life. not devastating, but not ideal.

the plot thickens!

kep also tested positive for the gene called ATP7A, which as far as i can tell is like the exact opposite of ATP7B (i know, the names suck). see, ATP7B causes copper to accumulate. but ATP7A has been shown to cause a copper deficiency. it's also incompletely dominant, so one copy impacts a little, and two copies (should) impact a lot - and kep has both copies of ATP7A.

so: kep has one of the "too much copper" genes... but he has also two of the "too few copper" genes. and studies seem to suggest that the two genes have a neutralizing effect on each other if they're both present in one dog - basically, they cancel each other out.

there's a handful of studies looking at the effects of these genes on dogs, but they basically exclusively focus on labradors and dobermans - one UC davis study even suggested that these genes might not even have an effect on other breeds. i could find absolutely no literature about these genes in collies, or even in herding breeds in general. embark helpfully added that they don't have enough data on this gene in other breeds to claim if they had any effect. the genes also appear to be sex-linked, and affect females moreso than males. one study on labradors suggested that although many dogs tested were carriers of ATP7B, few dogs were clinically affected, which would say that perhaps its not uncommon for dogs with only one copy to not be impacted.

(i'm also wondering if perhaps this could be the case for kep - given that he has 2 copies of ATP7A, he had to inherit one from each parent. given that these genes aren't regularly tested for in collies, is it possible that some lines carry them and are just clinically unaffected? it may be entirely incidental.)

so essentially, he does have one gene that may be nothing, or may cause mild-moderate issues as an older adult/senior. he also has two copies of that gene's natural neutralizer, and is male, and comes from clinically unaffected dogs. so... i think in retrospect, it's something to note on his chart and keep an eye on, but the odds seem to be very stacked in the favor of him either not being affected, or having only mild affects later down the line. could be a nothingburger, might be a little-somethingburger, unlikely to be a seriousburger.

that being said: i am VERY glad i decided to do this test! obviously i knew what breed he was, and his breeder had already tested him for the most collie-relevant conditions, so this was done on more of a whim, but it turned up this potentially important result that i now know to investigate. you'll hear a lot about how breeders who just do embark, or pawprints, or etc aren't doing complete genetic testing, because so many of the diseases these tests screen for aren't breed-relevant and lots of other conditions aren't testable. which is true. 265 genes and only 4 are considered for collies! but once in a blue moon, one of those random other genes will indeed flag, as is the case here.

so yeah: very interesting results! breed, COI, relatives, color, and most of the health is exactly as expected. but boy that one little health bit really threw me for a loop.

#long post #VERY long post #if youre in vetmed or sciencey and have more resources about these genes please let me know! #i checked through the handful of studies that show up on basic googling #but id be fascinated if theres anything more in depth or (holy grail) herding/collie specific

[bellewintersroe]

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 5- here’s the link to part 4. After a borderline disastrous second practice for both Checo and Max in Singapore, tensions mount inside the garage. Again, caught in the crossfire, Leni removed herself only to be greeted with the exact person she was avoiding…

Taglist: Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24

It was a joint seventh and eight for Checo and Max in practice 2. I don’t think anybody knew how to feel, the garage was quiet apart from the odd mutter here and there about the grip on the tires being ‘dog shit’.

The tension only grew when the two drivers began having disputes with their engineers, the engineers disputed with the mechanics and the mechanics disputed with the managers. “Leni where’s your dad? Shouldn’t he be here fixing all this?” One mechanic in particular spoke brashly towards me, involving me in the dispute that was unfolding in front of me. “Um, dad? I don’t know.” I politely answered.

“Well go get him.” He waved me off as I scoffed out a laugh. “Prick.” I felt my face warm in anger as I turned around, only to bump directly into Max. The blonde glanced at me, offering a hand on my shoulder.

“What did he say to you?” His brows were scrunched as his gaze moved back up to the back of the guys head. Max did not seem in the mood. It was a little intimidating.

“Just- just being rude, I don’t know.” I rolled my eyes, momentarily not remembering all the drama existing around Max. “Him?” Max seemed pissed, he was already red in the face from it being so hot out, so that only added to the annoyance in his expression.

“It’s fine, Max, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving anyway, it’s awkward.” I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m leaving too.” He huffed, clearly upset with todays outcome. “Already?” I turned up to the blonde man now walking besides me.

“Yeah… I don’t really wanna be here. You want a lift back to the hotel?”

“If you don’t mind.” I gently spoke, eyes falling down to the ground as I suddenly remembered everything that had happened with him, the affair scandal, our awkward bicker when we last saw one another. My heart began racing and suddenly I felt extremely conscious of what to talk to the driver about. “Yeah. It’s just one of the drivers, we’re going the same way.” He spoke quietly, placing a hand on my upper back to lead me through the door first. “Are you okay, Max?” I then asked after the two of us just walked a few steps away. I didn’t mean for my voice to come off as empathetic as it did, but when I felt his eyes on me, I felt as though I had to start stumbling out more and more words. “It’s just that- I haven’t seen you in a while and obviously all that happened with Kelly, and the last time we saw each other was kinda-“ “It’s fine.” Max cut me off, a small chuckle leaving his lips. This time I actually looked up to him as he walked a little faster through the grid, clearly desperate to get outta there. If I was him I’d be avoiding the press at all costs too, god I bet it was exhausting to discuss not only your personal life but also your professional downs too.

“I mean.. obviously it was a shock but, things were already kinda over.” Max shook his head. “Oh.” My voice failed me, coming out as a gentle whisper.

“And-” he inhaled, gaze focusing on me own. “I’m sorry, Leni. For the last time we spoke.” The Dutchman spoke. My cheeks burned darker than they already were.

“I’m sorry too.” I shrugged. “Why are you sorry?” Max then borderline laughed. “Cos, it was awkward.”

“Yeah, it was.” He agreed in amusement, I smiled gently. “As long as you’re okay though.”

“Yeah. Surprisingly I’m ok. Just not after the shit qualifying.” He spoke on an exhale as I offered him a gentle smile. “Hey, hey, Max! Would you be able to speak to the press, just for two minutes?!” His publicist ran over. I paused, glancing towards the car only a few feet away. A few people had began to notice Max’s arrival and started shouting. I dropped my head, feeling a little on edge with everybody’s eyes and cameras focusing in the direction I also happened to be in. I figured it wasn’t the best look. “You can go to the car, it’s ok. I’ll meet you there.” Max muttered to me gently, acknowledging me awkwardness as I flashed him a gentle smile before hurrying towards the backseats of the car. I glanced up every now and then, unable to see where he’d gone. The driver and I shared a few forced small talks, but mainly I was distracted, scanning the area for the blonde man.

He emerged again, signing a few autographs and taking pictures, I felt my heart clench in my chest seeing him interacting with the excited fans. He looked happy, smiling with a gentle twinkle lingering in his eye when he climbed back into the car.

I had to turn away in order not to look so weird, staring at him. The drive home was a little awkward, not tense, just awkward. I didn’t really know what conversation to make with Max. The last time we were in a car together we shared that really awkward moment, like something that proved there was actually something there between us. Fuck, I should maybe some form of conversation, anything!

“You know-”

“I went to this-” Max began, we caught each others eyes and I instantly glanced away, smile covering my face. “No you go first, Leni.” Max insisted.

“It’s okay, I was just gonna say there’s this really nice smoothie bar-”

“- at the bottom of the hotel!” Max finished my sentence causing my attention to snap back up to him. The driver perked an eyebrow in the rear view mirror.

“Yes!! It’s so good!”

“I had four yesterday.” Max childishly stated. “Four?! Max that’s not good enough when I’ve had five.”

“Five?!” Max spluttered out a laugh, angling himself in his chair to face me as much as possible. I crossed my legs on the car seat, “I couldn’t help it, they must have crack in.” “They’ve got something in.” He commented as I scanned over his expression, cheeks still slightly pink, I put it down to sunburn. “The mango is the best.”

“I agree, that’s the only acceptable flavour.” He held out his hand for a low high five. I met his hand, slapping it gently, hands taking a moment to separate. Who would’ve thought such an awkward moment could be squashed by bonding over smoothie flavours?!

In fact we loved them so much we ended up ordering another two each. “How are you feeling for tomorrow?” I questioned as we waited for the lift to arrive.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I mean I don’t think I’ll get on the podium but I can try.”

“You don’t think?” I sipped on the fruity juice. Max shook his head. “No, but it’s okay.”

“Gives somebody else the experience I suppose… until next week.” I smirked.

“Two weeks actually.” He pointed out. “Oh, yeah. I’m losing track of time.” The lift doors opened, thankfully entered and we entered. “What floor are you on?”

“4.” I responded. “Oh nice, me too.” Max nodded, pressing the button. Somehow he held the two cups between one of his hands, his veins were popped out and ran all up his arms. God, I never really appreciated how fucking sexy he was- “You’re spilling!!” His words caused me to jump, realising the smoothie had began dripping down my chest. The cold, sticky liquid ran over the swell of my breasts creating almost an over-sexualised view.

“Oh god.” I attempted to wipe with the back of my hand. Max was snickering like a child, clearly noticing where it had dripped. It was a good thing I was wearing black. “Jesus, it’s melting to fuck.”

“You’re just clumsy, Leni.” He pointed out. “Am not!”

I certainly was. As soon as I got back to my room I’d dropped a full cup of mango smoothie all over the floor. I’d even sent a picture to Max, to which he replied pretty fast with a picture of him laughing. Somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there. It was a good conversation starter, and my desire to talk to Max more and more continued developing throughout the weekend…

#Max Verstappen x OC #Max Verstappen x reader #max verstappen x Horner daughter #Max verstappen fanfiction #Max Verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 x oc

[ottosuricatoblog]

"Jealous."

