#'The animal slowly makes it's way up the hill

[swashbucklery]

[Kit/Jade] [anal play/rimming] if your comfortable

Enjoy some words about butt stuff, anon. (NSFW fanfic under the cut obviously) +

It’s not wholly accurate, to say that she can’t help herself. Jade can. She always can, is always capable of holding herself back that little bit more, resisting temptation an hour longer, a minute longer.

But she doesn’t want to.

And, in this moment, she allows herself a loosening of that tightly-held control. She licks a stripe along Kit’s cunt, from her clit up to the hole gleaming in the soft candlelight. Kit, pressed face-down, squirms. Her body is a perfect landscape: the curve of her ass twin hills, the shadow on the far side of it, between the cheeks of it, hidden valleys. Her shoulders, her back, the way her hands gather the bedsheets into tangled hillocks, it’s terrain that Jade has learned inch by inch.

She fucks her tongue into the dripping gash of Kit’s hole, and Kit keens. Jade wriggles it, licks the insides of her walls, and Kit wriggles in reply like a caught fish, like some perfect animal thing.

Jade slips her tongue out, and brings it glistening with Kit’s desire to the next hole. She licks it, can feel-see-hear the way Kit wriggles and jumps, squirms in reply. “I want to be in you here,” Jade hums into the soft curve of Kit’s ass.

Kit’s reply is a pant, a whine.

“I’m going to get the oil and slick you up, princess,” she whispers. “Going to push myself into this hole, make it learn me.”

Jade does just that.

She slicks her hand, regarding Kit waiting on the bed for her touch. There’s an artificial stillness to her, a sense that her instinct is to squirm and quiver but she’s holding herself still by design. The thought makes Jade thrill. She’s half-breathless with fond responsibility, a deep feeling of the loveliness and importance of this. She wants to handle Kit with the utmost care.

Jade presses one slick fingertip to Kit’s asshole and feels her whole body tighten. “Easy,” she whispers. “Softly, now.”

Kit whines. Jade can see both holes clench and relax and clench again, her nervousness made visible. “Softly,” Kit huffs.

“Soft as a whisper,” Jade replies. She drags the slipperiness along the rim of Kit’s hole, feels how tight, how sensitive. “Help me?”

Kit’s hips rise. Her hand snakes forward along the bedsheets, finds its way between her own legs. Jade watches as Kit’s grasping, fumbling fingertips find her clit and rub. Gradually, the taut cord of Kit’s body eases.

Jade presses again. She barely manages a fingertip; the littlest slice of opening, before Kit tenses and whines. “Soft, princess,” she whispers. “Soft for me.”

She presses harder.

She can feel Kit’s body stretching around her fingertip now. The squirm of her is mesmerizing. Kit clenches and relaxes and Jade’s name spills from her, broken and soft. She bucks her hips into Jade’s hand, advancing her progress, and then wriggles away from the pressure. “Soft, Kit,” Jade says. Her voice has a break to it now, a gravel betraying her own desire.

Kit’s hole is gripping her fingertip so tightly.

Jade wants her whole finger, her whole hand, the whole of her gripped by Kit just like that. Jade wants to press in as hard as she can, to take that passage and split Kit’s hole open and see her writhe. She exhales, hard. She runs a calming hand along Kit’s ass, letting her palm soothe Kit’s writhing body as much as the softness of Kit’s skin soothes her own eagerness.

“Push, Kit,” she whispers. “Gentle and soft. Press yourself onto me.”

Kit whimpers and tenses and relaxes once more. Jade can see her pinch her own clit, can see slick dripping from her hole. “Trying,” Kit whines.

“Doing so good, Kit,” Jade sighs. “Nearly there.”

Finally, Kit tenses in the right way. Breathes and clenches her belly and her asshole slowly opens, parting for the plunge of Jade right down to her knuckle.

[canines-crown]

What's the strangest way you felt species euphoria?

Cause mine definitely happened today when my mom called me a "Frechdachs". That's German and it means "cheeky badger"

It's something you use to jokingly scald a child after they did a mild prank on you or said something well... Cheeky

I am, indeed, such a cheeky badger for narrating my mom's journey up a hill as if she were an animal in a nature documentary✨✨✨

[ellecdc]

Hiiii! I have a request, poly!marauders x animagus!fem reader (you decide what type of animal) and everytime it’s full moon she turn into an animagus and watches hboyfriends (kinda lurks around secretly) as they take care of Remus. The thing is they don’t know that she’s an animagus, and what would their reaction be when they found out?

(You’re an amazing writer and your fics makes my day🫶🏻)

this was so sweet - thanks for your request and for your patience in me getting this to you!

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

poly!marauders x fem!reader who's a secret animagus

Prongs was very confused.

This was the third moon in a row that he, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony had been romping through the woods when Moony seemed to get caught up on something.

He wasn’t sure what had changed; they always followed the same routine: transform in the shack, let Moony out, follow their trail where they can run (and roll, in Moony & Padfoots case) down a large hill, chase each other along the river bank, drink from the edge of the Black Lake, and slowly make their way back to the shack for Moony’s transformation. 

Except, once again, they seemed to be caught up under this unassuming tree.

Prongs looked to his canine companion who offered what he could only assume as a doggy shoulder shrug as Moony yipped and stood on his hind legs in an attempt to see through the lowest bows of the tree.

The first time this happened, Moony almost took one of Padfoot’s legs off for trying to encourage him to leave the tree. 

The second time, Moony could only be convinced to leave as his bones actually started stretching and reorganising themselves as the transformation started.

What was even stranger, though? After both of those moons, Remus woke up in a panic asking where you were and if you were ‘okay’.

It took Sirius shifting back into Padfoot and laying across Remus’ chest in order to provide grounding pressure to his chest before they could get him to calm back down and convince him that you were safe.

James hated seeing this side of Remus; the side of him that none of them had seen since before the Marauders told him that they knew his secret. He felt horribly paranoid, reclusive, and entirely too guilty. 

Guilty for daring to love you even though he felt you deserved better. Guilty for allowing you to love a werewolf. Guilty for not telling you that you were in love with a werewolf. And guilty for lying to you about it every month.

Sirius and James hated the secrecy too - but it wasn’t their secret to tell. They loved you, but they couldn’t take away Remus’ autonomy when it came to his infliction.

But, tonight - the third moon in a row of this nonsense from Moony - and Prongs had had it.

Prongs bowed his head and scooped Wormtail up into his antlers, hoisting him up to the lowest branch of this damned tree Moony was fucking obsessed with and encouraged him to investigate. 

Moony let out a little whine and a huff as he sat and watched the little rat disappear through the bows of the grand pine. 

A squeak alerted the two animagi and one werewolf to trouble when the top branches began to move and out flew a large black crow with a rat trapped in its talons. 

The crow gently glided to the ground about ten feet away from the trio and let go of the rat who quickly ran up Prong’s leg and situated himself in the safety of his antlers. 

Padfoot - ever protective of his pack of misfit toys animals - began stalking toward the offending bird, sure that Moony was just as excited as he was about this impromptu hunt. It wasn’t their favourite - it was not a rabbit - but it would do. 

However, much to both Padfoot and Prongs’ surprise, Moony quickly leapt in front of the crow and grumbled warningly at Padfoot, going so far as to bare his teeth at his pack member. 

Padfoot tilted his head in confusion at Moony as if perhaps the situation would make more sense at a 45 degree angle, but it appeared that it made no difference when Pads ultimately huffed and turned back towards Prongs. 

Prongs wanted to laugh - but deer stags couldn’t do that - so he let out a ‘bleat’ as the crow flew above Padfoot and teasingly landed on his head.

Padfoot, ready for a fight, turned to nip at the bird who simply jumped back up and hovered just out of reach of the dog.

Prongs was suddenly even more confused.

What crow willingly releases a plump, likely juicy, rat from its talons instead of enjoying it as their meal? And what crow willingly teases a large werewolf sized dog in front of his werewolf friend? 

This one, apparently.

And Moony - usually very possessive and exclusionary when it came to the other creatures they came across in the Forbidden Forest - seemed not only accepting of this new addition, but really quite pleased with it. 

But it was time to go if Moony’s flinches and groaning was any indication; the transformation would happen soon. 

Padfoot moved towards Moony and affectionately nudged him with his shoulder, hoping to encourage him towards the Shrieking Shack. 

Moony seemed to understand that he ought to go, but couldn’t bring himself to leave without his newest friend.

