X ! ୨♡୧

Flins sees the collection of lipstick scattered all over your desk. He assumes that some of these products have been exported from other nations, due to the strange and unique packaging and names of brands he hasn’t heard before.

But he has one question in mind. Why do you have so many? Knowing you, you’d probably purchase some of these cosmetics, but not in a bulk amounts, according to his observation. Flins doesn’t particularly mind if you have suddenly changed your own preferences, and he will not really bother you with your own choices when it comes to your consumption, but this is quite a lot.

And then he looks at you again. As always, you are captivating, and Flins has the desire to embrace you in his arms, since he had another long day clearing out Wild Hunt spots. He wants nothing but to be buried and surrounded by your love.

However, he suppresses the urge to do so, noticing how you’re clearly occupied: you’re holding a cap-less lipstick, with its casing colored scarlet, and adorned with gold lining. Your lips are painted a delicious shade that wonderfully suits you.

“Um, well—I decided to find other shades that look nice on me,” You embarrassingly tell him, before explaining that some of your friends from Fontaine liked to shop a lot. You hand him one particular lipstick that has a shiny tube, and his eyes light up at the product. “They’re not too happy that I am not with them this time, since we’re usually complete when we’re in a shopping spree. Fortunately though, their love language is gift giving, so. . .”

“I see.” Flins has already corrected the dots at that point. You are, after all, a very charming person so he’s not surprised to hear that your friends will spoil you. He’s well-aware how expensive these products must be, not to mention the shipping, so he’s gentle and careful in inspecting each one.

All are different— some have different finish, with matte being he’s more familiar with. There are other colorful shades, mainly the colors that are perfect for your lips, and different types, such as glosses and the like. If you’re ever going to ask him, lip glosses are especially his favorite, since it makes your lips shine. Plus, it makes you more kissable in his own eyes, and shall you ask, he will really admit it.

He’s about to inquire if you ever need assistance in choosing suitable shades for your lips, since he is quite more than familiar with those parts of yours, until he remembered that you know yourself well. You did not call for him when you received these packages, so he stopped himself at that very moment.

However.

As he slowly lowers one lip gloss of yours, you come into Flins’ view. You, who’s breathtaking. You, who’s still so fascinating. You, who he covets more than anyone else. You, who’s currently looking hard at a new lipstick product, and commenting quietly on its quality.

Flins puts the lip gloss on the desk lightly and asks, “May I know what your non-negotiables are as you choose?”

You halt at that, eyes flickering over his. You hum for a second, before responding, “Well, it has to be my shade. I’m still checking if it suits with my skin tone, so.”

“Yes,” Flins nods, patiently anticipating for one answer. He prepares his next question. “What else?”

You look upwards in thought, and Flins subtly takes another step closer. You are so just so, so endearing. So, so alluring.

“Well - I guess it must be smudge-proof. Plus, if it lasts longer, I won’t have to apply and apply every now and then, which saves a lot of time. Don’t you think so, Flins?”

When you look back at him again, he’s closer than before. Flins watches as you stare at him with growing wide-eyes, and he smiles wider. He keeps his arms behind his back and leans to your height.

You lift a brow inquisitively and snicker. “What?”

And then he strikes—by pressing his lips so lovingly on yours.

Flins takes note of how you stilled—and this fuels him to kiss you more, so he does. He parts his lips and deepens the kiss, his hands automatically and tenderly grabbing your waist to pull you closer. And though his motivation to act is to help you, he just cannot silence what he desires most in his heart.

A win-win, if you’ll ask him.

Blinking slowly, Flins detaches away from you, overall satisfied and pleased. He innocently cups your right cheek and assesses the applied shade on your lips. Smudged.

“Oh dear, it seems that this product you have as of the moment is not what you can deem as ‘smudge-proof.’” He delights at the sight of you still speechless, and laughs a little. He closes his eyes as he smiles wider. “I’m afraid you’ll have to search for another one. Good thing there are more, and good thing we have a lot of time in the world. You don’t mind me helping you, do you?”

you eagerly nodded, "'m your good girl," you murmured, running your fingers up his chest as you worked at accommodating his length. jacob just let out a breathy laugh, nodding.

"my good girl," he reassured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, "now are you gonna lay there all nice and pretty for me while i make you feel good?" he asked, already knowing your answer before he said it, smiling to himself when you nodded again.

"that's my good girl," he mused before he was drawing his hips back so he could set a slow, steady pace as he fucked you. you let out a loud whine at the first thrust, loving how he managed to brush his cock up against that particularly sensitive spot inside you from the get go.

"takin' my cock so well," he praised as he picked up the pace a bit, reaching down to press down on your clit, sending your brain into a tizzy as you tried to process all the pleasure coursing through you at his actions.

"jake-" you whimpered, dropping your head back as you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fully immerse in all the pleasure he was giving you.

"such a good girl," he murmured as he rolled your clit between his fingers, smiling to himself when he saw the moans and whimpers you let out at the action.

within a few minutes, he had you teetering on the edge of your first orgasm of the night, his steady thrusts combined with the way he was toying with your clit had you a complete subby mess on his cock.

"you gonna cum on me?" he asked breathlessly, his tone letting you know he was working at holding his own orgasm off until you came. you nodded, letting out a particularly lewd moan as he pressed down on your clit at your nod, "let me see you cum on my cock, yea? wanna see how good i'm makin' you feel," he encouraged, voice tight as he began desperately snapping his hips against yours, his encouragement, combined with the way he rolled his hips against yours had you cumming on his cock in a matter of moments.