Link to my masterlist

Author: hola! I'm so happy you guys are enjoying my fics. I'm very thankful for the support🫶🏻 It's taken me a while to write this, but I think I like how it's turned out. I decided to add prompt 51 since it went well with the story. I hope you like it! Do let me know🥰

Request: Your stuff is seriously sooooo good. Absolutely adorable and then some 🥰💘 Maybe something angsty and fluffy with [69] and [74]. Like a jealous argument that ends all sweet and happy?

Prompts:

69. desperate, needy and forgiving kisses with [character] after a bad argument/fighting.

74. “oh my god– are you... jealous?”

51. [character] get jealous because they think someone is flirting with you, but it's actually a relative they didn't know about and the two of you have re-encountered with each other after a long time.

When your father told you that your cousin Eric was visiting, you couldn't believe it. The last time you saw him, you must have been around 14 or 15. He was a Tully, not a Stark, but he stayed with you and your siblings in Winterfell for around a year. You guys had a great relationship. He treated you like a sister, and you treated him like a brother.

Now, he was visiting Kings Landing for some trading matter.

You ask your father to tell Eric to meet you by the gardens after his meeting. You're wandering along them, waiting for him, when you hear a familiar voice.

"Bug!" Eric calls you, using the nickname he gave you when you were kids. "Or should I say Lady Y/N?"

You turn around to find a handsome young man in his late twenties. His face remains the same, though, his copper hair on his face and a dimple on his right cheek.

"Eric!" You smile. "Look at you."

"I could say the same about you. You've grown, bug." He smiles as well. "Come here." He says, opening his arms.

You hug him joyfully. "Gods, I can't believe it's been so long." You hear him say.

When you separate, he keeps an arm around your shoulders.

"Let's walk." You say, smiling. "I'm sure you have many things to tell me."

Sandor enters the gardens following the Prince. He stops abruptly when he looks at his left and spots you smiling at a man he doesn't know, his arm around you. You look at him smiling, say something, and start walking with him.

It makes his blood boil. This is what you were doing while he was working? When he's decided he's going to approach you and kill that fucker, he hears the Prince's voice.

"Come, dog." He says, motioning for the opposite direction.

He gulps, trying to calm down, and follows Joffrey.

It's earlier than usual for Sandor to come to your chambers, so the knock on your door surprises you. You open it to find Sandor with a cold stare. It's not his usual angry because of Joffrey face, though. Something's different tonight.

"Sandor!" You say, still a bit surprised.

"Aye." He grunts. "Oh, maybe you were expecting someone else?" His stare is cold as he walks in.

"What do you mean?" You say, frowning while you close your door.

"Oh, you know what I mean." He says.

You stare at him, one of your eyebrows up in your forehead.

"The redhead cunt you were having so much fun with before." He groans.

You can't believe what you're hearing. "Sandor, what..." You exclaim. "Oh gods, are you...jealous?"

He doesn't answer, looking away from you.

"I can't believe you're being a fucking kid about this." You mumble, shaking your head.

"What did he tell you, eh?" He says with a cold voice. "Promised you a bunch of fucking things, I'm sure. I bet he can give you much more than me."

"I truly can't believe this is happening." You sigh in disbelief. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"

"He was fucking hugging you, Y/N." He groans. "Do you think I didn't see you? You were all smiles. Fucking walking with him. Did you tell him all about yourself? Let him fucking court you?"

You snort, truly not believing his behavior.

"You find it fucking funny?" He asks, raising his voice.

"No, Sandor." You say. "I find it fucking sad."

His face turns into confusion.

"I find it sad that you think that I would just forget about you, about everything we've been through. You don't trust me." Your voice is harsh.

"I know what I saw." He groans.

"He's my fucking cousin!" You shout. "You're here being a fucking asshole about me hugging my cousin!"

His face suddenly changes, realization hitting him.

"Your cousin?" He asks, his voice much lower now.

"Yes, Sandor. My cousin." You say, irritated. "I don't..." Your voice breaks. "I don't know what we're doing together if you're not able to trust me." Your voice had gone from angry to sad.

"Y/N..." He says, taking a step towards you.

"Leave." You hiss.

"Love.. " He tries.

"Don't." You say, sending him a death stare. "Just go, Sandor. I need to think."

He looks at you, sadness now in his eyes, before turning and leaving your chambers. You fall asleep with tears in your eyes that night.

The next morning, when you open your door, you find a set of candles, which Sandor knows you love, and a note in his handwriting.

You take the candles inside and read the note: "I'm sorry. I love you."

It makes you think about what happened yesterday again. You stand by what you said. He needs to trust you if you want your relationship to work. Nevertheless, you have to admit you don't know how you've reacted if it was him instead of you. You want to think you would have asked him about it, but sometimes jealousy can get the worst of someone.

When you see him later that day, every bit of you that was still angry goes away. He gives you his best puppy eyes, and you smile at him. You give him a little nod, and he understands what that means.

That night, when you hear the knock, you open the door with a soft smile. After closing it, Sandor suddenly throws his arms around you.

"I'm sorry, love." He whispers against your hair. "I was an immature cunt."

You hug him back, putting your head on his chest.

"It's alright." You mumble. "Just... Give me some credit."

"I will." He says, pulling back to look at you. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too." You say, caressing his face. "Now kiss me, you idiot."

He smiles, leaning in and crashing his lips against yours. His forgiving kisses soon turn desperate, needy.

"Sandor?" You moan.

He pulls back a bit. "Hmmm?"

"Make it up to me." You say, smirking.

He smiles mischievously, picking you up and throwing you on the bed. And gods, he does.

Taglist: @broadsdrinkwhisky @malkaviangirl if you wanna be in it let me know💖

#rory mccann #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #sandor the hound clegane

[humanpurposes]

Just for a Moment, part ii

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, mentions of war and death

Words: 5000

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

Monday 18th September, 1939

He can’t count the time as he waits but it feels like hours, leaning against the wooden gate, fiddling with his release papers. He’s still in the same jumper he was wearing two weeks ago when those coppers came for him, and he smells like a wet dog.

He supposes he should count himself lucky, all things considered. It’s not the first time he’s been arrested, and it’s not the first time he’s been threatened with jail time. Everything had caught up to him, but he’d found an escape, like he always does.

He still can’t get the look of disappointment in Kitty’s face out of his head.

Something’s clawing at his mind, a restless feeling, like there’s something he’s forgotten but he can’t put his finger on it.

Finally he spots Lois and his dad. He starts to pull the jumper over his head. “Either of you started to smoke? I’m dying for a fag.”

Lois holds out a clean shirt for him.

“Didn’t bring my overcoat then?”

His sister glowers.

“I’m joking,” he draws out, tossing the jumper into her arms. He slips the shirt over his head and walks on. If either of them want to ask him about his little sabbatical, he’d rather it be a short and sweet conversation.

“When are you in court then?” Douglas asks, he and Lois walking a pace or so behind him.

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been on remand for two weeks, they must have charged you with something.”

“They were going to,” Tom says, bringing his arms through the sleeves and doing up the buttons on the front of the shirt, “but I said I’d join up.”

He knows why his dad hesitates. “You’d be better off in there,” he says.

“I won’t actually be joining up, dad. I’m a conscientious objector.” He knows he’s far too smug about the whole thing, it seems to irritate people, and he thinks maybe that’s why acts the way he does. 

“Since when?” Lois says.

Tom turns his head over his shoulder and grins. “About half an hour ago?”

The bus to Longsight stops just outside Gregory’s shop. He spots Kitty behind the counter through the glass. She doesn’t see him though, she’s writing something down. He asks Lois for some change and says he’ll see her and dad at home.

He takes a deep breath before he pushes on the door handle. The bell doesn’t distract Kitty from what she’s doing, but it gives him a few moments to admire the sight of her in deep concentration. She frowns rather sternly, pressing, pouting and biting her lips while she tries to think. Then with a frustrated huff she sets her pencil down and looks up.

She looks stunned at the sight of him. “Afternoon,” she says.

“Afternoon.”

“Not in prison anymore?”

He shrugs casually. “Didn’t get charged with anything.”

The edge of her mouth quirks. “And that makes it alright then?” 

He stops himself from rolling his eyes. Kitty has a remarkable talent for disguising her anger as passivity, but he knows better than to ignore it.

“Not charged on account of me joining up– for the war, like.”

“Oh right,” she says, folding her arms. “What did you come here for, toy gun and a uniform?”

“No,” he says, placing sixpenny on the counter, “usual.”

She looks at the coin, and then at him, before she turns to the shelf to get him the cigarettes and places the packet on the counter.

He’s never minded silences with Kitty before, they both seem to be able to sit in them, not having to needlessly fill the spaces. There’s nothing comfortable or familiar about this. He can see the rise and fall of her chest and her nostrils flaring when she puts the money through the till. The change rattles inside the draw as she slams it shut. 

“Cheers,” he mutters. He opens the packet and slips out a cigarette, only to realise they’d taken his lighter off him when he was arrested.

He taps it against the counter and Kitty just watches him. He has the feeling she might want him to leave.

“I’m not really joining up,” he says, “I’m gonna be a pacifist.”

“Tom Bennett the conchie?” she smirks.

Seeing her smile is like watching the sunrise, one of life’s little triumphs. He hopes he’s managed to break through the cold exterior.

