Bearclaw Valley all i want

maybe @Cole < 3

there was a flash of teeth, a distant coyotes yowl, and a pool of blood. searing pain that wouldn't end, and primal fear that'd crawled into bones to make a permanent home. and then she jolted awake with a gasp. 

winslet trembled, curled into a tight ball inside of her den, as she came too. wide and flighty eyes snapping to the mouth of her den, searching outside for the coyotes she swore were on her in her nightmare. and while she'd find none, the panic wouldn't subside. it was an ache in her chest, one that clawed its way toward her throat, threatening to suffocate. 

breathe. she has to remind herself to breathe.

how long had she been in her den? it felt like ages. bed-ridden, on orders from the healers who'd aided her. confined because she was too terrified to step outside of her den and face the world that was so cruel and unforgiving. 

it was stifling, and her legs still ached. they were wrapped now, and clean. but she swore that when she looks down at them, they're still bloody and injured. it's a cruel trick of the mind that makes her throat feel uncomfortably tight. 

it's clear now, that she hadn't moved an inch for days. had barely eaten—she couldn't stomach anything. barely slept, as she'd just jolt awake from terrors that taunt her. her den was safety, but even that felt like a lie. she doesn't think she could ever feel safe. she doesn't think this fear will ever go away.

a soft whine leaves her as she exhales. her eyes are open again, blurry with tears that threaten to fall, as she searches. searching for cole, her only semblance of comfort, of safety. she needs him.

song i've been obsessed with for them

He never let her get far from the den. Neither was he, ever. His patrols had changed meticulously over the past week, changing routes that were always an ear shot from where Winslet rested from her attack. The radius at which she slept, if at all, had reeked of his scent markers. An angry hound, determined to protect his fox.
Her whimper passed his ears ad he answered as a moth would to a flame. A dangerous, tempting flame that heeded the most sanguine feelings inside the brutalist's chest.
And he was there, barricading the entrance of her den; where did she think she was going to go? Her legs, wrapped in palm leaves and other medicinal uses, still healing. Least she could walk.
But she was frail. Gaunt. Cheeks hollowed, bones in her hips protruding where soft tendrils of fat should have gathered. It made him want to look away— it happened because he was not quick enough. Because he wasn't there, when he should have been. His fault, his fault.
What's the matter, sweet girl? He finally breathed, taking a cautious step closer to her. His figure shadowed hers, toppling over what remains of her body left as hunger evaded her. He wanted to hunt for her. Fatten her up. Y'hungry?

that's so perfect ;;

he was there within a mere moment and finally, she felt as if she could breathe. that icy panic and lingering fear ink away with his arrival, as if he's the balm to her weary soul. as if he's the glue that's holding her together. her labored breaths calm, her eyes softening with affection that was nearly overwhelming. 

her savior. her protector. her everything, as of late. 

hunger. it gnaws at her stomach, but it also makes it churn. she'd eaten barely more than a birds ration over the past week. it was starting to show; she looked frailer than ever, even more so than when she'd arrived to teekon. she felt frailer. as if one strong gust of wind would whisk her away. a self-consciousness curls inside of her then—she must look horrid. emaciated and pathetic.

she can't help but wonder if cole still saw beauty within her, past the skin and bones.

she doesn't want to eat, but she must. "yes," she breathes. rising to shaky legs, she steps to the mouth of the den in which he fills, and does not hesitate to seek his warmth. her muzzle glides against his shoulder, nuzzling against muscle and carding through fur. her heart calms, as does her mind. 

"can i go with you, on your hunt?" while she was still a frightened little thing, shaken from the attack, she was feeling claustrophobic. the little sea-bird wanted to spread its wings, under the watchful eyes of cole. "i cannot stand another second in this den." she murmured. softly, pleadingly. 

and then, she adds shyly, "and i don't think i can stand a moment away from you." because without him, everything was terrifying. he was her shield.