Somehow - to Prongs’ absolute astonishment - the crow seemed to understand what the hold up was and flew over to situate itself on Prongs’ antler.

Prongs - far too tired after a night full of romping with a werewolf directly after a full day of classes - acquiesced to being a glorified chauffeur for his smaller friends and led the way to the shack. 

The crow sat quietly on the top of the old fireplace as the Marauders went about business as usual. 

Padfoot convinced Moony to curl up on the bed so he would wake up at least semi-comfortably, whilst Prongs used his antlers to encourage a blanket up around Moony so he wouldn’t wake up completely nude, and Peter ran back towards the castle to give the lovers some privacy. 

Once Moony returned fully to Remus, Prongs and Padfoot took a moment to shift back to their own human forms and started up on the healing process, completely forgetting about their interloper.

With a groan, Remus came to after James encouraged healing potion down his throat.

“I’m sorry, Moons.” He apologised in a whisper as he handed the empty vial to Sirius’ waiting hand.

“Where is she?” Remus croaked. 

“Where’s who, babe?” Sirius asked, sharing a concerned glance with James. 

Remus choked in his attempt to respond and both boys began shushing him. “Dovey.” He finally got out.

“She’s at the castle, Moons…she’s safe.” James placated.

“No.” Remus argued. “She was there.”

James turned to see if Sirius had any idea how to handle their boyfriend’s insanity when he spotted it behind Sirius.

The crow.

“You.” He whispered in awe, causing Sirius to whip his head around.

The crow hopped down from the mantle of the fireplace and landed gracefully on the floor before it spun and grew back into you.

“Dovey.” Remus groaned. James turned to see there were tears in Remus’ eyes, though he knew not what for. 

“Hiya Moons.” You answered shyly, shooting guilty glances at Sirius who was still staring at you in shock and to James who was looking frantically between you and Remus.

“It’s been you?” James asked incredulously.

“How long have you known?” Remus asked at the same time.

You smiled sadly at Remus and knelt down beside him. “Long enough to become an animagi?”

“You sneaky little witch.” Sirius finally let out with a breath, sitting down unceremoniously at the foot of the bed to look at you.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.” You begged quickly; eyes darting nervously between your three boyfriends.

“You’re worried about us being mad?” Sirius asked disbelievingly. 

“Angel, you’ve caught us sneaking around and lying to you.” James teased with a certain level of sincerity, nudging you with his shoulder. 

“Do you hate me?” Remus whispered, eyes still trained steadfast on you.

You looked at him like he had grown three heads.

“Remus, I love you. That’s why I’m here.” You pressed severely. 

Remus laughed out a sob and covered his face with his hands. 

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck were you thinking?” Sirius asked suddenly.

“What?” You responded warily.

“Casually inserting yourself into a werewolf pack! What would you have done if Moony hated you?” He barked, flinging a hand towards Remus’ general direction.

You scoffed derisively and shot Remus a look like ‘can you believe this guy?’ “I’m impossible not to love, Sirius. Do keep up.”

Your cheek earned you a scoff before Sirius was launching himself at you and the two of you fell to the floor, disturbing layers of dust and causing the particles to dance through the air. 

“You’re so lucky you're cute.” Sirius said in faux contempt as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses. 

James sighed in relief as he looked back over at Remus who was watching the two of you with a look so full of fondness, James was surprised he couldn’t see hearts pouring out of his eyes.

“You okay, Rem?” James asked him quietly, pulling one of his hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Perfect, Jamie. Just perfect.” Remus said with a content smile and a single happy tear trailing down his cheek.

James was more than inclined to agree.

[kittenshift-17]

Omg I feel like any teen wolf fic (sterek fic) you write would be amazing, on that topic ur an amazing writer and I’m glad that one day I stumbled upon one of your fics. And also speaking of sterek fics (or any teen wolf fic) do u have and recommendations on what to read for that fandom???

Okay, so I took my time with this one because I had read some, but not a lot... but oh boy, did I deep dive into the research to bring you some top tier Sterek Fic Recs.

TOP 20 STEREK RECS

Play It Again by metisket ***I LOVED THIS ONE***

In which Stiles goes along with one of Derek’s plans and ends up in an alternate universe as a result. He should’ve known better. He did know better, actually, and that means he has no one to blame but himself.

“Laura wants to lure the kid in with food and kindness and make a pet of him, like a feral cat. Derek wants to have him arrested for stalking. They’re at an impasse. (And the rest of the family is staying emphatically out of it in a way that suggests bets have been placed.)”

So Shed Your Skin and Lets Get Started by halfhardtorock

He's sixteen and in the woods on the wrong side of the town-line and he's so fucking fucked.

He knows he's not supposed to run, they teach that to you in preschool (don't run from a Were, back away slowly and walk with care), but they never told you how it would feel, standing alone in the dark with your heart beating in your throat as those glowing eyes tracked you from the shadows.

Don't Feed the Wolves by Amazonia_8

Stiles took the dare, because what else was he supposed to do when the whole lacrosse team was chanting his name? Even though the werewolf pack had left Beacon Hills years ago, nobody was stupid enough to set foot on the Hale property.

Except, apparently, Stiles.

Now he's got a feral werewolf following him around town with the sole purpose of claiming Stiles as his own.

so now you've got the best of me (come on and take the rest of me) by mangotangos

"It doesn't matter how hot Derek is, how Stiles barely comes up to his shoulders or how Derek's hands could probably fit really snugly around his waist. None of it matters, because he's basically a glorified babysitter for the foreseeable future and Stiles wants him out. Operation annoy Deputy Derek Hale into leaving begins now."

~or, the one where Stiles' dad hires Deputy Derek to be Stiles' bodyguard, Stiles hates him on principle and then 2 seconds later falls in lust (and love) and tries to seduce him into bed with his sexual prowess.

There Are No Wolves In California by kitsunequeen

Hunter!Stiles accidentally hits a wolf with his car and can't bear to leave him in the road to die. It's not till he gets the wolf home that he sees its eyes glow red... ------- Even everyday roadkill is upsetting, but this thing… Moments ago it was probably a majestic beast, and now it’s a mangled pile of soon-to-be rotting flesh. He presses a shaking hand to the only part of its chest left intact, not even thinking about whether it'll give him rabies or some other awful disease.

He’s about to pull back when something even crazier happens.

He realizes the wolf is breathing.

(not so) Pure Imagination by theroguesgambit

"There is a world where whenever someone fantasizes about you, you can physically feel it, but you have no idea who is thinking it about you."

Stiles knows it's wrong, but he's been Fantasizing about Derek and he can't bring himself to stop. Derek doesn't know who's taken an interest in him, but he's enjoying it way more than he probably should.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property. Humans are supposed to be extinct. But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

The Darkness Inside by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

The sheriff watched him for a moment, then he sighed and turned slightly. He reached out to open a cabinet door beside him, and pulled out a shelf. It was on a track, so it rolled out of the cabinet fairly easily, and held a small CCTV. Derek frowned and inched his chair to the side a little bit so he could get a better angle.

He was looking at a teenager, or someone at least young enough to be the same age as Scott. He was sitting on a bed in what looked to be a larger room, the area he was in surrounded by four glass walls, with his legs crossed and head tilted.

He was also staring directly into the camera, as if he knew someone was watching. A creepy smile slowly slid onto the teen’s face, and he held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a slow, eery wave.

Derek felt his mouth run dry. He didn’t know who this kid was, but he didn’t like him.

“Who is that?” he asked quietly.

“That,” said the sheriff, “is my son.”

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm for missingsun

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Patterns of Intention by drunktuesdays

Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles.

But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

I don't know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 for xXxClassifiedxXx 

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

Or the one where Stiles goes thrift shopping and steals an alpha's shirt. And gets a lot more than he bargains for.

Sleeping Dogs by starsystems

Let sleeping dogs lie. Prov. Do not instigate trouble.;Leave something alone if it might cause trouble.

Derek Hale is asleep in Stiles's bed. And it just escalates from there.

Because of course it does.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by notthequiettype

Stiles is on his back on hard-packed dirt. He's cold and there are leaves stuck to his neck and there's a four inch gash in his side that he thinks he can feel his ribs through. There's so much blood around him he feels like he's floating on a pond and everything is so much dimmer above him than it was a minute ago, which is saying something because he's in the dark center of the forest in the middle of the night. And the worst of it is that he's alone, totally alone with the smell of his own blood drowning him and the soft side of him run through by a tree.