“Dad’s giving me some leaflets and all,” he adds with a grin.

“You’re really committing then?” she asks, but there’s something sharp about her tone.

He feels his face soften. “What’s that mean?”

She huffs through her nose and turns her head away for a moment. “Well it’s obvious you’re only doing it because it gets you out of something you don’t want to do.”

“That’s sort of the point of pacifism, isn’t it?”

“Not in your case, no. You’re doing this to avoid going to prison.”

He scoffs, but he knows she’s right. Perfect Kitty Wheelan, she’s always right about everything.

“Would you rather that then?” he says, grimly.

“No! For Christ’s sake, of course I’m glad you’re not in prison!”

“So what’s your problem then?” he exclaims. “Because the only alternative is getting shipped off to die in some stupid war!”

He’s gone too far, he can see it in her eyes, they way they go wide and glassy. She takes a few moments to catch her breath, and when she blinks a tear rolls from each of her eyes.

“They’ve already gone, Eddie and Art. They’ve been sent to Belgium. Stevie’s not signed up yet, but he wants to.”

Two weeks. He’s been gone for two weeks and the war is already pressing on.

“Kitty…” he says softly, placing his hands on the counter, but she doesn’t reach for him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”

She takes a slow breath. When she looks up at him his heart stops for a moment. She’s so beautiful, even when she cries.

“Tom,” she says softly, “if you’re going to do something, do it for the right reasons. Do it because you believe in it.”

His hands twitch on the counter. He looks at her with the face that she usually finds convincing, hoping somehow she’ll understand how desperate he feels, how much he wants her to just take his hand.

“Alright, Kitty!” calls the voice of Mr Gregory, appearing from the storeroom. “That’s you done for the day—” he freezes when he sees Tom.

“Thanks, Mr Gregory,” Kitty says, quickly wiping her cheeks and undoing her apron. “Are you sure you don’t want help closing?”

“I’ll be alright, lass,” the man insists, “you deserve a few hours off.”

She won’t look at him, but Tom waits for her to get her coat and her bag, and follows her out the door as she leaves.

He fiddles with one of the cigarettes he can’t light, walking beside her towards Slade Grove. His arm brushes against her shoulder every so often.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “for shouting, it was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was,” Kitty says.

“It’s just, you know, criminal charges’ll stick with me for life, and if I die as a soldier, then what was the point in signing up in the first place?”

He watches her face wince at the mere thought, but she keeps her head up and her shoulders strong. She doesn’t say another word to him. 

An odd feeling of panic settles in his stomach. He tries to think of all the things he could say to make things right, to get her to at least look at him. The panic only mounts as they get closer to the Wheelans’ front door. 

“Kitty,” he says as she reaches into her handbag for her keys.

Her eyes slowly come to him, with a sad but expectant look.

His heart could burst. There’s so much he could say but no words come to mind, like his eyes just see her and accept the sight completely. 

“Kitty I—”

Suddenly the door swings open. Nancy Wheelan looks like she’s ready to go somewhere by the green coat and the brown leather handbag on her arm.

“Oh,” she says, looking between the two of them. “Is the shop still open?”

“Mr Gregory’s closing. If you want something you should get there quick,” Kitty says.

“No matter, I can wait until tomorrow,” Nancy says, before she turns her eyes to Tom.

“Mrs Wheelan,” he says, as inoffensively as he can.

Kitty shifts her weight on her feet.

“Tom,” the woman replies, curtly. Your father tells me you’ve been on remand.” Like mother like daughter, never ones to avoid stating the obvious.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Tom says, tucking the cigarette behind his ear. He’s hardly going to get invited in for tea by the stern look on Nancy’s face. “I’d better be off,” he says, and turns to Kitty one last time. “I’ll see you around.”

Kitty nods and quickly follows her mother inside the house. He can’t help but feel the slam of their front door is deliberate.

Douglas leaves some pamphlets out for him on the kitchen table, along with a spare lighter. He sits with his feet on the table, eyes skimming over the words, flicking the lighter open and shut. No matter how hard he tries to concentrate, his mind always seems to wander to Kitty.

When Lois comes back from her gig, torn between delight and despair at Harry’s return to Manchester, Tom sits on the windowsill in their bedroom, blowing smoke through the open window. Across the road, Kitty’s bedroom light is on, the curtains wide open.

He wonders if it’s an invitation.

“He said he loved you, didn’t he?”

Lois is tucked into her bed on the other side of the curtain that divides the room, the duvet up to her chin. “That was before he went away,” she says groggily.

“Yeah and a bloke isn’t going to say it more than once,” he says, tapping the ash from the cigarette, “not unless he’s feeling guilty.”

“It wasn’t like before,” Lois says, “he said things were different…”

“He’d just be nervous,” Tom muses. “He didn’t write, temper on you, bloody hell who wouldn't be, eh?”

There’s a flicker of a shadow in Kitty’s window.

“Why are you sticking up for him?” Lois giggles from her bed. “You don’t even like him.”

A figure blocks out the light and then she’s there. 

Look at me.

She slides the window closed and turns the lock. 

Come on, look at me.

She reaches up for the curtains and before she draws them, she turns her head to their house. He lowers his cigarette. She’s looking at him, dead in the eyes, he’s sure of it, even if his face will be hard to see.

She closes the curtains and the light switches off soon after that.

He huffs through his nose and collapses onto his front on the bed. “I’m sticking up for you,” he says, taking another drag, “couldn’t cope for a minute if you went wobbly. Neither could dad.”

“Of course you could, you’d look after each other.”

He doubts that. He’s always been one to disappear when dad has one of his episodes, or sits in his bedroom, crying into mum’s old cardigans because the smell of her is starting to fade. It’s too much. It’s frustrating. It makes him want to shout and scream because why can’t dad just pull himself together? Instead he slips out the backdoor, smokes in the alleyway behind the houses, hunches himself over a pint in the pub, or finds himself in Kitty’s bedroom, just for a few moments of peace.

“You’re the one he needs, Lois. Me…” He pouts his lips as he takes another drag and inhales the smoke into his chest. It burns a little until he breathes it out. 

Kitty doesn’t let him smoke in her bedroom, in case her parents or one of the lads found out, but she says she likes the smell of it. She muttered it once, about a year ago, when he’d shown up at her window with a flask of whisky he’d filled from dad’s stash under his bed. They drank while her parents were at the pub and the boys were having some kind of party downstairs, until all they could manage were giggles that left them scarce for air as they tried to stay quiet. She curled into his arms that night and nuzzled into his neck, pulling herself into him with every breath she took.

“Because you smell like you,” she’d said in an airy voice, “Like fags and sweat and sweets.”

He kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her neck, but she was already falling asleep by the time his lips grazed the corner of her mouth. 

If she remembers that night, she never mentions it, and she’s never tried to kiss him back. He doesn’t blame her.

“... I’m just a bloody nuisance.” 

Tuesday 19th September, 1939

He comes back from the recruitment office with his hands in his pockets. Some pacifist he makes, almost starting a fight in the queue. He can’t even laugh at himself. He heard the word “coward” and he knew he couldn’t go through with it.

As he walks past the Wheelan’s house, he sees the light in the front room isn’t on. Usually that’s where the boys all sit, but with Eddie and Art gone the house must be quiet these days. He wonders what Kitty will make of the recruitment papers in his back pocket.

When he makes his way into the kitchen, Lois is busy with ironing, and his dad is looking at the papers through his spectacles. 

“Kałuszyn’s a German victory,” Douglas mutters as Tom drapes his jacket over the opposite seat. “Only took a day.”

“How was the recruitment office?” Lois asks.

Tom exhales through his mouth and places the papers in front of his dad, new but already folden and crinkled.

Once Douglas has read what he needs to, he lowers his spectacles.

“The navy? The blood navy? You can’t even steer a pedalo.”

“At least it’s not the army,” Tom says with a shrug, “and I’m not going to prison, so…”

“I must be stupid,” Douglas says, “I thought you’d actually become a pacifist, really believed in it.”

“I don’t really believe in anything for long, dad,” Tom says, curling his fist on the table in front of him. “At least I’m fighting on the right side, at least give me that!”

“Everybody thinks that, every war that’s ever been fought,” Douglas says.

“Yeah well this one’s different.”

“Every war’s different!” Douglas bellows, tossing his spectacles onto the table. “Until it’s the same.”

Tom hangs his head. He knows he’s not a coward, and yet he’d still found himself switching to a different line once it had all calmed down. He knew he was stubborn, but this, signing up for a war to prove a point to a stranger… the worst part is he’s stubborn enough to go through with it.

“Lois, talk some sense into him!” their father says.

Lois can be so quick to anger, but with dad she always manages to stay perfectly calm. “I can’t do that dad. I think he’s right to join up.”

Tom can’t bring himself to look up, even when he hears his dad scoff at her.

“At least he’s getting out in the world,” she says. 

“Yeah, to get shot or blown up!”

Tom snatches up the recruitment papers as he stands, reaching for his jacket on the back of the chair. Lois’s eyes are a silent plea begging him to stay but he knows if he’ll just make things worse.

As he slams the kitchen door his dad shouts after him, “and do the same to lads no older than him, who have no more idea why they’re fighting either!”

He walks to the end of the red brick wall, where the alleyway leads to the main street. With his back against the wall and his head thrown back, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and lights a cigarette. 

It’s all bollocks, he concludes. The war, the signups, the idyllics and the madmen signing their own death warrants. He’s no righteous pacifist, but he’s not exactly a hero either. There’s no right side for him, not really.