Her marred form, though meek, tempered enough so she could close the slim distance between them. She fell against him like he was made of clouds, however muscle-brawn he'd been, he didn't imagine he was quite the quilted bedding.
Her muzzle against his shoulder, it allowed him to nose the opposite end of her own neck, her cheek. Inhaling her sweet floral scent, he noticed that it had begun to fade. Tapered with heavy pheromones from her den, he too would go stir crazy, wrapped in the delight of Winslet's perfumes.
She wanted to go with him, outright he almost barked a harsh no, but it was her final words that had his mind swarming, sweltering heavier with her oils clinging to his nose. A sharp inhale as he pulled away, beginning to drown further— they would not leave this den if he continued to linger. Maybe it was why he didn't wander too close. The self-proclaimed "restraint" he had gripped upon would soon falter, if not in the next minutes.
Okay, he said, albeit voice gruff from the lack of use, but steady all the same. He swallowed, beginning to turn, opening the door to her bird cage. It reminded him of the bird that they'd come across the first time she met him— was she the bird, now? Teetering that line between flightlessness and fear.
Not far. Maybe we can find s'more of those... he turned his head back to push against her hip, the divot there, jasmine. He rasped, resisting the urge to let his eyes roll from the intoxicating scent. As if he was in a trance, he pulled away.
A cock of his head, he waited for her to join him at his side. This time, she would not be out of his sight.

jasmine. the words are a deep rumble from his chest, one she feels in her paws. just one word that ignites something inside of her, profound and overwhelming. sweltering, threatening to broil over and consume her whole. the skin beneath tattered fur heats enough to rival the cold that waits outside her den. 

her withers ruffle on instinct, at the gentle touch to her hip. another hitched breath, a tremble that threatens to shoot down her spine like a bolt of lightning. that heat spreads to her lungs, her aching heart, her nerves. 

what is he doing to her? 

what is she doing to him?

she smiles at him. it's small and warm. bashful and nervous, because he made it so hard to breathe or to focus. out of her cage she crawls, ready to stretch clipped wings. ready for a shred of normalcy, a breath of fresh air. ready to be by his side and stay there, as she was tethered to him now. 

brushing against his side, marking him with the scent he seemed to enjoy so much. "thank you," she murmured. "for letting me come with you, and for saving me. i—" words catch in her throat. choking on her own tongue, because there was so much more she wished to say. 

"i will stay close."

Cole’s jaw tightens, his gaze fixed ahead as Winslet’s words hit him. He exhales heavily, shaking his head just enough to convey his frustration—not at her, but at himself.
Don’t thank me, he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, carrying the weight of something unspoken. I should’a been there sooner. The admission cuts through the chill of the air, his tone tinged with guilt. He hadn’t forgotten the blood, the pain, the terror in her eyes that day. It lingered with him like a shadow.
As she brushes against his side, her scent mingling with the crispness of the hunt, he glances down at her, his expression softening just a fraction. Stay close, yeah, he murmurs, his voice a touch gentler now, though still carrying that edge of command. It wasn’t a request; it was a need.
He shifts his attention back to the terrain, his focus sharpening as his eyes catch the faint trail of a doe. Tracks pressed lightly into the snow, leading further into the underbrush. His nostrils flare as he scents the air, confirming its presence. A low grunt escapes him, and he nods toward the trail.
Doe’s close. Keep quiet, he says, his tone steady but firm, slipping seamlessly into the role of protector. Without waiting, he moves forward, his senses honed on the hunt. There’s no room for error—not now, not with her by his side.

she frowns, her ears tipping backward as she looked up to him. searching, perhaps for what he wasn't revealing, what he could not say. he was blaming himself for what had happened, and it pained her. it wasn't his fault. none of it had been his fault. "don't say such things. you couldn't have known, and i—" her gaze falters, back towards her legs, wrapped and healing, and sure to scar. 

"it was my fault. i should've stayed closer to the heart of bearclaw." guilt. so much guilt, for an attack no one could've prevented other than herself, for making cole believe all of the blood and pain was a stain on his conscious. 

stupid little plover, a voice from within hisses at her. it sounds eerily like her ex-fiancé, the one she'd fled from. do as your told, you're too weak for anything else.

she shuts her eyes for a moment, inhales a shaky breath. calm yourself. and when she re-opens them, she smiles at cole. soft and weepy, affectionate. "you were there to save me. that is what matters."

upon his command, she falls silent. falling in step beside him, quiet as he led the hunt with her as his quiet companion.

Cole hummed, low in his chest, a sound that carried neither agreement nor argument—just acknowledgment. She was wrong, but he wouldn’t waste breath convincing her of that. Blame had no place here. Regret wouldn’t change what had happened. All they could do now was move forward.
And so he did.
His body shifted into something sharper, more purposeful, as they moved through the brush. The scent of the doe was fresh, laced with the crispness of the morning. His ears flicked forward, honing in on the subtle rustle of movement ahead.
He slowed, his posture lowering, and cast a glance toward Winslet—a silent signal. Then, without a sound, he pressed onward, eyes locked on the shadowed form of their prey.

sage eyes rove appreciatively over cole's form as he crouched. the same muscle and brawn that he'd used to free her from the clutches of the coyotes. the same muscle and brawn that he used to murder them—no, no. he did it to save her. if he hadn't, she would be dead.

winnie shakes her head, forces herself to re-focus. she lowers herself beside him, sage eyes searching through the underbrush. the doe's legs are inching closer, closer. she wouldn't lunge—she'd been advised not to hunt, least for another week or so, but she would watch. admire. 

and again, he would be her provider. her heart swells and stutters in her chest. would he continue to provide for her?