As his eyes slip shut, the last thing he thinks is, "This is going to kill my dad."

In Case You Didn't Know by Blu_Crowe

Stiles moves into the lofts, and he and Derek start to get closer. Unfortunately Stiles is a moron, and Derek is bad at feelings. They figure it out... Eventually.

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.” 



“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly. 



Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding: 



DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

Lock All The Doors Behind You by entanglednow

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table.

Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food.

Right in front of another Alpha.

Who he was on a date with.

To discuss being heat partners...."

*In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!*

for a good time, call... by EvanesDust for kalika_999

Stiles unlocks his phone to send out a quick text asking his father what he wants to eat, even though he’ll get salad regardless, and notices a strange number on his recent call log.

His face scrunches in confusion before realization dawns on him.

Oh shit.

Events from the night before peek through the hazy fog of his mind. Stiles thought, or he was hoping, that the phone call was a dream. But there it is, staring at him in the face—a one minute and 57-second call to an unfamiliar number.

Oh God.

Did he seriously call someone—possibly an alpha werewolf!—for phone sex?

...Or the one where Stiles drunk dials a very grumpy alpha werewolf and propositions him for phone sex. Hilarity, misunderstandings, and feelings ensue.

Golden Boy by trilliath 

Apparently it still amuses his uncle to buy sex slaves for him, no matter how steadfastly he refuses to use them. Derek ducks into his tent with a resigned sigh, prepared to dress and reassign whatever new beauty Peter has bought him. They do make for loyal servants, so he can't really complain about Peter's 'gifts'. But it is annoying to deal with, to have to spend his evening sorting out a slave instead of being able to go right to bed. It's just something he has to learn to accept as a byproduct of serving alongside his uncle.

But when he lays eyes on the boy laying amid his furs, he finds his breath catching in his throat. His skin is golden with the candle-light glimmering against the sheen of oil that has been slathered on his bared body. His lips are parted, and they work over inaudible words or sounds. His skin is flushed, nipples peaked and pierced with simple but unexpected golden rings. He's spectacularly beautiful in the candlelight. The many glowing candles that have been added to his usual lighting cast glittering edges and shadows, imbuing an almost unearthly golden color to his skin.

It's enough that Derek hesitates.

[elliesflwrgirl]

cw, mean!ellie, dom!ellie, sub!reader, oral (ellie receiving), face riding, fingering (r receiving), heavy degradation, knife play, slapping, spitting.

summary: enemies to angry sex!!

if u enjoy pls reblog and like!! i love u.

.·:*¨¨* ・❥・ ≈☆≈ ・❥・*¨¨*:·.

you and ellie had hated each other since the moment you met. you disagreed on everything. snide remarks were mumbled under breathes each time you were in the same room.

nobody wanted to be around you two. which is why you two were stuck picking up the shifts nobody wants to do. maria thought it was fair, seeing as when people are on patrol you two bicker and complain, making everything so much more unenjoyable. plus, ellie had a mishap a couple nights ago, some guy calling her names and she beat his ass. maria knew how to punish ellie perfectly, you. you were ellie’s punishment.

so here you two are, trudging through the woods. ellie is at least three feet ahead of you, hoping to make it there and back before nightfall.

“can you pick up your fucking pace?” ellie scoffs as she climbs over a fallen tree limb. you roll your eyes, “slow the fuck down, the suns not even setting yet.” you murmur and ellie scoffs.

she thought you were unreliable, sloppy, and irresponsible. she hated the way you were late which set this patrol back by thirty minutes, and she hated the fact that she cared where you were.

you thought ellie was rigid, strict, and so high strung. she took things so seriously, like this patrol. you had at least an hour until the sun went down, and this trail might be messy, and filled with difficult terrain, but you had time. yet she was up your ass about not being late.

ellie climbed up the side of the mountain like hill, bending down and reaching her hand out for you. you scoff and climb up on your own. “don’t need your help.” you brush off some dirt and ellie rolls her eyes. “god forbid i try to help you.”

you push past her and climb up a couple more hill sides before you reach the cliff. ellie climbs up behind you, pulling her gun out and scoping the area. you do the same.

you trudge forward, rounding the cliff corner. your foot slips, a gasp leaving your lips as you lose your footing. it sends you sliding down the rocky edge. your body hits the ground a couple feet down. “fuck,” you groan as you stand up slowly.

ellie peers over the edge, “god damnit.” she scoffs. slowly climbing down. “you’re wasting so much fucking time.” she huffs under her breath as she walks towards you. her eyes widen as she takes a look at you. “fuck, your knee.” she hisses and you look down.

your knee has a big gash down the side of it, and suddenly the pain set it. blood dripped down your leg and ellie dropped to her knees in front of you. pulling out her knife and cutting your pants off just above your knee. she ties the pants tightly around your thigh, hoping to manage the blood loss.

“cmon we have to head back.” she stands up, looking up at how far down you both are. “we’re so fucked.” you sigh and shake your head, looking around. the dark forest is thick with trees and animal sounds. the sun was setting.

“do you see why being early is so important now? you have to plan for mistakes.” she scoffs and you roll your eyes. “shut the fuck up ellie. nobody planned me falling off the fucking cliff.”

she rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, “it’s gonna get dark soon, are you fucking happy? was being late worth it?” she spews as she starts marching into the forest. you limp slowly behind her, the pain in your knee intensifying each time you put pressure on it.

you make it a few feet before you wince in pain, causing ellie to look back at you. ellie wasn’t a horrible person, despite your opinion. she felt bad, but she also felt pissed. she didn’t want to have to help you.

she walks back over to you, grabbing your arm and throwing it over her shoulders. she held your hand over her shoulder, “cmon, lean on me.” she huffs and you do.

you both walk through the woods as the light slowly goes black. it was dark, you two could barely see. you could feel ellie’s heart racing against your arm.

“we have to stop. there’s no way we can make it back, it’s too dark, i can barely see.” ellie groans beside you. “there should be some type of cabin up a couple more miles.” you grit through clenched teeth as you lean your weight on her. the heat was unbearable, and you being so close to her wasn’t helping.

you come up to the cabin, ellie picking the lock and helping you in. you fall against the wall, slowly sliding down and sitting. ellie lights a lantern, looking through cabinets and drawers. finally she finds a first aid kit. she rushes over to you, dropping to her knees and untying the fabric.

you hiss in pain as she does, she shushes you. “be quiet.” she barks and she grabs the alcohol, pouring it over the gash. you moan in pain and she rolls her eyes, “fucking toughen up.”

you scoff, “how about i cut your knee open, see how you feel then?” she grins softly and rolls her eyes. “you think i haven’t been cut before?”

you lean your head against the wall and sigh, “i don’t know. i’m too exhausted to do this whole thing ellie. i cant hate you right now.” you sigh and she rasps, “such a little bitch. what you’re hurt so now you can’t talk back to me?”

you look at her, “fuck off.” she grabs a needle and thread from the box. running the needle through the fire of the lamp before leaning in closely to your leg. you held your breath as she laced the first loop through your skin.

“you can take this pain, you’ve been through worse.” she attempts to comfort you. you nod your head, biting your lip hard. the pain was excruciating, each prick of the needle had you wanting to dig your nails into ellie’s arms. after a couple minutes she hums, “all done.”

she stands up and you do too, slowly. “you know we wouldn’t be here if you just fucking listened to me.” she complains and you scoff, “i’m sorry i don’t obey you like you want me to.” you sarcastically say and she turns to you. “that’s all i want. is for you to obey. for you to listen to what i’m saying.” she scoffs and you step closer.

“i’m not some lab rat that does what you say blindly.” you hiss and she nods, “oh trust me i know that. life would be easier if you were.” she scoffs in your face, her breathe fanning your cheeks.

“life would be easier if you weren’t such a pain in my fucking ass.” you huff and she grins softly. “oh you think im the pain in the ass? show up on time for once in your god damn life! you are the reason we have to sit in the fucking cabin. you tripped like some useless bitch, and now we’re here.” she yells in your face, “oh fuck you, you’re a cunt. don’t make this my fucking fault. you are the sole reason we had to do this fucking patrol in the first place. you really couldn’t just walk away, huh?” you scream and she pushes you up against the wall.

the sting of the plaster hitting your back has you grasping at the collar of ellie’s shirt. “the fuck did you just say?” she hissed and leaned closer. her face inches from yours. “you could use some practice on restraint.” you hiss and she scoffs. a hard smack lands on your cheek as she pins your to the wall, “and you could use some work on that mouth of yours. did anybody ever teach you to shut your mouth?” she scoffs and as you go to say something else she grabs your jaw. making you unable to speak.