He rattles some change in his pocket; he could use a pint, but he thinks there’s somewhere else he’d rather be. So he waits at the end of the alley, until the street is silent and he’s sure most of the residents will have gone to bed.

When he walks out onto the street he looks up at Kitty’s window. The curtains are closed but the window is open and the lights are on.

He’s well used to climbing up there by now. He avoids the view from the window to the lounge and pulls himself up the drainpipe and bay window. For the last little bit he has to slot his feet between the bricks, put his hands on the ledge below Kitty’s window and lift himself onto it. 

There are two voices on the other side of the curtains. He holds his breath and awkwardly looks around the street, but thankfully there’s no one around to spot him.

“I thought you were going to wait a bit longer,” Kitty says.

“I can’t keep putting it off,” Stevie replies, “not while Eddie and Art are out there risking their lives. Even Connie says she and Lois are auditioning for ENSA. We’ve all got to do our bit.”

“But we need you here, too,” Kitty says.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again.” The door handle rattles as someone reaches to open it.

There’s a pause, then Stevie sighs. “I’ll stop by the shop on my way home.”

She doesn’t reply.

“Night, Kitty,” Stevie says.

She grumbles back, “night.”

The door closes. Kitty releases a shaky breath that makes his heart ache. Her footsteps move across the floor towards the bed. He hears her sheets rustle and the light switch off. Surely she realises she’s left the window open?

He cautiously pushes the curtains back with a slight scraping noise of the rings against the curtain frame. He swings his legs inside and ducks his head under, kicking off his boots before he moves towards the bed, careful to avoid the floorboards he knows are creaky.

Kitty lies facing the wall and close to it, leaving a small amount of space on the mattress beside her.

He takes off his jacket, belt and jumper, leaving on his slacks and shirt, and lifts a corner of her duvet, slotting in against her back. He places the hand that isn’t underneath him on her arm, tracing up and down, along the texture of her skin.

Kitty hums dreamily. She takes his hand and clutches it against her stomach, so his arm falls around her waist. He holds her tighter, bringing her further into him until he can feel the curve of her spine against his shirt.

“I’m sorry I was such an arse to you earlier,” she mutters. 

He brushes the hair from her neck, his eyes inches from her bare skin. Her nightgown is starting to slip down her shoulder too. She smells sweet, like red sweets and vanilla perfume. 

“It’s my own stupid fault,” he says, softly, but they’re so close she’ll hear every word. “Besides, didn’t even go through on the pacifist thing. I signed up for the navy this morning.”

Her hair flicks in his face as she turns to her other side. His arm settles back on her waist and the tip of her nose barely brushes his own.

“You did what?”

“Signed up for the navy,” he says.

“You did not,” she breathes.

He swallows his disappointment. It was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to find a principle, to do something for the right reasons?

“What are you so upset for?” he says, “I’m the one who has to go, not you.”

She nods, but he can see the tears welling in her eyes.

“And Stevie’s signing up too,” he realises.

She huffs, the way she usually does when she’s upset but she pretends not to be. “That’s it then, once you and him are gone, I’ll have no one.”

He takes her hand and brings it between their chests, clasping it tightly. “Oh my pretty Kitty,” he grins, knowing how much she hates it when he calls her that, “you’ve got your mum and dad, you’ve got mates. Dad and Lois adore you. You’ve got your job, you’ve got a life here.”

“You’re a part of my life too,” she says.

It knocks the breath from his lungs.

“I’ve signed up now. Couldn’t take it back even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Kitty says.

His chest feels like it might crush under the weight of it all. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, just… why’d you have to get yourself caught up in all these messes?”

He sees it in the way she looks at him, not exasperated or angry just, sad. He’s never really understood why she seems to take his mistakes so personally.

He turns his head further into the pillow and moves his tongue over his teeth. “Some bloke at the recruitment office said I was a coward for queuing up with the conchies.”

Kitty’s lip trembles. “So what?” she whispers.

“Squared up to him, didn’t I? But when it came to putting my name down… I don’t know, I just couldn’t do it. See the grief dad gets for his paper, what would people think of me if I stayed home while men are laying down their lives?”

Her chest rises and falls as she sighs, slowly, deeply. 

“Maybe it’s me,” he says. “Maybe I’m a bad person.”

“You’re not a bad person,” she says, placing her hand on his jaw, fingertips stoking lightly over his neck. “You’re just…”

“Just what?”

She smiles sadly. “You’re just stupid.”

He smiles back, and nudges his forehead against hers. The rest of the house is so quiet he worries he’s breathing too loudly.

“Kitty,” he whispers, sliding his hand along her waist and into her back, pulling her closer, closer.

“Yes?” 

His palm maps every curve and detail along her body, her back, her hips, her rear, her thighs, the feeling of her skin and the way she shudders at his touches. 

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Her smile is wide and unashamed. She puts her arms over his shoulders and gently presses her lips to his. 

They had kissed before, once or twice when they were kids. Back then they thought it was hilarious, another secret they could keep with each other, and they felt so grown up at even just the briefest peck of their lips.

Kissing Kitty now is unlike anything he’s done before. It’s slow and steady, and he savours every moment of it, the softness of her mouth, her hands in his hair, the little hum she gives when he kisses her neck and the way she arches her back when he slips his thigh between her legs.

She follows his lead at first, but finds her stride soon enough, kissing him deeper, holding him closer as she slowly starts to rut her hips against him, grinding into his thigh.

He whispers her name into her mouth, desperately squeezing her waist through her nightgown as he feels himself becoming hard against her stomach. And it hurts. Everything about her consumes him, sets him on edge and lulls him into a calm and assured warmth.

Her hands slip between them, unsure but determined fingers undoing the buttons on his shirt. He catches on and quickly has it over his head, leaving it forgotten on the floor.

She pauses, her eyes, palms and fingertips running over the bare skin revealed to her, the light patch of hair on his chest, the lines of his muscles, the small moles running down his torso and the scar on his bicep where he’d broken his arm years ago. 

She slips further, brushing over the bulge in his slacks. Tom clenches his teeth and places a hand over hers, bucking under her touch. 

“Can you take these off?” she says, and with that doe-eyed look, how could he ever refuse her?

He lifts his hips and shuffles his slacks past his ankles, and soon those are on the floor too. He looks back to Kitty, with a pleased grin.

She teases her fingers over the fabric of his boxers. “Those too?”

He removes the final layer, smiling at Kitty’s apparent fascination. She cautiously feels along his naval and his hips, until she comes to his cock. She traces her fingertips over it, already half-hard.

He positions her hand around it and guides her to stroke up and down. Their eyes meet. Even through the low light and the dreamy haze of his own want, she’s beautiful, lips parted, brows in a wanting frown, and the corners of her mouth curling up. When she brushes her thumb over the tip, he thinks he might come there and then.

He leans up, kisses her cheek and whispers in her ear. “I want to see you too.”

She comes to her knees and lifts her nightgown over her head. He leans his head against the headboard, a contented sigh leaving his lips at the sight of her. She’s perfect. How could she be anything less? 

He reaches for her hips, bringing her to straddle him. Never parting from her body, his hand slides along her waist to one of her breasts, squeezing gently and dragging his thumb over her perked nipple. He starts to guide her with his other hand, rocking her hips back and forth, dragging her wet centre along his cock. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from groaning at the little whimper that catches in her throat, and the feeling of her gliding against him, so warm and practically soaked. 

She braces herself against his chest. “Tom,” she whines, though it’s barely above a breath. He can feel her trying to move faster, desperate for friction. “I want more, please…”

He hushes her, placing a finger to her lips. He turns his head to the floor, impressed with himself that his slacks are just within reach. He takes a packet from one of the pockets and tears it open with his teeth, sliding the condom along his length.

He leans up again and catches her lips in a gentle kiss. “Are you alright with this?” he says, “we don’t have to.”

Kitty holds his face in her hands as she lifts her hips. “I want to,” she utters.

Tom positions his tip to her entrance and holds her as she slowly starts to sink down. He can’t help the low groan that sounds in his throat no matter how much he tries to resist, but she’s so tight, so perfect.

She gasps and clenches her hands in his hair, but is determined to keep taking him, until their hips meet and he bottoms out. They stay like that for as long as she needs, catching her breath, getting used to the feeling of him inside her.

“Good girl,” he hums, tracing his thumbs over her stomach. “How do you feel?”

Kitty’s eyes flutter and she nods. “It hurts a little, but it feels good.”

“This should help,” he says, circling his thumb over her pearl.

She clasps a hand over her mouth as she lets out a short gasp and braces herself against him again. 

“Fuck, does that feel nice, pretty Kitty?” he grins.

Her moans are starting to make too much noise. If they go any further they might wake up her whole family. Not fancying having to explain a black eye or any broken limbs to his dad or commanding officer, he takes Kitty in his arms and brings her to lie down beside him again, keeping his cock nestled inside her.

He brings her head close to his shoulder. “I’m going to start moving, tell me if you want to stop.”

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"And I know it feels good but you need to be quiet too, yeah?"

"Yes," she utters, "please, just..."

He starts to fuck her slowly, finding a rhythm that ensures the bed doesn’t make any noise as it rocks. He draws her pleasure from her gradually, his cock dragging through her and his fingers circling over her pearl. He can feel it when she starts to clench around him, her hips moving against him to match his thrusts. 

They fall apart together, silencing their moans into each other’s necks.

The quiet of the night feels precious; two people existing in the same space, breathing the same air, sharing the same heat, clinging to each other like they’ve always done. 