Cole moved with practiced precision, muscles coiling beneath his thick coat as he launched forward. The doe barely had time to startle before his weight crashed into her, powerful jaws clamping down around her throat. The struggle was brief—one final gasp, a desperate kick of slender legs—then stillness.
He exhaled sharply, shaking out his fur before gripping the carcass and beginning the journey back. The scent of blood filled the air as he padded toward the dens, his steps steady, determined.
When he reached Winslet, he dropped the doe at her feet, emerald eyes flickering to her face. A brief pause, then a quiet hum of satisfaction.
Eat, he murmured simply, nudging the fresh kill toward her before settling beside her, watching. Guarding.

the doe fell quickly, with a final exhale that winslet bowed her head too. she sat on willowy, skinny haunches as cole drug the prey to her, as if placing an offering on her altar. her stomach groaned in hunger, but it also churned. her sad eyes fell to the doe now at her paws, her expression incredulous. 

slight paws shifted against the earth. she turned her muzzle upward, eyes falling upon cole with a softness meant only for him. "thank you." she murmured. stretching her neck, she rose for just a moment to place a soft, feathery kiss upon his cheek. a kiss she let linger, before she turned her attention to the doe.

with a delicate touch, she dug into its side, fighting the nausea that gripped her. consuming its flesh with subtle haste, as if she wanted it to end as quick as it'd begun. she leans against cole's side as she ate; saddled against his warmth, basking in his comfort. 

after her stomach was fuller than it'd been in days, she nudged cole, her white maw stained red. "you should eat, too. it would make me feel better." she offered with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Cole hesitated.
The scent of blood was thick, cloying, still warm where it soaked into the earth. He had taken it down, brought it to her, but eating felt different. Felt like something he wasn’t ready for.
His gaze flickered to Winslet, soft where she pressed against him, her touch light but intentional. She had eaten, but there was still something fragile in the way she curled into his side, like she needed him to do this, to share in it.
He exhaled through his nose, a quiet, begrudging sound, before he finally leaned down, tearing into the meat with slow, easy bites. The taste was rich, thick on his tongue, but he swallowed it without complaint.
A few bites. Enough to satisfy her.
His muzzle lifted, dark eyes meeting hers. The faintest trace of red stained his lips, and he swiped his tongue over them, the gesture almost idle.
Happy now? His voice was low, rough—but there was no real bite to it.
He let himself settle then, closer to her, against her warmth. Maybe she needed this. Maybe he did, too.

although he obeyed her honeyed-order, he'd hardly eaten much. she found herself worrying; always worrying about everyone else, but never herself. it made her realize then, how much she'd missed while she'd secluded herself to her den. what had he been up to, when he wasn't standing guard outside her home? 

how often was he eating? getting out and scouting?

is he holding himself back, because of her? 

it sits with her, heavy and consuming. she feels guilty, perhaps guiltier than before. she did no wish for him to put his life on pause because of her. not unless he wanted to. 

but stars, what does cole want? 

a gentle sigh escapes her, her burdened eyes falling to her paws. "cole, may i ask you something?" a gentle, shy inquiry. she awaited his permission or acknowledgment before she'd continue. 

"you've quickly become important to me. in ways i don't fully understand myself." she smiles wistfully. "but, i feel as if i might be holding you back. i doubt you wished to spend many days babysitting." 

she pressed closer, seeking. "why are you taking care of me? when i can't return the favor."