“there we go. that’s much better. i’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen, got it?” she speaks in a low hum. “fuck you.” you grit out and she smiles. “is that what you want? will that make you shut up?” her words catch you off guard.

your cheeks heat, and your thighs clench together. you had always known ellie was hot, it was something you ignored. but she was here, speaking to you like this, and it was turning you on more than ever.

you whine softly in response and she scoffs, “want me to fuck that attitude out of you?”

you couldn’t give her the satisfaction. but you both needed this. she needed to take her anger out and you so desperately needed her to take it out on you. you rip her hand from your jaw, “you wanna use me to get that anger out, fucking do it. use me. maybe that will make you less of a fucking cunt—“

your words are cut short by ellie smashing her lips against yours. teeth clash and lips push against each other. “you think you’re so fucking tough, huh?” she hisses between kisses. she nips at your bottom lip, pulling your body against hers. you grind your hips against her and she slaps your cheek once again.

the sting leaving your cheek red. a moan leaves your lips at the pain, “such a pathetic slut, wanting me to use you.” she hums. she pulls you in closer by the collar of your shirt, kissing you hard.

“please ellie,” you whine as she kisses down your neck. she grins against your neck, “you told me to use you, so i’m going to, how ever i want. i wanna take my time with you.”

you scoff, “or are you bluffing? if you’re gonna use me just fucking do it, ellie. fuck that attitude out of me.” you spit through clenched teeth and she grabs her knife from her thigh holster and presses it to your neck.

“you’re such a little bitch. you think i’m bluffing? give me a reason to not slit your fucking throat right here?” she spews and you grin softly. you were getting off on all of this. each time she called you a little bitch, you needed more desperately.

she pushed the blade deeper against your neck, the pain left a sting but it only drove you crazier. “you hate me. so act like it.” you egg her on.

she grabbed the back of your neck, yanking you off the wall. pushing you down to the floor, your elbows stinging from the impact.

“you’re gonna eat my pussy like a good girl, right? gonna fuck me good?” she taunts as she undoes her jeans, pulling them off and tossing them to the ground. she straddles your head with her thighs, slowly lowering herself onto your face.

a soft moan leaves her lips as your tongue connects with her clit. you grab at her thighs, pulling her down more against your face. she grinds her hips as your tongue pushes into her. “fuck,” she whines softly and buries her hands into your hair.

“fucking me so good,” she rides your face, tugging on your hair. you moan against her cunt, sending vibrations up her spine.

your fingertips dig into her thighs, a moan leaving her lips. “shit—“ a loud whimper leaves her lips as you gently suck on her clit.

she tugs on your hair, pulling her hips up and away from your lips. running her fingers down her slit, circling her fingers slowly on her clit. you whine, wanting to taste more of her. “see how good i’m fucking myself?” she pushes her fingers into her wet cunt. a soft moan leaving her lips, “you’re nothing, fuck— you’re nothing special, practically fucking useless.” she thrusts her fingers in and out of her.

the wetness gathering at the base of her fingers. “just a dumb slut.” she spews as she tosses her head forward, a loud whimper leaving her lips. you moan at her words, nodding your head. “i’m nothing, please just let me feel you.” you whine beneath her.

she grins, curling her fingers into herself. hitting that perfect stop inside her. “that’s right, you’re fucking nothing.” she nods her head as her thighs clench around your head. her eyes roll back as her thumb circle on her hit.

she bounces slightly on her fingers, a moan leaving her lips. “god,” she whines before she leans over you, hovering above you as her fingers fuck into her.

“please ellie, i wanna feel you cum on my tongue.” you whimper and she nods her head. “beg for it. beg for me.” she demands and you whine again.

“please ellie. i need you. i need to taste you again, i need it.” you whimper and try to tug her hips forward. she clicks her tongue, “i know you can do better, baby.” she taunts and you whimper.

“god, please, i’ll do anything.” you beg one last time, your words coming out as a pathetic whimper. you thought if you didn’t taste her right now, you might die. it was fucking torture.

she pushes herself up on to her knees, her wet cunt inches above your mouth. “i’m gonna cum—“ she whines softly as her orgasm hits her. her cum dripping down her fingers as she pulls them out of her. “ellie—“ before you can finish she pushes her glossy fingers past your rosy lips.

her cum tasted sweet on your tongue, you suck softly on her fingers. “i just wanted to hear you beg.” she grins as she pulls her fingers slowly out of your mouth.

a whimper leaving your lips as she does. she moves to straddle your hips, leaning forward she kisses down your neck, a completely different energy radiating from her body.

“i wanna taste you, i want you to feel how good i can make you feel just from my fingers.” she hums as she kisses down your collar bones. her hands slipping up under your shirt, her hands roaming up to your tits. she groans against your neck as she notices the fact you’re not wearing a bra.

you whine softly, arching your back slightly. she drags her hands down to your pants, undoing them. she tugs them down, carefully avoiding the freshly stitched wound on your knee. it wasn’t taken for granted in your head. the softness to her roughness was something you relished in.

she grabs your leg, throwing it over her shoulder as she kisses around the stitches, kissing down your inner thighs. a soft whimper leaving your lips. “i’ll probably want to punch myself tomorrow for saying this, but do you know how long i’ve thought about doing this? how many times i’ve imagined this in my head?” she murmurs as she kisses slowly up your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need her.

your hands dig into her hair, her eyes looking up at you as you do. you grin softly, “i fucking knew it.” you tease and she scoffs. “oh shut the fuck up.” she presses a kiss on your inner thigh before running her tongue up your slit.

she pulls back slightly, spitting onto your pussy as you look down at her. she circles her fingers on your clit, dragging her fingers down to your entrance. pushing three fingers into you, your cunt stressing around her. “fuck—“ you bite your lip, hushing a moan.

she thrusts her fingers into you slowly before lowering her mouth to your cunt again, looking up at you. “such a pretty cunt, dripping wet for me huh? you touch yourself just thinking about me?” she taunts and you scoff. “go fuck yourself, ellie.” she grins at your words before flicking her tongue against your clit.

a moan leaves your lips, “oh my god,” you toss your head back and she grins against your pussy. “look at me. tell me how good i’m making you feel.” she demands and you look back down at her. holding eye contact with her. “so good ellie,” you whimper before she curls her fingers into you, hitting your g-spot perfectly. “yeah? keep going.”

your back arches as she hits that spot, “fuck, so fucking good els” the word rolled off your tongue effortlessly, it had ellie’s stomach in knots. she hated the way this all made her feel. this with you was better than anything else with anyone else.

she thrusted her fingers into you faster and harder, your eyes rolling back. you couldn’t focus on anything else besides how good her fingers felt inside of you. your pussy clenching around her fingers, your wetness dripping down her fingers. “tell me more.” she demands and you shake your head. “i cant. fuck—“ you whimper loudly and she grins.

“i’m just absolutely ruining you, aren’t i sweet girl? just fucking you dumb, can’t even say anything.” she curls her fingers as she fucks them into you.

moans leave your lips as your head falls back. your orgasm hit you violently, your legs closing around her hand. “ellie,” you whimper and she kisses your knees softly. “you look so perfect,” she hums as she kisses your knees. “did such a good job for me. letting me fuck you senseless.” she pulls her fingers out of you, cleaning them off by sucking them clean.

.·:*¨¨* ・❥・ ≈☆≈ ・❥・*¨¨*:·.

[thefreakandthehair]

top of the hill

@steddiemicrofic | written for ‘top’ | wc: 510 | rating: teen & up | tags: steve pov, steve harrington has a crush on eddie munson, first date, drive-in movies, hand-holding, pure fluff

As the sun sets beneath the horizon, shades of pink and blue giving way to orange and gold like a melting water color between tree branches on either side of his car, Steve fiddles with the knobs on the stereo. Static fills the space between himself and Eddie, nothing broken words and inaudible noises. Bright animations down on the large projector screen encourages them to buy a soft drink or a—

“— thick, juicy hot dog!” 

Eddie snorts to himself, covering his mouth with a piece of hair. 

“Great timing,” Steve mutters, grinning to himself and leaning back into his seat. 

It’d been his idea, coming to the drive-in with Eddie, but that’s as far as he’d gotten in his plans. Truly, Eddie agreeing to come with him was further than he’d imagined he’d get but now he’s here, in the suffocating closeness of his BMW’s front seat at the top of the hill, and he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. 