"jake-" you whined when you felt the sensation against your bare chest, your nipples already beyond hard from how much he had been toying with them earlier in the night. a loud gasp left your lips as he sheathed his cock into your tight channel in one quick thrust.

he could hardly contain his laugh when he saw the way your fingers curled into fists in response to the sudden intrusion, his hands keeping their bruisingly tight grip on your hips while he prepared to fuck you senseless.

he only gave you a moment to stretch around his length before he felt your walls fluttering around him and he decided he couldn't wait any longer, immediately setting a ruthless and unforgiving pace as he snapped his hips against yours.

you were letting out loud whines and moans, the thought of your poor neighbors hearing the two of you not even crossing your fuzzy mind. jake had gotten over to your apartment early that morning, more restless than he currently was as his rut first set in.

you'd answered the door without a clue in the world, quickly finding out that he'd planned on fucking you senseless for the next few days while he went through his first rut with you in his life.

one hand was snaking around your hip in search of your clit, the loud moan you let out a few moments later alerting him that he'd most definitely found the sensitive little nub, "jake please-" you sobbed out, suddenly much more aware of the tears that must've started spilling over your waterline a few moments prior as you looked into the mirror to make eye contact with your imprinter.

jake let out a laugh when he saw what a mess you were, his smile still soft despite the harshness of his thrusts in and out of your pussy, "c'mere," he chuckled, reaching his free hand up to thread his fingers through your hair, tightening his fingers so he could pull you up from the counter so your back was flush against his chest, "you wanna cum on my cock?" he asked, rolling your clit between his fingers as you watched the way he was absolutely ravaging your pussy in the mirror.

you couldn't find the words, just gasping as you nodded, desperate to cum on his cock, "'s what i thought," he chuckled, "let me play with you for a few more minutes and then you can cum, yea? wanna stay in this pussy for a little while longer," he mused, his voice somehow remaining steady despite how hard he was fucking his cock into your tight little channel.

you sucked in a desperate lungful of air, sniffling as you nodded, already knowing he was more in tune with how much you could handle than you were, "mhm," you hummed, letting out a loud moan and dropping your head back against his neck when he pinched your clit between his fingers, his silent way of thanking you.

jake dropped his head so he could pepper your neck with kisses, the softness coming in bruising contrast to the havoc he was currently wreaking on your lower half, "look how good you look with my cock in you," jake chuckled, releasing his grip on your hair so he could slide his hand down to your belly, absolutely loving how he could see the faint little bulge that came each time he filled you with his cock, "taking me so well," he added in between kisses.

you were barely coherent, just doing your best to remain upright as your thoughts continued to get fuzzier and fuzzier as you tried not to cum on his cock. jake knew you were close from the way he felt your walls tightening around him, his own orgasm rapidly approaching as well as his thrusts somehow picked up the pace to the point you were sure you'd have bruises littered all across your middle tomorrow morning.

once he was confident he had marked your neck up to his satisfaction, he was lifting his head to press his lips to your ear, "you can cum," he murmured sliding his hand up from your belly so he could wrap it around your chest and secure you against him, already knowing he'd be responsible for supporting you while you came undone on him.

you whimpered, lifting your gaze to make eye contact with him through the mirror, moving to respond but before you could, jake rolled your clit between his fingers and sent you right over the edge to your orgasm.

jake held you close to him while you came, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chased his own orgasm and supported you through yours, your throbbing walls pulling his own orgasm out of him within a few moments of yours.

"fuck me-" jake groaned, pushing his hips into yours as much as he could, burying his cock inside your pussy as he shot his seed into your throbbing channel.

you were nearly limp, wrapping your hands around his forearm that he has wrapped around your chest to support you. breathing ragged and heavy, the two of you were both struggling to catch your breaths as you both came down from your highs, "nice and easy," jake murmured breathlessly against your ear, his breath hot as he gave your ribs a squeeze, smiling to himself when he saw how hard you were struggling to regain your senses.

"there you go," jake encouraged, both of your breathing slowly evening out as he peppered the crook of your neck with gentle kisses, a stark contrast to the way he had his cock stuffed inside you.

once he was sure he'd finished filling you up, he slowly pulled his hips back enough to pull his softening cock out of your walls, his release following shortly after as it began trickling down your thighs.

he slowly unwrapped his arm from around you, "i got you," he reassured when he heard the soft whimper you let out, both of you already knowing there was no way you were going to be standing on your own for a little while. both his hands remained steady on your figure as he helped spin you around so he could pull you close to his chest for a hug, "did so good for me sweet girl," he praised, lips curling into a smile when he heard the breathy giggle you let out at the complement.

"let's get you on the bed, okay? gonna clean you up and then you can have a break," he suggested, already knowing you weren't in any kind of headspace to be coming up with any counter-arguments to his proposition despite how much you hated being cleaned up.

chapter six, click

chapter seven, promise you

chapter eight, hollow bones

chapter nine, things you don't say

chapter ten, all ears

chapter eleven, keep up

chapter twelve, everything, anything

he’s sitting in a pack meeting at sam’s and he’s stressed, his patience stretched thin and seconds away from snapping. everyone’s talking over one another, no one can agree on anything, and he’s sick of it, he just wants to go home with you. then you appear behind him, and you must be able to tell he’s grumpy, because you push your hand across his back in what he thinks is a comforting rub, pushing the heel of your hand into his tense muscles. jacob melts and forgets to pay attention, worse when you start scraping gently across the fabric of his t-shirt with the very tips of your nails, scratching slow semi circles into the space between his shoulder blades. he’s pretty sure he passes out, or falls asleep, or something, because he forgets the rest of what happens in the meeting, and doesn’t utter a word for the remainder of it.

he’s sitting in the garage, busy working on his bike while it pours down outside, and you sidle up behind him, hands sliding over his shoulders. at first he thinks you’re just watching what he’s doing, but then you start pushing your hand over the dip between his shoulder and neck, and up into his hair. you might be doing it absentmindedly, but jacob doesn’t think so — you get bored when it rains (which is most of the time), and when you’re bored, you’re trouble. it’s only when you start twirling chunks of his hair around your finger that he gives in and turns around. “did you want something, sweetheart?” he asks, quirking a brow. you smile at him sweet as honey. “no,” you say, but you don’t give up, you just keep touching him until he can’t stop himself from dropping what he’s doing and pulling you into his lap, guiding your hands to his hair again while you giggle, then smothering your laugh with a deep, warm kiss. it turns into a full on makeout session — you get exactly what you wanted, though jacob would be lying if he said he didn’t want it, too.