She kisses him again, messily, like she’s drunk. Somewhere in it she loses her focus, her mouth slides along his jaw and she giggles into his neck.

“Are you tired?” he says.

“I think so,” she mumbles.

“Come here then.” He slides slowly out of her and turns onto his back, one arm draped over her shoulders. She leans into him, keeping a hand against his skin, over his heart.

Kitty snores softly in her sleep but he doesn’t mind it. 

He visits her every night for the next week, until he’ll have to leave for his training. He waits until all the lights in the Wheelans’ house are off, then sneaks in through the window and discards his clothes before he climbs into her bed. They kiss and fuck as quietly as they can, until they’re both breathless and too tired to stay awake.

On his last night in Longsight, once Kitty is fast asleep, her breath fluttering against his chest and his fingers stroking over her hair, it occurs to him that he might love her. But he’s seen what a mess Harry and Lois made, saying stupid things like that before one of them went away. So he lets her sleep, and stay in blissful ignorance. 

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

[stevieschrodinger]

“You’ve changed,” Carol pops her gum, every snake on her head is turned and glaring at Steve.

“Yeah,” he replies stoically, “yeah, I have.”

Carol rolls her eyes at him, “so what? That’s it? One summer and you’re too good for me now-”

It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He’s aware that Robin has come up to stand next to him, their knuckles brush together and Carol obviously catches it, raising an eyebrow, “Really? You’re fucking Buckley?” She hisses at him, all her snakes weaving gently like they’re waiting for the strike, laser focused on Steve.

It ruffles his feathers, he can’t help that, but he keeps his expression neutral, “yeah, well, what I do doesn’t concern you.”

She hisses again, an actual hiss, forked tongue and fang making an appearance before she stomps off, no doubt to find Tommy. Rob moves closer, pressed together fingers to shoulder, she tilts her head so that her snakes can greet him. They nose Steve’s cheek gently at first, uncertain, before Steve nuzzles them and then they all join in, Steve’s face being licked by dozens of happy tongues. Robin giggles, “dingus.”

All of Robin’s snakes sit low, relaxed, all lovely shades of copper and bronze, just like the scales that decorate her cheekbones and eyebrows. Carol’s are venomous green and always look like they’re hunting for prey.

Steve looks down; she’s done something to the scales, glitter, or something, but it looks pretty. Steve before wouldn’t know how to do this; how to give a simple honest compliment to a friend. Old Steve only said things that were shitty, just to make him feel better about himself, “looks nice, the,” Steve gestures vaguely to the space next to his own eyes, where white downy feathers lie flat to his skin, “shiny. I like it.”

Robin grins up at him, “we could do you, silver would look good?”

“Nah,” Steve looks around again, “I’d never get it out of- hey is that Munson?” Steve asks, frowning as he watches the guy clop along, hooves poking out from the ends of his ragged jeans. It’s Munson, Steve already knows, obviously, but he looks really different, “his horns are in,” Steve realises.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees sadly.

It takes a second for Steve to put it together, “oh shit, Chrissy.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realise they were so close...were they..?”

Robin shakes her head, “just really good friends. Her family...they wouldn’t let him go to the funeral.”

“Well...shit,” because that is shit. He knew Chrissy and Munson used to hang out all the time, didn’t know if they were a thing or whatever; didn’t care then. That was before this summer and Robin at Scoops and the shit with Max and her brother and the fall of king Steve. He knows the kids know Munson; knows they really like him. It’s not fair that Chrissy’s family wouldn’t let him go, just because of what he is. Just because he lives in the trailer park with the rest of the Demons.

He sits with the kids at lunch, just ignores all the looks he gets. He doesn’t need to do much, just sits and eats and listens as the kids prattle on about nerd shit. When Munson comes in, shoulders slumped and picking up a tray to join the line, Steve’s eyes are drawn to him. Dustin spots him too, the kid looks sympathetic, but his tail’s wagging away at the sight of his friend, “gonna’ go say hi to Eddie,” Dustin slides off the bench, ears pricked in Eddie’s direction.

Unfortunately he walks straight into Tommy Hagan, “watch it pup,” Tommy snorts, sets his ridiculously wide shoulders and lowers his horns as he pushes Dustin hard enough he stumbles a few steps.

Steve wants to rip the ring right out of his nose, he gets up, wings spreading and white feathers fluffing in a threat display. No one fucks with the kids. Dustin whines out a little puppy growl, “fuck off Hagan.”

“Watch your fucking mouth <i>dog,”</i> Tommy tries to push him again, but Steve gets in the way, shoving Tommy so hard he nearly goes over.

Steve’s vaguely aware that he’s pissed enough that the light around his head is brighter than usual, and he’s glad when Tommy struggles to look at him, blinking at the glare, “fuck this, whatever.”

“Thanks Steve,” Dustin says, before loping off to go and stand with Eddie. Turns out Eddie was watching the entire thing, and his and Steve’s eyes briefly meet, Eddie’s slitted pupils contracted against the light, but he doesn’t look away until Dustin tugs at his jacket.

Steve sits again, curious now, “Max?” she looks at him as she’s ripping into beef jerky with her fangs, he indicates the tiny baby horns sticking from high up on her forehead, “they grow in when something bad happens, right?”

She swallows a huge piece of meat in one go, “not necessarily bad...just, you know. Enough to change you. I hope I’m fucking angry when mine happens.”

“Yeah?”

She hums, gnawing on the meat, “makes em spikey.”

Steve looks at Eddie, his horns curl back and down, like a ram, all smooth and dark, almost containing his fluffy curls, “and what do Eddie’s mean?”

Max looks over, then looks back, shrugging, “grief, I guess.”

Eddie’s sitting alone a week later, and Steve feels like he has to check in with the guy, at least, “I’m just going to say hi to Munson.” Robin smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers, “what?”

“You’re just...that’s a good thing, I’m proud of you Steve.”

He rolls his eyes to hide how that has made him feel, tickling the chins of a couple of her snakes and making her giggle as a distraction before he heads over. Eddie’s got a book open on the table and he’s scribbling in a notebook, “Dungeons and Dragons, right?”

Eddie blinks up at him, “how the fuck do you know that?”

Steve takes it as enough of an invitation to at least perch on the opposite bench, “I do listen when the kids talk. Sometimes.”

It gets a little half smile out of Munson, a fang poking out that’s kind of attractive. His pupils are black slits, but the iris is a lovely, honey brown. There’s flames moving in the depths, shifting shades of brown. The whole thing is kind of attractive, Steve can’t help but notice. Eddie seems to have suddenly grown into himself over the summer. His wings look bigger too; stronger, dark black and leathery, folded neatly against his back.

Steve can feel his own wings tipping, feathers fluffing. He can see them moving out of the corner of his eye, wing joints dipping low and wing tips fluttering, and can’t help but look betrayed by them.

Eddie’s wings spread in answer, large, joint tips held high. Dominant.

Well, shit.

Somewhere far away, Steve is very vaguely aware of Robin producing a wolf whistle and then Dustin’s puppy howl joining in.

He wants the ground to open up and swallow him when Eddie raises an eyebrow, “something you want, sweetheart?” His fangs flash.

Steve figures he’s all in, he can’t hide what his body apparently wants, and half the school has probably seen this little display, “are you, you know, doing anything later?”

“Yeah,” Eddie leans closer over the table, resting on his elbows, “hopefully I’ll be <i>doing</i> something alright.”

“Come over. Six ish,” Steve manages to get out before he flees for his life.

Eddie has him pinned to the door and is kissing the life out of him before Steve really registers what’s happening. Eddie’s a bitey kisser, and it’s all Steve can do to keep up. Eddie grips both Steve’s wrists in one hand, pins them above his head and Steve just...melts. Lets Eddie have it, the control, the everything. Eddie grabs a handful of Steve’s feathers and tugs...ever so gently. It’s enough to summon a moan of pleasure from Steve.

“Bed,” Eddie growls against his mouth, fangs pressing to Steve’s plush lip without splitting skin, “please, tell me we’re going to bed.”

Steve nods frantically, and Eddie gets the memo and lets him go, following as Steve takes the stairs two at a time.

Eddie’s skin is pale and dotted with tattoos. The happy trail from his tummy button is soft brown fur, it spreads out to his hips, his goat legs ending in shiny black cloven hooves. The leaking, red head of his penis is starting to emerge from it’s furred sheath. Below it, Eddie’s ridiculously large balls hang heavy; it makes Steve’s mouth water. Steve is delighted to find Eddie had a tiny little wisp of a tail; it’s barely long enough to cover the tight pucker of Eddie’s asshole, and it wags, brushing against Steve’s fingers, as Steve investigates the tight ring of muscle with a dry fingertip.

It wags faster when Steve starts to rub gentle circles. Eddie tolerates Steve’s touches for a moment before spreading his wings and manhandling Steve onto the bed. Steve has to spread his wings to they don’t get smushed under him, and he lands with a happy, “oof.”

Eddie’s on him immediately, kissing and licking and sucking at every square inch of bare skin. He works his way down, kneeling on the floor and hooking Steve’s thighs with his arms before dragging him down the bed. Steve’s thighs land on Eddie’s shoulders and before Steve knows it, his ass is being lifted, cupped in Eddie’s hands, as Eddie spreads him and finds Steve’s hole with his mouth.

Steve cries out in pleasure, Eddie’s tongue is sinuous and broad and he works it into Steve’s hole, licking and moaning. Eddie’s eyes are closed, and Steve can’t help but look down his own body to watch, some of Eddie’s face obscured by Steve’s own erection. There’s the soft noise of Steve’s wings shifting, and Steve white knuckle grips the covers, fighting the urge to just straight up fuck himself down onto Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie’s ridiculously long, talented tongue.