The past year has been a slew of pizza nights at Eddie’s new trailer, smoking on the hood of his van, slowly convincing Eddie that baseball isn’t that terrible and being slowly convinced that maybe metal isn’t that terrible either. 

How could it be? Eddie’s eyes light up every time he plays Dio, and nothing that makes him smile like that could possibly be bad. 

Anyway, Steve didn’t ask Eddie to come see Grease with him at the drive-in as a strictly friendly activity, and he’s at a loss for how to bridge that gap. 

“Got the goods,” Eddie says, producing two immaculately rolled joints with a grin and wiggle of his eyebrows and tearing Steve out of his own thoughts. 

If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think it’s that same Dio-Smile. 

“Me too,” Steve retorts. 

He twists around and grabs a plastic bag from the grocery store laden with what he’s learned are Eddie’s favorites: Blue Razz Poprocks and Nerds, a couple of Moon Pies sitting on top to avoid getting squished. Eddie digs into the bag and grabs the Nerds first, chomping away as the familiar sound of Frankie Valli’s voice signals the start of the movie. 

Steve’s seen Grease more times than he cares to admit— maybe because of Kenickie, maybe because of Sandy, he’s not sure anymore— so he can follow along mindlessly. Thank God for that, because Eddie seems to get closer and closer as the movie continues, his shoulder brushing against Steve’s with every raise of his hand to pop more snacks into his mouth, and he can’t think about anything else.

He wants to close the distance, do something stupid like hold his hand and somehow, it feels scarier than Vecna or Demodogs ever did. But he’s Steve Harrington so sure, lacing his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezing intentionally for the first time is terrifying, but being afraid has never stopped him before. 

Seconds pass and he holds his breath as the projector dims to the tune of Blue Moon, exhaling with a growing smile when Eddie squeezes back. 

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 13.7k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: this is it…the final chapter of Lamb! Thank you all so much for reading…thank you to everyone who has supported me and commented and given me feedback. I love each and every one of you. It’s been a pleasure.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was nearly noon when you stirred.

You had expected to awaken in bed, just as you usually did these days when you dozed off; it was not a pillow under your cheek that morning, though. There was a steady rise and fall under your ear, and a security to where you lay. You slowly cracked your eyes open, and took in where you were. Certainly you remembered falling asleep on the couch, but you did not recall laying on Father Pruitt. And yet there he was slumped uncomfortably against the wooden arm on the couch with you pulled over his chest and into his lap like a makeshift blanket.

You had assumed he generally didn’t sleep- either didn’t need it or didn’t choose to. However as you looked down at the peaceful man, you found you were wrong. As you rose your head, those dark lashes of his brushed his cheeks as he lay under you in a slumber. You stilled and stared so as to not rouse him; whether it was out of fear of waking the beast, or manners for not stirring your host, you were not sure.

It seemed fate would come to your aid. Father John’s brow twitched in the same way it used to when he would start to fall asleep during a lengthy conversation after Mass when his hair was grey. His wrinkled face would go lax, and he would slump slightly then catch himself and pass it off as him thinking.

You watched his eyes slowly crack open, then it seemed his senses returned to him all at once as he sat up a fraction a little too fast. You fell a little forward and caught yourself on his shoulder and he caught your waist and your upper arm.

“Oh I’m- I must’ve…-“ he trailed off as sleep still gripped him.

You watched him wake up and laugh a little at the slight awkwardness of it. Then he seemed to finally realize that you too had only just awoken.

“You slept.” He stated, voice thick with tiredness.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry I- well I would have moved you, but I didn’t want to…” he could have stopped there and it would have been true too, “…wake you.” He added.

Your silence made him swallow. Making him nervous was not your intent, though somehow seeing him a little uncomfortable made you enjoy your position a little more.

After a moment he sighed and gently guided both of you to sit up and he pulled at the neckline of the sleep dress you wore. You tilted your head away from him for a better view, and the action itself made his nostrils flare.

So trusting for me…

“No more bleeding. Well done little one.” He hummed.

You waited for him to put the fabric back, which he did after another moment; a gentle sweep of his fingers over your collar bone. Soft and unhurried. Nothing like you had seen and felt from the other men of the island. Rough hugs and claps on your shoulder or an entitled hand on your back. Anything but ginger and gentle.

“Why me, Father?” You whispered suddenly. It was a question that you had repeated over and over until your throat went dry. Why me? Why me God, why me?

John sighed out through his nose. You had always been one to not shy from difficult questions. He could remember your mother chastising you when you would pose such queries to the aging Monsignor at 10 in the morning. He tucked his chin to his chest as he thought then turned back to you, eyes soft.

“Because you were perfect.” He muttered.

Neither Eve nor Lilith. You were neither made from his rib nor from the same soil as he, and John basked in that realization. You were his lamb. A willing and trusting creature who only wanted a Shepard, yet so tempting in its soft flesh and sweet smell.

His words hung in your ears. You nodded- not in understanding, because you did not understand, but because it was a truth he believed. You hoped you would come to understand it, too.

You sat up off his lap, and stretched- the bones in your back popped and your tentons pulled against tissue until you were satisfied.

John watched you unabashedly, a small smile on his mouth at the sight of you.

“I don’t think you know this…but you were always my favourite.” Came his low rumble of a voice beside you.

You settled, and looked over to where he was already turned towards you. “What do you mean?” You asked.

He breathed out a laugh, “It look me a while to remember, but over several months the pieces of my fading mind slowly fell together. I remember always enjoying your company…your dedication, your selflessness and selfishness…your curiosity…so sweet.” John recalled the last twenty odd years following your birth. The birth of a child on Crockett was always a true gift. He had watched you go from smiling and wailing in your mother’s arms to walking down Main Street as fast as your chubby legs could, to you being the last remaining light of the island as you pedalled to the marina with the stiff sea breeze sobering you.

Even in his deteriorating body he loved seeing that little face, in and outside St. Patrick’s. Your wit and comforting nature. The look of regret and apology tugging your pretty mouth into a frown when you would see the filthy floors of the church after a rainy day. How the sunshine of summer mornings would reflect off your face through the church windows. Those dresses you would wear under your warm sweaters; colours of lush fauna, blue skys and spring.

You listened to him, and watched as the good Father seemed lost in thought.

“I don’t know if you remember when my family left…but I was so scared. Independence had always been something I was used to, but something about loneliness…I suppose what I’m trying to say is St. Patrick’s was a home for me.” You returned his thoughtfulness with your own.

John smiled again to himself and patted your hands that sat on your thighs, “And it will always be a home for you…even when it stands in ruins.” He murmured.

You sucked in a breath, and looked away. His stare grew far too intense for you at times.

“Come…you need to eat, sweetheart.” Father John sighed and stood, his hands outstretched to help you up. You took his hands, and let him make you food.

The supplies for the island were simple and repetitive. Nothing fancy. It had been months of similar meals and uninteresting ingredients, but you found that you couldn’t complain. You were alive, and that was what mattered.

“Can I ask you something?” John’s chest rumbled as he spoke across from you at his desk.

You looked up from the book you had been reading- your knees tucked up to your chest in the old chair. “Go ahead.”

The Father took a moment to think of the best phrasing while he put his pen down. This had been something that ate away at him for months, but it had never been an appropriate time to ask it. He prayed this was a corrected time now.

“That night…Easter…you came back. You didn’t look afraid…sad and horrified, yes, but not afraid…” he said, “I was afraid. I was grieving…why were you not afraid?”

You looked away, and thought.

“I was afraid but not…not of what you think,” Your eyes glazed over as you recalled that night. How the church smelled of candle wax and iron and wet wood, “I thought I was going to die that night. I did. And I was okay with that. It wasn’t death that frightened me. There was something else that did.”

He hung onto every word, “What was it, my child?”

You swallowed and finally looked up at him, “You- you weren’t violent. When you first got back to Crockett you weren’t violent.” You shook your head.

Your statement surprised him.

“Well- I - had my limit…Joe- well…he suffered but…I suppose that was a circumstantial thing…for the majority of the time yes I was…fairly docile.” He nodded along.