-

A few uneventful hours later, the pack finally heads back to Sam’s. Jacob, the fastest not only because he’s naturally quick, but because he’s desperate to see you, gets there first. Back in his human body he feels much more comfortable, and at least now no one can read his thoughts. He can think about you all he likes without getting an earful for it.

He’s unsurprised when he finds you in the kitchen with Emily.

“Hey,” he nods to Emily, who’s getting something out of the oven, and crosses to where you’re standing over the sink, up to your elbows in suds.

“Hi,” he says fondly, moving up behind you. He pushes an arm across your lower back and dips his head to lay a kiss in your hair. “Missed you.”

You turn to look up at him and smile, and you’re so, so pretty, but your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Hello,” you say softly. Your voice is heavy and slow, like someone’s poured honey down your throat. “Missed you, too. Where’s the others?”

“I beat ‘em,” Jacob tells you proudly, at the same time as voices and laughter start trailing in from the living room. Jacob winces. “Just.”

You laugh softly. “Will you dry these for me?” You ask, nodding towards the clean dishes on the bench. “Before it gets too rowdy in here?”

Jacob helps you with the dishes. You were right when you guessed it would get rowdy — the pack are starving and eat the meal you and Emily have made like, well, wolves. Paul’s in a mood tonight, a good one but a loud one, and as a result everyone jokes and laughs and talks over one another. You’re decidedly quiet, and when you’re done eating Jacob pulls you into the hallway, out of the way of all the noise.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks, hands on your upper arms.

You heave a sigh. “I’m really tired,” you admit. You’ve long since given up on trying to hide how you’re feeling from Jacob, because he’s so persistent and stubborn that he always ends up weasling it out of you, anyway. “Not like, sleepy. Just, my battery is really low.“

Jacob frowns and rubs his thumb over the hill of your shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. It somehow feels like his fault.

You give him a look like you know what he’s thinking. “S’okay,” you say. “Just had a long week, you know?”

Jacob hums. “Yeah, I know. You want a hug?”

You nod like you were waiting for him to ask, and Jacob makes quick work of wrapping you up in his arms, pulling you into his chest like he’s done a million times before. You push your arms around his waist and cling to him, while he rubs your back with a warm hand. He’s tall enough that he can rest his chin atop your head so he does, and lets you push your face into his neck, your mouth warm where it presses against his skin.

You sigh softly and go almost completely limp in his arms.

“Thanks,” you say, muffled.

Jacob opens his mouth to say let’s go home, but then Embry appears, calling your name in an unnecessarily loud voice.

“Y/N! Can you come help me— oh.”

He stops short at the sight of you limp as a ragdoll in Jacob’s arms. That, plus the look Jacob gives him.

“What, Em?” Jacob says, and it comes out a bit more harsh than he’d intended. He amends, “Sorry, she’s really tired. What do you want?”

Embry has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Never mind,” he says.

You pull your face from Jacob’s neck, one arm still curved around his waist. “What is it, Embry? I can help, it’s fine—”

“No you can’t, we’re going home now,” Jacob interrupts, throwing you a look, annoyed and endeared by how sweet you are. “Ask someone else,” he tells Embry bluntly.

He’s pretty sure Embry rolls his eyes as he leaves, but he doesn’t care. You turn to look at him once Embry is gone.

“You’re mean,” you say, but you make it sound like I love you, and you wrap your arms around him again.

“And you’re tired,” he says back, ducking his head to press a quick kiss to your forehead. He pulls away but rubs your arm as he goes. “C’mon, I really am gonna take you home now, okay? Dad’ll already be asleep so it’ll just be me and you.”

You raise both eyebrows, pleased. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, feigning intrigue.

Jacob looks up as you come in, though the sound of the rain completely covers your footsteps.

“Hey, trouble,” he says. Then, at the look on your face, “You okay?”

Your frown deepens. “No,” you shake your head. “I’m bored, Jake.”

Jacob chuckles. Trust him to laugh at you when you’re clearly suffering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “You want to come help me?”

You take one look at the frankly confusing array of tools around his feet, and wrinkle your nose. “No, thanks. Can’t we go for a drive?”

Jacob wrinkles his nose back at you. “I’m busy, babe. And the road’s slippery, it’s dangerous. Maybe later.”

You roll your eyes. He can be such a grandma sometimes. Jacob goes back to his bike and you wander around the shed looking for something to do and moping. After a half assed search for some way to entertain yourself, you find an old novel you or Jake must’ve left in here a few months ago — you remember starting it and getting bored, but you’re already knee deep in boredom with no way out, so you decide to give it another try.

You sit in the bed of Jacob’s truck where it’s parked in the back of the shed, legs swinging over the edge. The rain drums rhythmically above you as you start reading. It takes about ten pages for you to get bored again, and five more for your mind to start wandering.

You think about how you could’ve been out shopping right now. Looking at all the lovely dresses in the new store they opened near the cinema. Sorting through books at the second-hand bookstore. Choosing a pretty new bra that you know Jacob would love seeing on you, and taking off of you. The thought gives you an idea. Unceremoniously, you give up on the book and slide off the truck bed, crossing the room to Jacob.