“I want to hold your horns while I ride you.”

Eddie’s eyes blink open, and he pulls back, smirking, “that can most definitely be arranged.”

Steve shifts, giving Eddie space to get on the bed, Steve climbing over him before he even really settles. Eddie fur is soft on Steve’s thighs, and the curve of his goat legs means Steve has an extra comfy dip to sit in.

Eddie’s bare cock is hard and leaking everywhere, the skin red and shiny and flush, his sheath completely rolled down now, a little furry pouch at the base. If they get the chance to do this again, Steve wants to nuzzle those heavy looking balls.

Eddie grips him by the hips, his wings come up too, the joints resting against Steve’s ribs for extra stability. Steve flares his own wings for balance, pleased when Eddie’s eyes flick across to drink in the snowy white feathers. Steve slips a hand between his thighs, gentle where he holds Eddie’s turgid flesh, and slowly eases his body down. He’s wet and messy and open from Eddie’s tongue, and the pointed shape slips in easy enough. Eddie’s big though, big enough that the stretch burns a little, quickly soothed by the copious amounts of pre come Eddie is leaking.

“Okay,” Eddie breaths, “not even so much a question. His fingertips are digging into Steve’s flesh from the effort of holding still, so Steve puts them both out of there misery and starts to rock, leaning forward a little to grip Eddie’s horns, pinning him to the bed.

The soft tickle of Eddie’s fur against Steve’s ass is wonderful, the feel of wing leathery wing wrapping tight to Steve is even better. Steve’s wings curve down to lay over Eddie’s without his permission, and Steve catches Eddie staring at where the white feathers sit next to the black skin.

Eddie likes it.

Steve likes it too.

Eddie reaches down, wrapping a hand around Steve’s dripping cock, giving Steve something to fuck into as he rocks up and down. If Eddie minds Steve using his horns for leverage, he doesn’t show it. At all.

Steve pulls a hand up, slaps it over Eddie’s eyes, “I’m close. It’ll get bright, I- I- Eddie. Eddie I’m gonna’ come-”

Eddie pulls Steve’s hand away, “I can take it,” he says, breathless, something big tugging at Steve’s rim, more pressure trying to push inside, Steve wants it, knows it’ll make him come.

The pressure breaks, slips past Steve’s rim with a pop, Steve is suddenly so full, so stretched, the room is bathed in bright light but Eddie watches him anyway, slit pupils made paper thin to stave off any damage. His mouth hangs open, forked tongue and fangs on display.

Steve’s come paints Eddie’s stomach as his orgasm pulses through him, ass grinding into the soft fur in the cradle of Eddie’s hips. He can feel wave after wave of heat as Eddie comes inside him; it feels endless.

Steve is panting and sweaty as they come down from it together, Eddie fingers skating carefully across Steve’s skin, shifts to his wings to pet his feathers, when Steve tries to shift though, Eddie freezes, eyes wide with shock...and then pleasure as he ruts upward uncontrollably, movements sloppy, Steve can feel the hot pulse of more come inside him.

Steve too; he can’t move, Eddie’s cock lodged inside him.

“What is that?”

Eddie frowns now, and then he looks away, suddenly very uncomfortable. Steve doesn’t like that look on Eddie’s face, “I think I’ve knotted you,” he mumbles.

Steve’s not even sure what that is, “how long does it last?”

“I, ah, don’t know, it’s never happened before.”

Steve wriggles his hips, enjoying the tug of Eddie’s knot at his rim, likes the hot splash in his gut as Eddie ruts helplessly, coming again, skin flushed pink and eyes sliding closed with a moan of pure bliss.

“Never?”

“No,” Eddie pants out, blinking up at Steve once he gets himself under control again, “it, it only happens when we find out mates,” Eddie breaths the words out all together, and his eyes slide away, like he’s embarrassed.

Steve tugs him back by the curve of his horn, makes him look at Steve, “you think my wings bow to just anyone?”

Eddie looks thrilled when he realises what Steve must mean, smile big and happy before it collapses back into itself, “but surely you, I mean, what about another Angel? What about...you know, a real life? A family?”

“What, you think a life with you wouldn’t be a real one-?”

“You know what I mean-” Eddie hisses as his half deflated knot suddenly slips free. Steve groans, and is very, very fucking aware of the flood of come that drips right back out of him.

“We can have kids, if you want them.”

Eddie swallows, he doesn’t seem a jot bothered by the small lake of bodily fluids that must be soaking into the fur of his crotch and thighs, “adoption, or something?”

Steve nods, “if you want to. But I am an angel. I’m a literal vessel Eddie. If you want babies, I can carry them.”

Eddie blinks up at him, slitted pupils turning wide with surprise as he looks up at Steve, “I didn’t know that, thought you guys were vessels for, holy light, or something,” Eddie’s eyes are filled with fire. Not gold, like Steve’s, but a shimmer in his natural brown, hidden until you know where to look. It’s beautiful.

Steve nods, “we don’t even have to have sex, it’s just a little bit of my soul, a little bit of yours-”

“I don’t-” Eddie looks away, again, swallows thickly, “I don’t have one.”

Steve has to pull him back again, gently, this time, a soft touch to Eddie’s cheek until he finally looks back up at Steve through his lashes, “is that what they tell you?”

Eddie nods, Steve shakes his head.

“It’s not true baby, you have one, I see it, burning bright.”

Eddie smiles, clearly pleased, rolling them so they can snuggle together, their wings hanging off either side of the bed. They kiss. Soft and slow, the very tinniest hint of Eddie’s fangs. Steve loves the brush of Eddie’s fur against his legs.

“Your light...that thing go away when you’re sleeping?”

Steve laughs, “nope.”

Eddie sighs, “you’re the big spoon then, no way in Hell I’ll be sleeping with that nonsense shining right in my face.”

#eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #getting together #demon eddie munson #angel steve harrington #AU #the party #werewolf dustin henderson #gorgon robin buckly #mythical creatures #fantasy au #fantasy creature

[dathen]

Okay I know I’m being a broken record about The Copper Beeches, but Violet Hunter is praised by Sherlock Holmes as one of his smartest clients, when the story starts like this:

Violet: Hey I got job and here’s the context

Holmes: Yikes those are so many red flags

Violet: I thought so too, but I’m going to take the job anyway because I have nothing to eat

Holmes: I can’t blame you. Please tell me if you need help.

If Victorian Man Sherlock Holmes doesn’t victim-blame for someone walking into a very sketchy situation because she needs a job, tumblr in the year of our lord 2023 doesn’t need to just because it’s about a male character this time.

And then for the investigations:

Violet: I found a door constantly locked but broke in the moment I had the chance.

Violet: Oh and my boss told me I’d get fed to the dog if I did something like that.

Holmes: You are incredibly brave and smart

Watson: Yeah Holmes she’s on your level. Why don’t you date her?

Holmes: Why would I ever date anyone

So in the SAME STORY you have a prisoner (she had to sneak away when her boss wasn’t watching) breaking the rules because she knows she needs information and her creepy boss sure isn’t to be trusted to keep her best interests in mind.

So, once again, if Holmes and Watson don’t go “you stupid girl, if the door was locked obviously you shouldn’t go in?? you deserve to be fed to the dog” then 2023 tumblr yelling at Jonathan for not following Dracula’s every order despite threats has no excuse.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #the copper beeches #sherlock holmes

[meowcatsposts]

Better [Werewolf bf]

╰► warning: mentions of stalking and kidnapping

Overview

You get kidnapped by a werewolf, basically

(But don't worry, he has your best interests at heart)

“You deserve better,” he murmured, rough voice raspy from the lack of use. His copper eyes bore into yours, so icily striking yet fiery warm. “You really do.”

Argos was his name, you learned–the hound-human who captured you. He had an unruly and dark but smooth mane for hair, and his complexion was rather pale, like white lilies under waning moonlight. Ropes of lean muscle undulated beneath his milky skin as he scrounged for something in a heap of bones. He kept his “treasures” hidden there.

From the ghoulish pile he produced yet another skull–a dog skull. Hollowed dead eyes stared back at you as he put the piece of bone in front of your eyes, and you suppressed a small scream. Were you going to end up like this?

“You’re scared,” Argos said, dark eyebrows drawing together. “I didn’t mean to do that…” 

He paused to look you in the eyes once more, as if checking a wounded bird. Then he continued–after encapsulating your hand in his larger, rougher one. They were warm, like a hot cup of tea.

“This could have been me, a long time ago,” Argos trailed, rotating the dog skull and tilting his head to see its void eyes, too. “Neglected, starved, dead…” He set the skull down with a soft clunk. “I’ve watched you, and I see it in you, too. The people around you don’t see your worth, do they? They treat you like vermin, from what I see–something to never befriend, something to never worship.” Suddenly his eyes burned dark, a moon in a solar eclipse. A guttural growl escaped his parted lips. “And I’ve seen you cry by yourself…with no one to cry on…”

Then, gazing into your eyes like a pet who lovingly sidles up to its owner, he asked, “Was it lonely?”

You hadn’t noticed the hot tears searing your eyelids nor the blurred Argos in front of you, who held both of your hands in both of his. It was so unnerving and creepy and freaky that a hound-human like him stalked you, but at the same time it was so fuzzy and gentle and warm that it made your heart clench. Oh, how you wished for a genuine connection–a connection of trust and love and nothing else. But alas, thick ropes of human connections strangle you, leaving you breathless and choking, raw and bruised. 