Cole is quiet for a long time. Silent in a way that stretches, thick and heavy, between them. He doesn’t look at her, not at first. Just stares at the bloodied remains of the doe, the earth dark and damp beneath it. It gives him something to focus on, something solid, something that doesn’t feel like the tangle of emotions twisting in his chest.
He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to answer her without revealing more than he understands himself.
Why are you taking care of me?
Like it’s something simple. Like it’s something that can be explained in just a few words.
He exhales, slow and measured, before finally turning his head to look at her. His gaze is unreadable, deep and steady. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches her, as if searching for something in her face.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough. Winslet... I ain't felt this way in a long time. He shifts his weight, his ears twitching, uncomfortable with the weight of his own admission. I don’t know what this is. I just know I don’t want anything happening to you.
His jaw tightens, eyes flickering away as if embarrassed by the truth of it.
You say you can’t return the favor. He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. But do you want to? His gaze flickers back to her, and this time, there's something raw beneath the surface. Do you want to take care of me, Winslet?
Because maybe that's what he's been waiting for.

winslet swears her heart jumps to her throat and makes a home there, its cadence rapid and uneven. thunderous, to a point where it's near deafening. she feels flighty again, but not with fear. elation? joy? bliss? all of them combined. 

he didn't voice how exactly he feels, and perhaps she's getting ahead of herself. but she can only imagine and hope it's the same feeling she harbors toward him. that he also feels short of breath every time she's around, or that he also struggles to focus because all he can think of is her. 

that maybe his dreams are infected with her image, too. 

she doesn't ask. she can't; she simply isn't brave enough, or perhaps she's anticipating and hiding from the sting of rejection. a rejection that would very well tear her apart. 

would it be worth it? and would it be so terrible if she said that it would be? 

hearts are fickle creatures, and she's learned that they choose who they want to love, and there's nothing anyone can do to change its mind. and hers has chosen cole. 

she stares up at him with reverence, with hope and affection and everything pure and wanting. wanton. no one has ever made her feel so wanton. and maybe no one ever would, not after him. 

"yes," she exhales. it's so heavy with words unspoken, with a weight that threatens to crush her. "i would love to take care of you." spoken with conviction, with raw truth. vulnerable. exposed. 

"i would in a heartbeat, if you would let me."

The silence between them stretched, thick and charged, pulling at the space between their bodies like a taut rope ready to snap. Cole didn’t answer right away—not because he didn’t know what to say, but because the weight of it sat heavy on his tongue, in his chest, in the way he watched her.
She was looking at him like that again. Like he was something worth waiting for. Like she’d already made up her mind, and all she needed was for him to say the words. Claim it. Claim her.
His jaw tightened, and his fingers—had he been human—might’ve curled into a fist to keep them from reaching for her, from tracing the delicate slope of her face, from taking what was already being offered.
She would be his.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, unreadable eyes burning with something he wasn’t ready to name yet. You sure? His voice was low, gravelly, the question lingering between them, testing her resolve. You don’t wanna take that back?
There wasn’t any running from her.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, something like a huff, something like surrender. Then, finally, he reached. A hand—had he been a man—would’ve cupped her jaw, his thumb sweeping over the fragile skin there, tilting her chin up just enough to make sure she was looking at him, really looking.

he was asking her if she's sure, meanwhile she's never been more confident in her decision. charmed from the moment they met, and everytime after only wove it deeper and deeper into her being until there was no doubt. 

cole saving her from those coyotes had been the nail in the coffin. the solidification of her decision, of her want. of her craving for a man she once thought simply couldn't exist. a good, strong, honest man. 

a man who proved time and time again that not only would be care for her, but he'd nurture her. give her enough space and encouragement to blossom, and be there to comfort her should she falter and stumble. 

his touch feels like euphoria. she leans into it needily, pressing her cheek further against the pad of his paw. a soft, bashful smile blossoms, one that makes her eyes brighter. more alive than they've been in a week...

"yes," she breathes again. yes, yes, yes. i am so sure.

she wouldn't run from him. never would run from him. 

"let me take care of you. let me have you, and...and you may have me." a soft plead, a request.

Cole watched her, unreadable, the weight of her words settling in his chest like an anchor. He had asked if she was sure, not because he doubted her, but because he knew what it meant. What this meant.
He had spent too long keeping the world at arm’s length. Too long being the man others could rely on, but never the one who allowed himself to need. Winslet—his Winslet—had torn through those walls like they were nothing but paper.
His paw stayed on her face, rough and calloused against something as soft as her. He felt the way she leaned into him, the way her breath hitched with certainty, not hesitation. That bashful smile—hell, it damn near undid him.
You don't know what you're askin’ for, his voice was low, hoarse. Not a refusal, just a warning. Ain't no takin’ it back after this.
His paw brushed over her cheek, something dangerously close to tenderness in the motion. A man like him, he wasn’t built for delicate things. And yet, here she was, looking at him like he was something worth keeping.
You want me? He exhaled slow, a heavy thing. Then you got me.