He doesn’t lift his head as you come up behind him, but acknowledges you with a brush of his knuckle to your thigh. You stand over him for a moment, watching him work. He looks hot when he’s concentrated, eyes trained in on his work, jaw set in concentration, arms muscles straining as he twists a particularly stubborn screw. He’s got big, strong hands, which only fuel your desire even more. What’s the best way to drag him away from his work?

“Did you want to help?” Jacob asks without looking up, interrupting your thoughts. You’re lucky he doesn’t catch you staring, or he’d figure out your plan in an instant.

You shake your head. “No. I’m just watching you.”

Jacob hums and goes back to what he’s doing, which happens to involve a lot of strained muscles as he tightens another loose screw with a wrench. You’re holding your breath as you watch his tanned bicep strain beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and yeah, you’re a minx, but he’s really hot, and you don’t think anyone would blame you for reaching out and touching him.

Jacob doesn’t startle under your touch nor does he acknowledge it. You play it off casual, like you’re only rubbing his shoulder, palm gliding over the hill of it. You can feel his abnormally high body heat through his t-shirt, a nice change from the cold air. You find yourself pushing your hand down the expanse of his shoulder blade and up again, pressing the heel of your palm into his muscle.

Jacob sighs a little under your touch and rolls his shoulder back, leaning into your hand.

“Feels nice,” he murmurs.

You grin. This far into your relationship you’ve learnt that Jacob is a lot like a puppy when it comes to physical affection — he’s a total sucker for it, he melts for shoulder rubs and back scratches, and he turns to complete putty in your hands when you play with his hair (though you won’t implement that just yet.)

Instead, you just hum softly, smiling to yourself as you press both hands to his shoulders. He’s equally warm and muscled all over, and at this point it would take a hoard of vampires to hold you back from touching him. You get a good grip on his shoulders and push your palms into his muscles, massaging him.

It’s mean, because you know what it’ll do to him, know exactly what kind of mood it gets him into. Still, it’s not until you start to push your hands further up towards his neck that he confronts you.

He turns to face you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, and you can tell you’ve begun to unravel him by the way he says it, plus he’s called you sweetheart, which almost certainly means he’ll give in.

You feign innocence, though the look on his face almost unravels you.

“Nope,” you lie. “Just watching.”

Jacob raises his eyebrows at you. “You sure? You’re being awfully touchy.”

“You’re really warm,” you say, shrugging.

Jacob squints at you, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and (looking like he’s exercising quite a bit of restraint) turns back to his bike.

You stay where you are and give him about five minutes of peace before you start being cruel. Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, you slide the other up the back of it, pushing up into his hair. You card your fingers through the short strands at the very nape of his neck, and Jacob goes very still. You think he’s holding his breath. When you push your hand further up into the longer strands, and let your nails drag over his scalp on the way back down, he folds.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs. He drops his tools, scrubs his hands on his jeans and spins on you, hooking one leg over the wooden bench, straddling it so he can properly face you. He‘s giving you a dangerous look that makes your heart race. Finally.

You blink at him, a picture of innocence. “What’s the matter?” You ask sweetly, though you know your smile gives you away. As if you weren’t caught red handed already.

Jacob huffs and rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hips and pulling you forward roughly. You go tumbling into his lap and he catches you, hands hot on your jeans, adjusting you until you’re properly sitting in his lap. Your legs fall on either side of his hips and you giggle, pleased and flustered at his manhandling.

Jacob gives you a somewhat disapproving look, though his thumb rubs fond circles into the fat of your hip.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says in a low voice. His eyes flicker to your lips. He looks a bit like he wants to eat you.

“Sorry,” you say. You are kind of sorry for disturbing him, but the heat building in your chest outweighs the guilt. “I was really bored.”

Jacob laughs through his nose. “Yeah, I know, babe.” He spread his hands over your hips and butt and pulls you closer still. Your hands end up on his shoulders again. “You always know how to get what you want, huh?”

Something about the way he’s talking to you makes you so dizzy you can’t speak. You’re silent as Jacob dips his head to press a kiss to one of your wrists, then takes it in his hand and guides your hand up his neck and back into his hair.

“Keep going?” He asks in a quiet voice, encouraging your hand around the back of his head. “Please?”

Well, when he asks like that, how could you say no? You curl your fingers into his hair and Jacob barely gives you time to breathe before he’s kissing you, mouth landing on yours in the sort of kiss you can only describe as desperate. You’re equal amounts of needy as him, pushing forward in his lap and grabbing at his hair with greedy hands.

The rain thunders overhead. Jacob tilts his head, kissing you until your lips part under the pressure. His tongue slips into your mouth and your stomach swarms with butterflies. You grip Jacob’s hair harder, ensuing a sound from him like an angry dog, half moan half growl. It seems your touching earlier got him in exactly the mood you knew it would.

It’s not long before his hands start to wander. First your ass, then your arms, rubbing up and down as he kisses you hard enough to make you forget where you are. Then back to your hips, and you can feel the scalding heat of his hands through your jeans. He grabs you and tugs you further up his lap, close enough that your legs spread as you press against his bulge.

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Mmm,” he moans back. Then pulls away just an inch, lips swollen and forehead pressed to yours. “What, babe?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Nothing, just feels nice when you do that.”

Jacob ducks in to kiss you again. “Yeah?” He murmurs between hot kisses, sounding both pleased and a bit dangerous.

You nod your head, and it’s all it takes for Jacob to rock you against him again, pushing his hips up into yours as he goes. You moan and Jacob makes a similar sound from the back of his throat, heating you all the way through.