Did Argos understand? Perhaps he did, because with a small smile he wiped your tears away with his thumb, murmuring soft ‘it’s ok’ s, or ‘I’ll be with you now’ s. 

“Yeah…it was lonely,” you croaked. “How do you know?”

Argos said nothing, just held you close. 

You had just returned from a hangout, rather large, consisting of several friends. A part of you was happy you went, but another whole was glad to be far, far away from that suffocating setting. Sure, everyone was cordial and bubbly and kind, but they knew each other more than you did. So you were left to drift by yourself most of the time, left to gaze upon tightly-knit trios and duos who were talking and smiling. One, as a joke, called you something foul–but apologized later on for potentially hurting your feelings. 

Minutes dragged into hours, and you soon grew exhausted by the continuous chatter that you couldn’t keep up with–or really be a part of. It was an odd number of people anyway, you told yourself. It’d be natural for someone like yourself to be floating. So you excused yourself, before you grew too sick. (Not like the others really cared, right, though they waved and said cheery ‘bye!’ s to you.)

Currently in the shower, fresh tears streamed down your wet cheeks. Why were you crying, again? Was it relief? Was it hurt? What was it, anyway?

All you knew, though, was that it felt good to cry.

Argos heard your soft sobs and whimpers bounce off the ambient shower walls. 

Every. 

Single. 

One. 

Heck, he even heard you blow your nose every so often, probably because you were crying so much. His sharp ears flattened on his head and he prowled around in endless circles, large paws making no sound on the prickly grass. His tail dangled limply and his thick fur bristled against the chilly fall breeze. 

Why did your outing have to turn so bitter? he wondered. Why did you always have to end up like this?

Argos saw how bright your hopeful eyes looked, only for it to drain drain drain away until your once beautiful eyes turned nearly dull. It reminded him of when he was infested by maggots–lying limply on cold stone, life slowly draining from his eyes. It took all of his resolve not to whisk you right away, into his humble little shack. At least he could provide you with warmth there. He would protect you–love you–unlike those unappreciative posers. There were too many of that kind, he thought bitterly.

Argos gazed blankly at the dimly lit road. It was good that it was dark; he melted into the shadows. No one to see him. No one to hear him.

“Argos, do you think I’m selfish?” you asked the now-hound male, whose large head was on your lap. Argos rumbled his throat as if to say, ‘No, you are not.’

Your fingers glided through his dense, black fur. It had been quite a while now, since he claimed you as his. Perhaps it’d been a few months now, maybe more. And your former home? Argos told you not to worry about it–apparently it’d been taken care of. How, though, you didn’t know. 

Argos treated you quite well; you were his royalty, after all. He fed you your favorite meals and snacks, gave you space (to some extent–you couldn’t leave the premises), and drowned you in his affections. When he was a wolf he licked and nipped gently at your skin, and provided you with his fur to play with. When he was human he embraced you and napped with you, and loved to kiss you–sometimes on the forehead, sometimes on the lips, but mostly on the neck, right where your heartbeat was. His kisses were usually light and sweet, a stark contrast to his brooding eyes and glacial complexion.

“Mmh, Argos,” you mumbled, resting your hands on his lean pale arms. 

Argos, on the other hand, was resting his hands on your hips, caging you between his body and a wall. His lips trailed up and down your neck, peppering it with sweet kisses. His copper eyes smoldered with heat, and his body was no different; you thought you would burn under his touch. You knew you couldn’t escape, either, since he was so big; he made you feel so small, somehow, like prey caught by a predator.

“You’re not telling me to stop, are you?” Argos stated; the way his voice lowered by octaves, clearly, it wasn’t a question.

As your breath hitched in your throat, he chuckled, eyes fluttering up to meet yours. They really looked like melted copper now, dissolved by his primal instincts–to press you into the wall…pin your wrists above your head…ravage you until dawn. But somehow, he managed to push them back to the depths of his hungry core, sticking to pressing soft kisses all over your exposed skin.

Feeling a little awkward just standing there, you slipped your fingers through his dark hair and played with the thick strands and massaged his scalp. Argos groaned faintly, just under his breath; you felt it on your skin–hot and needy. 

Getting a surge of confidence you murmured in his ear, “Do you like it?”

Argos just pressed you harder against the hard wooden walls, eliciting a cute squeak from you. (He made sure not to hurt you, though, because he knew just how easily you’d break.) It wasn’t the first time he tossed you around like a ragdoll. He loved how your eyes widened with fear, how your lips parted, how your breath became ragged and uneven; it made his blood burn with adrenaline. 

“I do,” Argos replied gruffly, “but let’s not forget about who’s pinned against the wall, now…”

Sometimes, you hated the man for his cockiness; it dripped off of him like a pungent perfume. 

But he was all you could ever ask for…

So why not stay with him?

yellow dividers from: firefly-graphics

#werewolf #werewolf x reader #monster x reader #monster #werewolf boyfriend

[rocksibblingsau]

Do you have any headcanons for Funk Branch being an older brother to Prince D (maybe even Copper later on)? How would he react if Prince D ever asked about him leaving, not that I can really see him asking that

Branch is very reluctant to be a brother to D, especially an older brother. He's terrified that D will end up like he was, left alone and broken. It's because he's become a big brother though that he begins to unlearn his self-blame. There's nothing D could do that would make him hate him. If D did the same thing Branch did, if his singing led Bergens straight to Essence and Quincy, Branch still wouldn't blame him. When D makes mistakes he doesn't view D as flawed.

So why did he hold himself to those standards?

Branch is constantly worried about being a big brother and all the ways he's failing, but D thinks he's the best. His big brother Branch is a nerd and he loves him so much.

They joke about the height difference a lot, with D being 'The biggest little brother he's ever had'. You know that one meme 'why is the dog on the counter'/'he likes to feel tall'? I like the idea that when Branch needs to put his foot down/win an argument he stands on whatever surface will make him taller. I could also see him using the shoes the funk trolls wear in the movie. You know the ones that grew taller during the 'assemble the crew' bit? I don't think he'd wear them much, but he's making even less eye contact with people than he normally would because his neck starts to hurt from looking up.

Cooper it's a lot more of a friendship than a full brotherhood, though Cooper kind of goes all in on it. "I've got a twin and a big brother and I didn't even know it!" D likes messing with Branch and so when he and Cooper hang out he'll be like "Wanna see something funny? Pick up those scissors."

Cue Branch coming out to yell about safety as the two snicker.

Cooper also likes to try and throw Branch off by taking off his hat and asking Branch to guess which brother is which. He gets a very 'Oh, this is going to be so hard, you're so similar.' in reply before Branch just puts Cooper's hat back on him.

By leaving I assume you mean if D would ask Branch if he'd ever want to go back to live with Pop/his family? I think D might have asked ask a young kid before they bonded but as adults he wouldn't. Though if he did, Branch would tell him he already knows that he's home with the funk fam.

#sibblings qna #funk branch au #trolls branch #trolls cooper #prince darnell #prince d trolls

[fallenclan]

Hee joins the clan with her mother and brother when she is a kit. The wind whispered in his ears, the stars danced above him.

His apprenticeship comes, and he practically begs Sunwish to be apprenticed to her. She's mystified by Starclan, and her warrior ancestors. He wants to heal, to help. Sunwish happily accepts.

--

About five moons into her apprenticeship, she realizes she's not a tom. Which is weird, because she is a tom. She asks Sunwish.

"Silverpaw, if you want to be a girl you can be a girl. I'll tell the whole clan to start calling you a she," Sunwish says.

"Really?" Silverpaw asks. "I can just do that?"

"Sure you can," Sunwish says. "It's not like it's uncommon. The medicine cat in Shallowclan used to be a tom too."

"And she's a girl now?" Silverpaw inquires.

"Yes, and she's very good at what she does," Sunwish replies, her copper eyes glistening with pride.

And later that night, Silverpaw tells Applepaw. Applepaw probably gets it, because she's a gorl too.

"That's cool," Applepaw says. "Want some of this finch?"

"Oh, sure."

And then Maplepaw comes by, complains that Applepaw shared her finch with Silverpaw instead of him, and Applepaw corrects his usage of pronouns.

That's when Silverpaw knows the clan accepts her.

--

"Silverpaw!" Otterkit yells.

"I'm coming!" She bounds down the slope and skids to a stop in front of Otterkit, who looks close to tears. "Yes?"

"There's blood coming out of my paw!" He all but wails.

"Let me see it," Silverpaw says, lifting said paw with her own. She looks at it. "Otterkit, did you step on a thorn then try to pull it out without loosening it?"

Otterkit says nothing, just glances at Nettlestem, willing her to help him. He fails to notice that she is sleeping.

"Otterkit," she repeats.

"Maybe."

"I keep telling you not to do that!"

"Okay, but it was hurting! I can totally do it myself," he adds. Silverpaw narrows her eyes skeptically.

"Come here so I can put something on it," she says. Otterkit stands still. "Otterkit."

"Badger ride."

"I'm too little for badger rides," Silverpaw says. "You'll crush me."

"Badger ride."

Silverpaw obliges, and carries him away to the medicine den.

--

"Silverpaw, step forward," Sunwish instructs. Silverpaw steps in front of the pool of stalactite water. "Sleep in the cavern, and your ancestors will come to speak to you."

"Okay."

Sunwish exits the cavern. The Shallowclan medicine cat, Lakelily, follows her.