You felt your throat tighten and your nose prickled, “Then why did they rip their families to shreds? Why did they attack like that…they were possessed,” you said and shook your head, “What scared me and still scares me, Father , is that I think those people were just looking for an excuse to be savage. I knew Wade and Dolly so well and I had to pull a Leeza away from them…their own daughter…are we all just…savages safeguarded by laws and manners and faith? What scares me is that I wonder what they really are capable of. And now that…I’m weaker than them, I would be defenceless. It’s the suppressed urges that scare me.” Your voice trembled.

Father Pruitt hadn’t entirely thought of it in such a way. But once you laid out what the islanders had done in that manner, he found himself a little more horrified.

“I can understand why.” He leaned back and rubbed his brow, “I haven’t…I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

You nodded, “It’s why I run, I can handle dying. I can handle God. But the thought of being torn apart and drained by people I loved is what scares me.”

John regarded you- his cupids now pulled into a straight line.

“I know you’re sorry, Father…it’s not you that scares me.” You said gently. You opened your book and picked up where you had left off; leaving the older man to stew and mull over your answer to his question.

Father Pruitt pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder, and sighed as he readied himself for Mass. The black button-up plus that crisp white collar were back in place from his sweater. He took a quick breath as if to say something, then he seemed to decide against it.

You watched from your spot on the couch, and waited to see if he would give into the itch and say what was on his mind-

“You…you can come. If you’d like.” He tried to say it far more casually than he felt, and it showed.

You stifled a laugh, “To a church full of v-“

“I know…just…I thought you might miss it.” He stumbled a little to correct himself. He missed seeing you there. He missed feeling your glow.

You thought for a long minute. You did miss it. You missed the church, you missed seeing other faces…you missed hearing his sermons and the hymns.

“I do…” you whispered.

“Then come. I promise you will not be harmed, there’s been a steady supply and everyone is fed. I promise you.” He spoke almost pleadingly.

You stared up at him, and clenched your jaw.

John’s chest ached. Too soon. “I’m…I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“Okay.”

The ache tightened, but it hurt so nicely. He looked at you in the eyes, “…okay?” He repeated.

You nodded.

A rush of air left Father Pruitt’s lungs in shock, “Okay. Okay…okay, c’mon, little one.” He held out his hand to beckon you to him.

You stood and padded to the bedroom to retrieve a pair of wool tights and a sweater to have over your dress. When you returned, Father John already had your coat and boots ready for you. It was only a short walk, but the church had always been drafty, and winters were not kind on Crockett.

He helped you into your shoes and closed your coat, “There. Now come along. You’ll sit at the front…no one sits there anymore.” He thought aloud.

But you weren’t listening. You were watching that handsome face as he fretted over you. It was so much all at once how he looked after you. Too much but not enough.

What you didn’t expect was how he took your hand in his larger one and guided you down the rectory steps and out past the cemetery and the rec centre. You had noticed ages ago how many new graves there were, though you never mentioned it.

Father Pruitt drew small, soothing circles along your knuckles and led you up through the back vestibule of the church.

You held your breath and paused in the doorway. The last time you had been there, Erin had shot Bev in the chest. You sucked in a sharp breath suddenly and it hurt your lungs.

You needed to do this.

Closure.

Though you wished that Bev was still on Crockett. You would have enjoyed giving her a piece of your mind now that you weren’t terrified. But alas, she was a long gone pile of dust.

“"When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?"…He is with you, little one. If I am not enough then know that He is with you.” The Father bent to murmur in your ear.

You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and nodded.

He took that as an invitation to proceed. You stayed with him as he retrieved his green chasuble and slipped it over his head.

“Ordinary time…” you whispered to yourself.

John pretended not to hear you, and continued on. He knew you were reliving and processing what he had put you through.

When he filed out to the body of the church, he placed a gentle hand on your back and pointed to the front pew where Beverly used to sit, “Everyone thinks that spot is haunted by Ms.Keene. I assure you it is not. You can sit there.”

You looked from the pew to him and felt anxiety start to fill you.

John turned back to you and brought his hands up to cradle your soft face.

“I am with you. You will not leave my sight I promise.” With that, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, and released you.

Trust.

You took another shuttering breath in, and out, then stepped out into St. Patrick’s. It was still empty, and your footsteps echoed in the bare building. You looked down at the floorboards, and at the stairs to the pulpit, then finally you dared to look down the aisle to the door. Flashes of Easter make you blink hard to force them away. Now there was no blood, nothing left to portray the carnage that occurred there.

You eyes fell upon the crucifix, and you forced yourself to sit down in the pew. You needed watchful eyes on you that night. Your fear began to bubble up into your throat and constricted it. You needed to not be alone.

You reached into your coat pocket, and clutched your rosary, and you began to pray.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You whispered to yourself.

John still stood in the vestibule, readying the communion when he heard your little voice start to pray. He swallowed thickly at the memory of last muttering that same prayer; clutching at his stomach and screaming for that winged beast to come to him…he might have given into the grief, but John had long since worked through the guilt that did eventually come, contrary to what he told Riley. Instead, he blinked a few times, and began to recite the prayer with you under his breath.

The doors to the church were opened, and your baby hairs stood on end.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You finished and crossed yourself.

There were slow footsteps as parishioners entered, and noticed you. You knew they noticed you by the way conversations stopped and whispers began. You didn’t dare look behind you.

No one approached you, just like your Father had told you. You kept waiting for someone to grow bold and take a seat beside you, but it never came. Even as you all rose for the hymn, and began to sing, you remained alone and untouched.

You sang quietly, and kept your eyes low until Father Pruitt passed you and took his place at the pulpit in front of you. You had to crane your neck now to look up at him, and you found a twinge of pain there in your shoulder from the bite. A cruel reminder.

“Good evening everyone…here we are again as Christmas approaches and the New Year. It’s during this time of year when I am reminded of gifts. Gifts come in so many shapes and forms…at so many times. A shiny new bike, a gift card, a new dress…wrapped up and then torn apart to emphasise the excitement…then there are other kinds of gifts. The gift of seeing a loved one again. A child, a new house, a hot meal. Sometimes a gift can come in the form of a person. Jesus was a gift to mankind…our Lord and our Savour who leads us even though he has left us…” he spoke gently, and you found yourself softening. You felt like you were listening to your Monsignor again. No agenda…no manipulation. Just a man with a collar trying to remind people of God.

“People can be the biggest blessings…we give each other connection, and we empower each other. We can remind each other of better times and push each other to move forward. To recover, to learn, to get out of our comfort zones. To be more pious and to think of God more. People can be reminders for each other just as much as a crucifix…Gifts. Meant to be treasured…” he glanced down at you, and his heart swelled at the sight of you being there, “And cared for. We must nurture and care for those around us who remind us of God, and who push us to be better. We must be selfless for them.”

You listened to him, and rolled your rosary over your fingers. Like little drops of water. The last memory you had of being in church was full of so much fright and anxiety as you tried to get a grip on yourself- telling yourself everything was fine when it evidently hadn’t been. You sometimes wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your gut and left long before Easter. Would you have lived? Or would you have returned to Crockett after to come home only to be devoured at night because you didn’t know about the islands nightly tendencies? Was there any way to escape or were you doomed from the start?

You didn’t stand in line for the Eucharist. You didn’t watch the rest of the flock accept it. But as the final person left to sit down, you heard your name being called gently. You slowly rose your gaze, and met with Father Pruitt standing just feet from you.

“Body of Christ, little one.” He said to you, wafer in hand. You took a moment to catch up with his offering, and when you saw a paper cup in his other hand, you gave in.

“Amen.” You held your hands out to accept it the wafer, and let it dissolve on your tongue.

“Blood of Christ, little one.” He said, holding out the cup to you. You flicked your eyes up to his for just a moment.

Trust.

“Amen.”

You leaned forward, and let him tip the cup’s contents into your mouth. Your tongue was flooded with grape juice.

John watched you proudly, and finished service.

You didn’t stay. You couldn’t. Of course you wanted to see Annie, and to hold Leeza and to look Dolly in the eye. But you couldn’t. The thought alone had your stomach churning with upset. You wordlessly brushed past Father Pruitt as he descended the stairs to bid his parish a goodnight, and he watched you go. You slipped out the back door and ran back inside the rectory and slammed and locked the door.

You ripped off your coat and hung it up with shaking hands, and toed off your boots and yanked off your tights because everything felt too tight and too warm and too itchy all at once and you couldn’t breath.

You turned off the lights and ran into the bedroom and pulled the blankets up and over your head as you tried to find an equilibrium in your breathing. Your ears were ringing and your stomach felt uncomfortable like you had either eaten far too much or far too little.