It quickly turns into not just kissing after that. Jacob’s kisses turn sloppy. You push your hands under his shirt to feel along the ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen, his skin like a furnace. Jacob guides your hips forward and back and forward again, grinding you against him slowly and breathing hard into your open mouth.

You forget about the rain, the pounding of your heart much louder than the downpour outside. You forget about the cold, your failed shopping trip, and the boring book abandoned in the bed of the truck.

It’s not long before Jacob’s got his hand on your thigh and a warm ache sweet as honey has bloomed between your legs.

Jacob’s busy kissing at your neck, bullying your skin with his teeth and tongue while you go breathless. His hand trudges further and further up your thigh until it’s high enough to abuse the waistband of your jeans.

His hand roves along the length of it, until he reaches the button. He tugs at it, mumbling into your neck a barely intelligible, “Can I?”

You nod vigorously, and your breath catches as he unfastens the button — his thumb skims over your underwear and you make a needy sound you can’t help.

Jacob emerges from your neck, smirking like mad. You’d say you hate him for it, but his thumb is tracing the hem of your underwear and you can’t speak.

“Not so bored now, huh?” Jacob teases in a low voice, but he’s out of breath too. You’ll tease him later for how quickly you managed to unravel him, but right now you can’t form more than two words.

“Shut up,” you manage, then make sure of it by pressing your mouth to his again.

He shuts up.

-

⛰︎ While he had always been awkward-ish as a kid and as a teenager, growing up on the rez meant he still had to speak and know everyone, especially being the son of a tribe elder. So he is sociable, a little mischievous when comfortable, and a total know-it-all, both funnily and irritatingly.

⛰︎ If you just give him the time of day, and he’ll get you to smile, chuckle, and have you laughing hard within an hour. 

⛰︎ But he still has his moments, his fumbles, and his ultimate apologetic, cheeky smiles. He’ll tell a dumb joke with too much confidence, stumble over his words, then laugh it off in a way that makes you laugh too. He charms easily without even trying—because it’s real. He’s not putting on a show, just being.

⛰︎ Of course he’s very handy, always tinkering with something, metal or otherwise. It’s calming to him; he can press pause on his brain and just lock into something that creates silence. He’ll spend hours working on an old motorbike, or a rusted part, with music playing softly in the background, sleeves pushed up and grease on his fingers.

⛰︎ It’s his favorite kind of alone time—quiet and productive.

⛰︎ It was hard when he phased for the first time. Everyone was so loud in the hive mind, it was hard to have a quiet head without running hundreds of miles away, and even then, he could still hear distant whispers licking at his ears.

⛰︎ But being able to have something to lock into, it helped a lot, and made the voices quieter without having to go so far. It was nice, and he’d find himself too often in his garage, working on something, anything.

⛰︎ He won’t say it out loud, but it kept him sane. Some nights, it was the only thing that helped.

⛰︎ Especially when he is thinking a lot—hurtful things, and sometimes things that just happen—he was tired from the back and forth with Bella, and it’s easy to just drive into something (besides you ;) ). He’s not great at talking about his feelings, but you can tell when he’s hurting. 

⛰︎ He gets quiet. Withdrawn. Doesn’t meet your eyes. And that’s usually when you’ll find him covered in metal shavings and oil, too deep in his distraction to answer the phone.

⛰︎ But he can also appreciate a good hunt. 

⛰︎ Even before his phasing, he liked to hunt—not in a sadistic way, he always thanked the animal, regardless of what they were, for being here and giving him sustenance, especially for his loved ones and pack members. It's just another thing he can focus on when things get crazy. It brings him a certain grounding—there’s no noise, no pressure, just instinct, silence, and respect. 

⛰︎ He always buries something. Always gives appreciation.

⛰︎ After his sisters left, he often found himself being alone a lot. He always had his dad and his friends, sure, but it was common that he found himself alone at times and… it didn’t bother him too much. ⛰︎ He liked being alone. It gave him space to breathe, to think, to just be. But as he got older, that loneliness started to feel heavier, like something was missing. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but the ache was there. Always.

⛰︎ Loves a good campfire. The fire always brings a strange comfort—warmth on the outside and a way to fight the cold on the inside.

⛰︎ When it's not too wet or rainy outside, he stacks up some wood from the garage and starts a bonfire with some leaves and old shrubs. Sometimes his dad is with him, sometimes some pack members, and sometimes it's just him. He doesn’t seem to mind either way, although the yearning for that someone to be with him is always there, yipping in the back of his head like a wounded puppy.

⛰︎ He’s usually seen in just shorts when on patrol, but when keeping appearances and occasional outings, you’ll find him in tight-fitting jeans and t-shirts, maybe a jacket or flannel here and there, but not too often.

⛰︎ He finds he gets too hot in places where the heater is turned up—literally will start sweating, dare I say he gets a tickle in his tongue to pant.

⛰︎ Even when he showers up to go outside into society, he somehow still smells like pine needles, cedar, and something like firewood. People notice.

⛰︎ When he is caught inside like this, he’ll take a moment to stand outside in the rain/fog just to breathe. Someone might ask if he’s cold, and he’ll blink like they just asked if the sky was green.

⛰︎ “Nah,” he’ll shrug, cheeks pink but completely unbothered. “It feels nice.”

⛰︎ And it’s not even to look cool—he genuinely prefers it, especially after phasing. Too much heat made him restless, makes his skin itch in a way he can’t explain. He’s most at ease when the air bites a little, when everything is crisp and quiet. 

⋆.ೃ࿔ :･°‧ NSFW HC’s ˖*༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔

⛰︎ He’s got big, calloused hands from building bikes and fixing cars—rough, strong, and capable—but the way he touches you is the softest thing in the world. He trails them slowly over your skin like he’s memorizing every curve, brushing your hair away so he can kiss that spot behind your ear. 