Silverpaw shuts her eyes, and wills sleep to take her. When she opens her eyes again, she is still in the glowcave, but there's another cat standing in front of her.

"Hello, Silverpaw," the cat greets. She has dark brown patches of fur, and she is tinged a pale blue.

"Hi," she says. "Where am I?"

"Starclan's glowcave," the cat says. "I'm here to give you your medicine cat name. Are you ready?"

Silverpaw nods. This was it!

"Silverpaw, you have trained hard under Sunwish's careful guidance, and you are ready to earn your medicine cat name," the cat says. "Now, by the powers invested in me, I grant you your name. Silverpaw, from this moment forward, you shall be known as Silverbelly."

The cave goes dark. The frame of the cat dims.

"It's tradition," the she-cat says. A line of blood trails from one rock to another. Then, her vision slips into darkness, and she wakes up.

"Silverpaw?" Sunwish calls. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good," Silverpaw says. "And it's Silverbelly, now."

"That's wonderful! Did Wildfang accept you?"

Silverpaw hums. "The pale cat with the dark brown splotches?"

"That's her," Sunwish confirms.

"Then yes."

Her mind flashes back to the vision. The blood trailed from one rock to another, and it suddenly stopped.

"Sunwish?"

"Yes?"

"I think I had a vision," Silverbelly says.

--

Nettlestem is the first cat she is unable to save.

A patrol found her bleeding. They brought her back to camp, explaining that she was attacked by a dog.

Silverbelly tries. Stars, she tries. She takes every herb she can think of, mixes poultices, mutters prayers as she works.

Nettlestem's already faint breathing stops.

"No, no," she whispers. "Nettlestem!"

Scorchstar stands and watches, her eyes hollow.

"Silverbelly?" Sunwish asks. "Everything okay?"

Scorchstar wheels around. "You! Where have you been?"

"Lakelily needed some herbs. I was giving them to her."

"Without asking me?" Scorchstar's eyes are angry.

"You always tell me no," Sunwish snaps. "All the catmint in her territory is shriveled already. She had a greencough outbreak and needed it."

"What if we have a greencough outbreak?" Scorchstar snaps. "What will we do then, Sunwish?"

"We have plenty of catmint!"

"She's dead," Silverbelly whispers.

"What?" Sunwish and Scorchstar turn back to her.

"You heard me. Nettlestem is dead. Help me prepare her for the vigil instead of bickering like kittens," she quietly says.

She can't forget the way Scorchstar angrily stared at Sunwish, like it were her fault Nettlestem died.

--

Scorchstar comes back to camp. "I lost a life."

"What?" Silverbelly blinks. "Huh?"

"I lost a life. Dog fight," Scorchstar says. "I killed it off though."

"Are you okay?" Silverbelly asks. Scorchstar is still leaking blood from several wounds. She probably got here for adrenaline alone. "Do you need me to get Sunwish? She's probably better at-"

"No," Scorchstar rasps. "You'll do fine. I trust you."

Silverbelly blinks, but fetches the oak leaves, spiderwebs, and marigold regardless.

--

Scarcely a week later, Sunwish is sporting a giant claw wound along her flank. It's still leaking blood, and Silverbelly almost screams when she sees it.

"Sunwish! What happened?"

"Raspberries just over the border," Sunwish gasps. "Brittlefoot said I could take some if I liked, so I went to collect some today and a patrol got me."

"But attacking medicine cats is against the code," Silverbelly gapes.

"I suppose they didn't realize it was me," Sunwish wrly says. "Maybe they were new to the clan."

Silverbelly desparately needs more horsetail and oak leaves. She'll have to take Applebranch out to get some soon.

--

"So, there should be some horsetail in this area. Would you rather stick together and look for it, or-"

"Stick together," Applebranch says. "I can't tell horsetail apart from reeds. I'll start plucking out worms thinking they're chervil roots."

Now that makes Silverbelly laugh.

--

Rum Tum Tugger told great stories.

That's what Silverbelly told everyone at his vigil. He was the one who showed her the stories of the stars and the whispers of the skies.

He was very good at assuring everyone that they were doing fine. Silverbelly specifically, he made sure to thank her for her poultices and such.

Most importantly, before he died it assured her that it was long coming. That it wasn't her fault.

--

Applebranch offers to take her on an evening walk. She is very much aware of Honeygleam and Maplethorn cheering her on, and Dawnshine gives her a pat on the back with his tail.

Applebranch radiates confidence. She's clever, and she holds the record for quickest tree climb.

Silverbelly sometimes feels as if she has yet to grow into her own skin.

"The stars are gorgeous," Applebranch murmurs. "But not as gorgeous as you."

"That was corny," Silverbelly laughs. Applebranch was very corny, but she was also funny and cute so it made up for that.

"Maybe," Applebranch says.

They continue their walk, under a starlit sky.

"So," Applebranch begins. "I like you. Like a lot."

"I like you too," Silverbelly says. She doesn't like Applebranch, she loves Applebranch, but she doesn't think Applebranch-

"No, as in like, I want you to be my mate. I totally get if that's not what you want," Applebranch backtracks. "Because, you know, you're really cool, and I really don't know if I-"

"That's something I want," she interrupts. "I want to be your mate."

"Cool. How many minutes until my dad tries to kill you?"

"Goldenflare wouldn't do that," Silverbelly says.

"He would," Applebranch definitively says. "Anyway, I hate Maplethorn and told him not to give you the shovel talk but he's going to do it as soon as we announce it."

"Dawnshine might genuinely be so caught up in being happy for me," Silverbelly begins. "That he might forget about the shovel talk."

--

"I'm expecting kits," Applebranch says. "Surprise?"

Silverbelly jumps up from her nest and almost bowls over Applebranch with how hard she nuzzles into her.

Goldenflare, who was watching the whole thing, looks like he's seen a ghost.

--

"Congrats, you're having more siblings," Toro suddenly says.

Silverbelly, as the calm person she is, promptly screams.

--

Sunwish advises her to go keep herself occupied while Applebranch kits.

"She'll be fine, right?" Goldenflare suddenly asks. "I don't-"

"She'll be fine, Goldenflare," Sunwish says. "Now get out so I can focus. You're hovering and it's going to drive me insane."

Goldenflare, hesitantly, backs out of the nursery, and bumps into her.

"Sorry," he immediately says. "Silverbelly, you're smart and also her mate. She'll be fine, right?"

"She'll do fine," Silverbelly says. Because, obviously, Goldenflare needed reassurance right now. Because he was terrified for some reason.

"This is how Morningbloom died," Goldenflare hoarsely says. "She died in kitting. I'm terrified. What if Applebranch dies the same way?"

"She won't," Silverbelly says. She's heard tales of Morningbloom, Goldenflare's first mate. Died young, before she and Dawnshine and Toro had joined the clan.

"What if she does?"

"Stop doing that." She turns back to Goldenflare, who still looks uneasy. "Statistically, what happened to Morningbloom was extremely unlikely. Queens have been kitting since before the clans existed. Sunwish knows what she's doing."

"I know," Goldenflare whispers. "The kids keep telling me that."

"Then listen to them," she says.

In the end, Applebranch is fine. She has two healthy kits, Flykit and Mudkit.

Goldenflare looks relieved. Like some invisible weight has been removed from his shoulders.

Silverbelly sleeps in the nursery that night, tucked into her mate and children.

--

The next moon, Toro has four kits. Her new siblings. Goosekit, Hailkit, Moonkit, and Stormkit.

"They're so little!" Flykit exclaims. "Momma, they're so tiny!"

"They grow," Applebranch patiently replies. Then, she glances at Silverbelly.

"You were that little once," Silverbelly purrs.

"No way!" Mudkit squeals. "We're way bigger."

"I reckon you were actually smaller than Stormkit is," Sunwish says.

"Nuh uh!" Flykit shouts. "Momma, we weren't ever that small, right?"

Applebranch snorts. "You absolutely were. You were the size of a baby mouse until you dried out."

Mudkit looks like she wants to cry at the revelation. Flykit is still in vehement denial.

This is her family.

--

Scorchstar is going to her for advice. It ranges from what to do about a clan's threats, to helping interpret visions and dreams.

Silverbelly feels important. But it never does stop the vision of the bloody rocks. It never does stop the feeling in her gut when Scorchstar stops speaking to Sunwish entirely.

--

She recieves a vision that same moon. The sun catches on fire, and the scorched earth goes dark.

--

Sunwish was murdered.

That's all she can explain when Oaktuft and Goldenflare discover her body, discarded near the border. Covered in scratches and bites and one final blow to the neck.

She prepares her mentor's body for the vigil. Covers her in rosemary and flowers and mint. Wormpaw brings her some pine needles, and she uses some of those even though they're not what she usually uses.

And as she lays the petals and the plants over her body, she swears she catches the faintest whiff of Scorchstar on her pelt.

-🍭 (to be continued. im not done with you yet, silverbelly.)

LOLLIPOP ANON HOLY FUCK???????? I LOVE THIS SO MUCH IM WEEPING.... silverbelly my sweet girl you've lived such a life. and the dream about blood on the rocks???? its stormsights blood isnt it ohhhh fuck. the last sentence took me out like a semi truck

#fallenasks #lollipop anon #fallenfic

[cowboydisaster]

Arthur's deluxe bath dialogue:

Arthur: "I used to take baths with my dog, Copper!" 🤠

Bath maid: "Oh! Ok, then---"

Arthur (on the verge of tears): "i have not felt the touch of a woman in years" 🧍🏻‍♂️

#arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption arthur #incorrect rdr2 quotes #rdr2 fandom