After a while, you heard knocking on the front door. Your nerves lit up at the idea of one of the islanders being the visitor. Your stomach only dropped further when you heard keys. You knew Father Pruitt was the only one with keys, or so he said. What if this was all a trap? What is he asked you to come that night so he could let the parishioners on you? What if he was lying all along? What if-

“Y/n?” Came that low hum of a voice that you had grown to know. You still didn’t move. What if he had other people with him?

You could hear footsteps coming closer. You pulled the covers closer, and tried to hold your breath.

“Little one, what are you doing?” Came his gentle whisper.

You didn’t reply, staying as still as you could.

He sighed.

“Give me your hand, my sweet girl.”

You didn’t.

“Trust me.”

You slowly moved your arm and released the death grip you had on the blanket to produce your hand to him.

John tutted your palm where little crescent moons were etched into your skin where you had clenched your fists.

You felt him take your hand, and raise it up until you felt him press it against his cheek.

“See? I’m here…you’re okay.” He whispered into your skin and leaned into your touch. You moved your fingers over his cheekbone and along his jaw, then down over the corner of his mouth and over his Cupid’s bow until you returned to holding his face. You felt the light press of a kiss to your palm, and your breath hitched.

“Come here, sweetheart…”

You very slowly pulled the blanket off your head and turned your head up to peak around the room. It was dark. So dark. You knew he didn’t need the lights on to see you clearly, and when your eyes found his, his gaze were two pinpricks of light bouncing off his pupils.

With his other hand, he coaxed the blanket off you a bit further until your thighs poked out.

“There she is…” he whispered, and pulled on your hand to sit up until he was sitting beside you and guiding you into his lap,“You did so good, I’m so proud of you, my girl.”

Your limp grip on his shoulders tightened quickly until you were wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your arms around his shoulders; face buried in his neck.

John exhaled into your hair as your scent flooded his senses.

“I’m sorry I ran…” you murmured.

“Shh..nothing to apologise for.” He kissed your temple, and pretended to not notice how your legs tightened around him. How close you were.

“I know they want to see me…I just…I don’t think I can…” you sniffled.

“That’s alright…they understand.” He cooed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and suddenly felt so embrasssed for running. You felt like a child.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He breathed against the crown of your hair.

You shook your head.

“Do you want to come sit with me? I can read you one of those terrible German fairytales.” He offered.

You laughed shakily, “I’d rather go back to the church, Father.”

He laughed with you, and you enjoyed the vibrations it made in his chest. You slowly pulled away from him, but kept your gaze lowered to his chest. You thought you were stronger than that.

His sigh fanned over your forehead, and his finger came under your chin to tilt your face up to his. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and you could see his face. His breath mingled with yours, and you swallowed it down.

“Come sit with me.” He said gently, “Keep an old man company.”

You relented and untangled yourself from him.

“Slowly…there you go.” He helped you to stand, and put a hand on your lower back to nudge you out from the bedroom.

Your bare feet were cold against the wooden floors. When you sat, you immediately tucked them under you to warm them; you didn’t want to ask for a blanket, you had been enough trouble already.

John shucked off his coat and hung it while watching you in his peripheral. You were cold.

He walked past you and retrieved a blanket from the closet, and grabbed a book he had seen you eye, then returned to you.

You looked up when you heard Father Pruitt round the couch, and your cheeks went warm when you saw the blanket.

“Sorry…” you whispered and accepted the plush quilt.

“Hush.” He whispered and took a seat beside you, then held his arm out for you to come closer. You shuffled tentatively towards him, and he tsked you before putting the book down momentarily to pick you up and slide you over his thighs. You gasped a little and tried not to be uncomfortable for him; squirming to keep most of your weight off him while he pulled the blanket around the two of you and up around your torso.

“Better?” He asked, leaning away from you to see you.

You nodded, and he hummed before picking the book back up and flicking through to find a spot to start.

You sighed, and still felt ridiculous. But then you remembered the last time you had felt silly, and you had had every right to feel what you did. Terror or embarrassment, it didn’t matter. With that thought, you allowed yourself to settle into his collar which dug into your cheek.

Father John began to read aloud. After several minutes, you felt his free hand leave you and reach up to his white collar, and pull it free. You watched him put it down beside you, then return to undo a few buttons as he spoke. You were transfixed by his hand, and then watched it stop and return under the blanket to your thigh.

An odd sensation filled you then. One that caught you as off guard as when you had compared Father Hill to Jesus Christ. It was something that coiled low in your belly…constricted yet not unpleasant. You shifted to alleviate it, and while it did dissipate, it didn’t disappear.

You tried to focus on the Father’s voice as he read to you. But it felt as if his words went in one ear and out the other- all that was left was the gentle hum that resonated from his throat.

“I liked your sermon, Father.” You interrupted him.

John paused at your comment, “I’m glad you did.”

“Reminded me of the ones you’d give when I was little.” You said.

He smiled, and patted your thigh, then continued his reading.

After an hour, your eyes began to droop and your head grew heavy.

John could feel your heart rate slowing, and your weight leaning into him more. He finished the paragraph he had started, the snapped the book shut and placed it beside him.

“Let’s get you to sleep, little one.” He whispered and worked his hand under your legs and the other behind your back before standing up with you in his arms.

You nestled further into his arms, and protested when he went to let you down at the bed for your nightly prayers.

“Just a few more minutes then you can sleep.” He chastised you, putting your feet onto the floor.

You nodded, and stretched then carefully got to your knees; the Father joining you.

You both crossed yourselves and began to pray.

“Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit, go back into my memory as I sleep. Every hurt that has been done to me, heal that hurt. Every hurt I have caused to someone, heal that hurt. But Jesus, if there is anything I need to do, if a person is still suffering from my wickedness, bring to my awareness that which I have hurt and need to remedy. I choose to forgive others and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness that remains in my heart, and fill it with Your everlasting love. Amen.” John murmured beside you.

Your heart ached, and you sobered at his words. “Amen.” You whispered and after a moment you looked over at the man beside you. He returned your stare; the light from the living room outlining his face.

You swallowed, and forced yourself to stand. John followed you up and bent his neck to look down at you at his full height.

“Good night, my sweet girl.” He whispered to you, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“Goodnight Father.” You replied, and sat down slowly. John picked the blankets up, and helped you under. You noticed his hesitation. And you waited.

He stared down at you for a long moment, then leaned over you and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Sleep well.” He whispered just a breath away from you.

You felt that warmth coiling in your belly again, and you blinked more than you should have in an effort to force it away. “Thank you.”

He sighed, and leaned away from you. You watched him clench his hands, and you wondered if he had eaten recently. Just as he went to turn away, you put your hand on his arm, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Are you…you…you don’t seem yourself, have you eaten?” You asked quietly.

John gulped down some air and looked down, “I’m just fine, thank you. Not to worry.” He tried to reassure you, inching out the door.

It isn’t thirst that ails me, little lamb.

He was never one to brush you off. Which was why is attempt did nothing to smooth you. You sat up, “Have I done something? Did something happen?” You asked.

“No…no nothing. I just…I just need some air.” He tried, his smile tight.

You felt a pang of hurt at his stiltedness, but you didn’t press him anymore. “Alright…goodnight.” You whispered.

He nodded and closed the door halfway.

“So you’re saying you grew up on the Mainland, became a priest…did a little preaching in the cities but said “no thank you.” then came to Crockett in your late 20’s?” You asked as you made yourself a cup of tea.

John nodded from his place at his desk, “It was the 50’s and there were just…so many domestic issues at that time. By the end of confessional I wanted to go home and cry. Crockett was simple and a breath of fresh air. Dull, I know. ” He chuckled.

Your face flushed, “No! No I just…always wondered.”

He smiled, “It’s only natural…I grew up in a non-religious household…Christian but not really practicing…my sister’s passing led me to God. Your curiosity is genuine and fair…who knows where it may lead you.”

You sat down across from him and looked over at his writing.

He peaked up at you and tutted, “Nosey.”

You looked away, and took a sip of the hot drink with a little smile.

It had been over a week now since you had been bleeding out in the cellar. You were completely healed, and truly faced little danger, but both of you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

You didn’t want to go home.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

“I always wanted to travel.” You mused.

“Where would you go?” John asked you, slowing his writing.

“…I think Spain first. See the Vatican…go down to Italy and Croatia then back up to Germany to curse whoever came up with those grim fairytales.” You smiled into your drink.