⛰︎ There’s a delicious contrast in how strong he is and how tenderly he handles you. His grip on your hips might bruise, but the way he brushes your hair from your face as he rocks into you is gentle enough to make you tear up.

⛰︎ He grips your thighs like he owns them—but always looks at you like you own him.

⛰︎ “You okay?” he whispers, voice shaking. “Need me to slow down?”—even when you’re already crying his name.

⛰︎ His voice drops an octave when he’s turned on—gruff, husky, and something dangerous. Sometimes it’s just a low, “You sure?” in your ear. Other times, he mutters in Quileute under his breath, growling your name as he presses open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time—it’s the wolf in him, the instinct to claim.

⛰︎ Sex with Jacob isn’t just physical—it’s emotional. He touches you like you’re precious, looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real. He’ll start slow, tease you for minutes with just fingers and lips, whispering the sweetest things in your ear. 

⛰︎ When he’s been gone for even a day—pack business, errands, whatever—he comes back needing to feel you. He lifts you, walks you to the nearest surface, and kisses you like he’s starving.

⛰︎ Sometimes when he just phases back, all his emotions are raw. He can’t stop pacing, his body twitching from leftover adrenaline. The only thing that grounds him is you. The way you soothe him. The way your body calms him.

⛰︎ He doesn’t even undress you—just kisses you, needy and rough, like you’re the only thing keeping him human.

⛰︎ But once the tension snaps and the haze clears, he turns into the softest man alive. He’ll hold you for hours, pressing kisses to your temple, whispering, “You okay, baby?” over and over. He’ll wipe you down gently, help you into comfy clothes, and get water without you even asking.

⛰︎ Then he pulls you against his chest and tucks your legs over his, murmuring a sleepy “I love you.”  into your hair until you both doze off.

⋆.ೃ࿔ :･°‧ ⛰︎ ˖*༄ ⋆.ೃ࿔

Sunlight filtered through the white curtains, casting a golden glow over the room where you and Fred lay tangled beneath soft sheets. His head rested in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning against your skin as you lazily traced patterns into the freckled expanse of his back. The world outside was quiet save for the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore. Peace. Pure, perfect peace.

Until it wasn’t.

With a burst of energy only Weasley twins possessed, the door slammed open. The newly appointed Weasley twins—Jane and Henry—launched themselves onto the bed with gleeful squeals, sending Fred jolting upright, hair tousled and eyes bleary.

“M’sorry, lovey,” you mumbled and pressed a kiss to his head as he groaned in mock agony. You reached for the two lively children, pulling them into your arms. “Now how did you two escape Nana and Papa?”

“They were busy making breakfast for us!” Jane answered with a bright grin, laughter filling the air when Fred began to tickle her. She squealed, squirming in your arms. “Daddy!”

You chuckled softly before turning your head toward Henry, his laughter quieter than his twin’s. You nudged your chin to his forehead, earning his attention. “Are you excited to head to the beach, Henry?”

He shifted in your arms and nodded, his browns eyes—the same one’s his father had—sparkling with excitement. “Yes! I’m gonna build the biggest sandcastle in the world! It’s gonna be bigger than the Burrow!”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, Jane now in his arms and messing with his hair. “Bigger than the Burrow? Mate, we better get to the beach now before other people begin taking all the sand!”

Henry’s mouth fell agape, voice coming out as loud as his father’s. “People do that?”

You suppressed your laughter as Fred dramatically described his story about his vacation to Egypt when he was fifteen—slipping out of bed to get for the day for Godric knows how long the twins will encourage their father to keep talking.

By the time you exited the bathroom with the white sundress Fred bought you just for Greece and hair pulled back—still styled perfectly like usual—Henry was sitting crisscrossed on your side of the bed still listening to his father while Jane finished another braid in his hair. As always, Fred remained unbothered by anything his children did to his hair, especially the braids his daughter adorned him with.

“—And your uncle Georgie and I could’ve trapped your uncle Perce in the tomb when…” Fred trailed off as he saw you step out of the bathroom and began to pack for the beach. His eyes scanned your figure before meeting your eyes, your warmed cheeks saying unspoken things. “Bloody hell, your mum’s gorgeous.”

At the mention of their mother’s return, the twins whipped their heads in your direction, clambering over the bed to race into your loving arms one more. You stumbled at the sudden impact and held them close, your smile absolutely blinding to Fred.

“You two need to get out of your jammies and into beach clothes,” you squeezed their shoulders and ushered them out of the room swiftly, tilting your head out the doorway to ensure they made it to their room before turning back to Fred. “You need to change too, Weasley.”

Snapping out of his quiet daze, he finally stood and stretched like a lion, freckles that were scattered across his body practically glittering from the rays of sunlight. He met your stern look—the one where you narrowed your eyes at him with your hands on your hips—and placed a large hand on your waist, pulling you close to him.

Keeping your facade up, you bite your tongue in hopes of not letting a smile slip through. However, nothing ever gets past Fred Weasley’s careful eye.

“I suppose,” he murmured and tilted his head down to meet your eyes properly, squeezing your hip softly.

You subconsciously wet your lips and flit your eyes down to his inviting lips—instantly lifting them back to meet his teasing eyes. “Better hurry if you want to help Henry make his sandcastle.”

Fred hummed and thumbed your waist, “Sure.”

Finally giving in, you wrapped your arms around his neck as a loving smile adorned your face, pushing on your toes to be closer. You play with the hair in your reach, twirling the red hair in between your fingers. “I love you, Fred Weasley. I hope you know that.”

He grinned and closed the distance between the two of you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Fred deepened the kiss ever so slightly before pulling away, leaving you in a daze and wanting more.

“I love you a helluva lot more,” he looked between your eyes and slowly release you from his hold. “I’ll see you in a minute, gorgeous.”

“You make me swoon,” you tease lightly as you moved around him to exit the room, jokingly glaring at him when he smacked your ass on the way out.

The morning sun continued to stream through the windows as the Weasley family gathered around the kitchen table, the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of Molly’s famous pancakes and Arthur’s perfectly brewed tea. Jane and Henry were already seated in front of their breakfast with the kind of enthusiasm only children could muster, syrup somehow already smeared across their cheeks when their father entered the kitchen.

And indeed, Fred Weasley indeed made you swoon.

When he wandered into the kitchen with the bag you packed for the beach, you felt your face heat up at the sight. He wore his light blue summer shirt that complimented his features beautifully—you honestly weren’t sure if he was a greek statue brought to life.

“Mum, you’re gonna cut into the plate.” Jane giggled and stopped your movements, tilting her head when you snapped your attention back to her food. “What’re you staring at daddy for?”

“Why are you being nosy?” Fred poked his daughter’s back, smiling when she laughed at the familiar feeling. “Mum can stare at me all she wants.”

Fred slid into the seat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair as he leaned in to whisper, “You know, I could get used to this. Waking up to you, the kids, and a view like that.” He gestured toward the window, where the sparkling Aegean Sea stretched out endlessly, its waves glinting like diamonds under the morning sun.

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Ten years of this, and you’re just now getting used to it?” You teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Ten years of this,” he echoed, his voice softening as his gaze met yours. “And I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Jane scrunched her nose in playful disgust, stuffing her mouth with a fork full of pancakes with blueberries. “Ew, Daddy. You’re so mushy.”

Fred gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she had wounded him. “Mushy? Me? I’m the definition of ruggedly handsome, Jane.”

Henry, still munching on a piece of cut up banana, giggled and shook his head. “Mum thinks you’re handsome, but you’re just silly.”

You smirked and took a sip of your tea as your kids argued with their father, knowing they were an exact replica of him. You sighed and rested a hand over your stomach, holding back a laugh when Jane stuck her tongue out at Fred.

“I happen to like silly.” You added as Fred stuck his tongue out at his daughter, making you roll your eyes in amusement.

Fred locked eyes with you and waggled his eyebrows. “I guess you're lucky too, love, because you’re stuck with me.”

The morning passed in the easy rhythm of family life—Molly and Arthur doting on their grandchildren, Fred entertaining the twins with wild hand gestures as he retold stories—this time slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect—and you soaking in every moment.

By late morning, you made your way to the beach, the golden sand warm beneath your toes. The twins raced ahead, kicking up tiny clouds of sand as they shrieked with joy. Fred, carrying the beach bag, walked beside you, fingers loosely laced with yours.

“You happy, love?” He asked, squeezing your hand gently.

You turned your face up to the sun, the salty breeze playing with your hair, and sighed contentedly. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Fred grinned and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple before lifting his voice. “Alright, team! Let’s build a sandcastle bigger than the Burrow!”

Henry and Jane cheered, already digging into the sand with determination.

You knelt beside them as you set up the blanket on the sand, laughter bubbling from your lips as Fred made a show of supervising, hands on his hips like some kind of foreman. The hours passed in golden warmth, filled with playful splashes in the sea, shrieks of delight as Fred tossed the kids into the waves, and soft, stolen kisses between you and your husband when the twins weren’t looking.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow, the four of you sat before your grand sandcastle—an uneven, slightly lopsided but utterly magnificent creation.

Jane leaned against you sleepily, her damp, red-curls sticking to her forehead. “This was the best day ever,” she murmured, yawning.

Henry nodded in agreement, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Yeah… Can we do this every year?”

You glanced at Fred, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching your children with so much love it was almost tangible. He met your eyes and smiled, the same boyish, mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

“Every single year,” Fred promised, voice full of warmth.

You lean closer to him and give him a quick kiss, eyes shining with your own secret. “Maybe with one more addition to the family,” you whisper.

His eyes widened and looked down toward your stomach, grin widening when you nodded. He pulled you closer to him, in return pulling the sleepy twins along.

And in that moment—with your family nestled together, the waves whispering their lullaby, and the sky painted in fiery shades of orange and pink—you knew that love, real love, was absolutely endless.

He’ll worry, you think insistently, standing up. 

You make your way back to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and shoulder open the door. 

The displays are a mess. A stack of potions that promise to turn your skin a modern, appealing green have come down. Ones come unstoppered, leaking a bright yellow liquid in an oval across the floor. You think vaguely that you should clean it and kneel beside it, pulling the slight of your wand from your back pocket. “Tergeo,” you whisper, curling your wrist. 

The potion disappears. 

Standing, you hold your arm wide and pull, thinking a meagre moving spell that deigns to work, upping the display and shuffling each potion back onto its shelves. 

You hadn’t thought you were gone so long as for it to be closing time, but perhaps it was nearly the end of the day. You give most things a clean with quick magic or elbow grease, closing the shutters and locking the door. You go up the staircase to the second level and do the same, before retreating back to the ground floor and heading past the tills to the stairs to the flat. Fred and George will be making dinner, or George might’ve gone home already, though he usually says bye first. Yesterday he stole a sideways hug and disappeared a half a step away from you, clothes whipping in his wake. Fred called him a prat, and a few seconds later George had apparated back, sure that Fred had said something cruel. I know you were, brother mine. Their freaky twin sense knows no bounds. 

The boys aren’t in the flat. The door to the bedroom is open wide and there’s an obvious lack of them —if Fred were here, you’d hear him. Humming or mumbling or making the bed. 

A slip of white fog slams its way into the room in a swoop from the kitchen, a hurried magpie curling around your shoulders to hold itself, flapping pearly wings an inch from your face. GHOST, it whispers, WHERE ARE YOU? MEET ME AT THE FLAT, NOW. 

You blink at it. “I’m here,” you say, startled again when it disappears in a burst like sand. 

A minute later and there are footsteps barrelling up the stairs. You let your wand fall back into your hand and point it at the entrance through doorways, not actually sure what you’d do if it were an intruder. 

The logical part of you knows that it’s Fred, but the relief doesn’t come until he’s opening the door and stopping short. “Oh,” he says, sounding as cracked in half as he can be while still physically whole. His lips part again as though he’s got more to say, but he crosses the flat to you in four big strides and wraps his arms around you instead. He squeezes you hard enough to make the bones in your back click. 

“What happened?” you ask worriedly. “Are you okay?” 

He says your name, again like he means to keep on. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, pulling away to take your face into cold hands, missing nearly all of his usual tenderness. This is the touch of lingering panic, slowly melding itself into love. “Are you? Where did you go?” 

“I went– just went past the Magic Tree. Did you close?” 

“When I couldn’t find you, yes, I closed. I looked up and down the alley twice, I didn’t see you.” 

“I– sorry–”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine if you’re alright.” He gazes at you imploringly. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit, a little diffident in the face of all this worry. You hadn’t thought of whether you were alright or not, you’d just walked off, and now you’re not sure you were fully you when you came back. The longer he holds you in his palms, the worse you feel. The pinch of his mouth brings tears to your eyes. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks quietly. 

Obviously you aren’t. You show him the scratch anyway. 

“Ow,” he murmurs, sympathetic as his hands fall from your face to hold your elbow and wrist instead. It seems deeper while he looks, longer, and it stings as he presses his thumb to an edge. “Shall I mend it?” 

“Yeah. Yes.” 

Fred pulls your arm to kiss the crook of your elbow, and then the cut is healing, from red to pink to purple to white, a second and then gone, his non-verbal cut-mending charm practised, perfect. Tomorrow, you won’t be able to see the scar. 

He smiles at you. “See that? Magic kiss.”

“That was good.” 

“They’re all like that, you know,” he says, which is as much warning as you want or need as he ducks in to kiss you. Kisses twice, a third time, nose tapped into yours and breath warm as it skims your lips, your Cupid’s bow, and your soft cheek. 

“Fred.”

“Ghost, I thought you were going to have a sit down outside of the shop like you do, but you– why’d you go all the way to Magic Tree?” 

“I didn’t mean to walk that far.” 

You can see his tongue behind his lips, running against the line of his teeth. He’s frowning without meaning to, deeply, his eyebrows drawn and his usually gentle eyes dark, like he’s angry, or he could be, but it never turns itself on you. 

“No?” Fred asks, his voice dropping in register, “Where’d you mean to go?”

“I didn’t mean to go anywhere.” 

“You don’t have to cry,” he says under his breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not,” you say back, because you don’t want him to worry, because you’re not sure if you’re gonna cry or not and it wouldn’t matter if you did, only you don’t think you can stand the look on his face now, like you’ve accidentally hurt yourself and he feels sorry for you, like you could be sitting in the hospital wing at school right now waiting for a verdict. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“The scratch?” 

“Everything, lovely.” 

“I cleaned up downstairs.” 

He nods. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Fred guides you wordlessly to the sofa and waits for you to sit before sitting right next to you, not a lick of space between you as he bunches an arm around you and presses your forehead to his mouth, but he doesn’t kiss it. He hugs you, occasionally adjusting against you like you’re slippery, and he doesn’t speak. 

“I scared you,” you croak. 

“Yeah, you did.” 

You feel a sob like a bubble in your throat. You squeeze your mouth shut and press your face into Fred’s shoulder, nonplussed by your own emotion, hating to make a show of things. Fred shushes you gently, already waiting to rub your back as the tears start, and when they won’t end. “It’s okay,” he says, twice, three times, until it’s one word. “S’okay, you’re okay, it’s alright, Y/N. It is.” 

You don’t make a sound that isn’t sucking in air or the worst kind of whine at the back of your throat. You don’t sob out loud. You don’t try to say sorry. 

Eventually, you scare Fred worse. “Baby,” he says into your forehead, more touch than sound, “you need to calm down. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” 

You nod emphatically and cling to him, worried he’ll move. He stays where he is, humming approvingly when your tears begin to slow. You must sniffle into his shoulder for a quarter of an hour without his complaint, an odd relief in his hand as he rubs circles against your upper back, like this is a good thing. A part of you thinks he must be furious and annoyed to have to do it, but the reality, and that you’re familiar with, is that Fred just loves you, so he doesn’t mind. 

You don’t say sorry. You won’t try. It’ll upset him more. 

“Alright?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Want a drink or something?” 

“No.” 

“Sure you’re okay?” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

“You don’t have to know,” he says, pulling away to rub a nice finger down your cheek. He dries salt tracks and carefully, carefully brushes the last of your tears from your eyelashes with a pale fingertips. His cheeks are blushed from your hugging. His freckles are like paint flecks wet against his skin. “We can have a cup of tea, or hot chocolate or coffee. I can make you cream of chicken, if you want. It’s about dinner time.” 

“I don’t want anything. Do you want something?” 

He smiles. Endeared. 

“No,” —he follows the bridge of your nose with a fingertip— “I don’t need anything.” 

“Okay,” you say, more to yourself than him, paying a great deal of interest to your lap. 

“Are you feeling at all better?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

He draws a line across your jaw, past your chin to shy of your ear. “It’s okay if you don’t feel better.”

“Do you want me to?” 

“Feel better? Of course I do.” 

You let yourself sink into his lap. Shuffling and collapsing, his hand falling to the small of your back.