The Father laughed at that then put his pen down, “I’m sure you will see all of those places and more.”

Your smile faltered a little. If you could get of that island, maybe. Did you want to get off Crockett? Would it be so horrible if you died there?

Your mood dropped.

Father Pruitt’a mouth sat in a straight line when he saw your smile drop. You deserved more. A part of him wondered if the reason you weren’t fighting to leave anymore was because of him. Was he keeping you there? Clipping your wings?

You hadn’t attended Mass since that night. John didn’t ask you to come, he knew you would go if you wanted to. You prayed together every night, and listened to him talk about God in your private hide away. Where you could ask questions and interject.

“Your family called today?” John asked to change the topic.

You sucked in a breath, “Yes…a short call but it was nice to hear their voices…they want me to come for Christmas.”

John clenched his jaw, “I see.”

“I told them the ferries aren’t running very well. Not a total lie.” You shrugged and took a long drink.

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

“Why don’t you go?” He asked.

You looked up at him and laughed a little, “I think we both know the answer to that, Father.”

John looked away, and down at his pen, “If it weren’t for the…what happened, what would you do?”

“I’d…I’d probably go. Take some time away. Maybe book a ticket somewhere and see a piece of the world that isn’t Crockett shaped.” You thought aloud.

He nodded.

“That sounds nice.” He smiled quickly.

“We all have dreams, Father.” You replied.

You finished your drink and stood to place the cup in the sink. When you went to pass by him to return to your seat, the Father’s hand caught yours.

“Come here.” He hummed and pointed to the paper infront of him, “What do you think of this?” He asked you.

You looked down over his shoulder and saw a paragraph he was writing for his sermon. You pursed your lips, and found that your neck was growing stiff at the angle, so you scooted between him and the desk and sat on his lap to read better. You had grown used to sitting in close proximity to the Monsignor, and simply began to read.

John’s breath hitched at your action and he went still for a moment. Certainly you had both been close, but you had never plopped yourself over his legs before. He knew it was just you gaining comfort around him, which was positive, but the action still had him swallowing thickly. Closeness was still something he was being accustomed to after a lifetime of so little. It used to be so easy to ignore any sort of…feelings such as this, but since his regained youth he truly felt like a young man again, and found himself relearning to temper his humanity.

“Well?” He asked in your ear, steadying his breath.

You shifted a little and cleared your throat, “Um it’s good.” You said, “You might want to rephrase this part…sounds a little “holier than thou”.”

His brows pitched up and he leaned closer to read. He looked over the sentence you pointed to and nodded along, trying to ignore the warmth your body bled into him. It seeped into his skin and heated his veins.

“Good…thank you, my dear.” He murmured from behind you, and you turned your head a little to see him in your peripheral.

“My pleasure, Monsignor.”

He grit his teeth at the name. It wasn’t that it bothered him. There was just something about you saying it that reminded him of himself. He gave you a tight smile.

You went to stand, but he slipped an arm around your waist to keep you there, “Sit with me for a while.” He hummed, but had already begun to rewrite the section. You might have protested…or your might not have. You didn’t know which you would choose if you did have a choice.

With his large hand planted against your stomach, and curling to your hip, you stayed put. You shifted to let him see what he was doing, and rested your head into the crook of his neck. He wore no collar nor black shirt…just a tshirt and cardigan. You reached out and picked up his rosary from the desk, and toyed with it. After a moment, you opened your hand, and placed the cross against the little scar you had from your own digging into your hand on Easter.

“Must’ve hurt.”

You jumped a little at his voice and looked up. Your nose bumped his. You hadn’t noticed he had stopped writing altogether, and had been watching you.

“Not as badly as you’d think.” You whispered, looking away quickly to stare down at your hand again.

You saw his arm move from around you to grasp your fingers and bring them up to his mouth where he placed a kiss over the pinkish scar. You felt your ears grow warm, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he wasn’t done. John stroked his thumb over it, and leaned away from you to relax into the back of his chair.

“We should get you to bed, little one.” He mused.

You nodded, though you didn’t feel very tired.

He helped you to stand, and guided you into the back of the rectory. You both knelt facing the cross above the door, but when you went to hand his rosary back to him he shook his head and took yours from the bedside table. It felt oddly intimate to be using each other’s rosary for prayer, and you found your cheeks warming again at the thought of it.

You heard Father John begin a prayer for the night, and you forced yourself to focus on it. Not on how his voice dipped into a low hum that vibrated in your ears and made your fingertips tingle. You told yourself it was just the proximity of someone you had once admired. Someone who, despite the horrible things he had done, cared for you. Not the warmth that simmered just below your pelvis.

“Amen.”

You blinked and glanced at the man beside you and muttered a quiet amen like you had been listening. When he went to rise, you found yourself still rooted to the spot; John halted his movement and settled back down next to you. He didn’t ask any questions nor made any comment. He was patient for you, and if you needed a moment longer, he would join you.

Your eyes were glazed over as you stared at a chip in the paint on the wall, but your ears were alive with the memory of that song the Father danced with you to.

Hallelujah…hallelujah…

You blinked, and sucked in a breath, then released it slowly through your nose. Father John tilted his head to watch you thoughtfully, and you copied his movement. The dim light from a single lamp in the living room cast a warm glow over half his face; one eye glinting in the darkness. Your gaze met his, and you felt your lungs beg for air when you saw reminiscent of the man he used to be. His face soft and vulnerable as he watched you with such fondness.

The selfish and childish part of you whispered to itself in question, “Did love feel like this?” And your other part wished so badly to say no, but it stayed quiet because it didn’t know…and it let that other half wonder idly.

You repeated that question over and over in your mind. Is it? You didn’t know. Not that you had to wonder for long, not when he bowed his head and pressed his lips to yours…and the question vanished. It wasn’t answered, but when he kissed you again, you had no space for wonderment. His hand came up to the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, stroking small, encouraging circles there. If they could speak they would whisper, “That’s it…that’s it. I’ve got you.” in your ear.

You timidly brought your hands up to his shoulders, not certain if you were to push on them or tug them closer. Your uncertainty seemed to have an answer when he gently ushered his tongue into your mouth. Your little fists slipped over his shoulders just as they did when he carried you to bed at night, and his hand eased around your waist like he did when he held you in his lap while he wrote.

You let him press you close, and you could feel his lean frame flush against you; he elicited a moan from you that he gulped down.

A precious sound.

Then as you sunk into one another, he pulled away just momentarily to pick you up and ease you onto the bed. The plushness enveloped you and his hand slipped to the back of your head to cradle your skull as he returned his mouth to yours and climbed over you carefully. This time you tentatively licked into his mouth, and received a pleased hum in reply as he allowed you.

You repeated the action as you welcomed him over you, placing your knees on either side of his hips. This time he shuttered ever so slightly, and pressed himself closer. You felt one of his hands move to your thigh, stroking it softly like he cherished it, while his other had his fingers twisting into your hair to hold you in place as he grew greedy, and stoked your pining.

Slowly, John pulled away, pecking light kisses to your lips until he was bracing himself over you.

““He who guards his mouth guards his soul. One who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.”…I would happily let you be my ruin.” He whispered.

You stared up at him, eyes heavy, “And what of my ruin, Monsignor?”

He smiled thoughtfully, brushing hair from your forehead, “You will have no ruin. Sunlight cannot be ruined.”

“And what about nightfall?” You countered as his face inches closer to you.

“The sun will always be shining somewhere…and if not then let me be that temporary darkness that borrows your glow if only for a while.” He spoke against your lips, and kissed you slowly.

That warm constriction in your belly wove and churned until the heat of it gave you made your toes curl in your warm socks, and arch your back into him like he wasn’t close enough. You hadn’t the faintest idea a body could be capable of such want, and you were intent to allow it to run its course.

That fist that cinched your hair tugged when your thighs tightened around him to draw him closer. A gasp pulled from your lips and John pressed his hips into you, and the rough jean rubbed you so suddenly you cried out into his mouth and along his tongue that knew your taste.

You whined and tugged at his shoulders; that feeling inside you becoming overwhelming. You were at a loss for words to communicate what you wanted, and it was as if he could feel your need for something…something.

He slowed his mouth and pulled away just a breath, “Tell me what you want.” He hummed.

Your eyes went wide and you looked away only for him to chase your gaze, and tut you. “Cmon.” He cooed. You might have thought he was teasing you if he had been anyone else. But John Pruitt was staring back at you like your answer to his question would determine the course of the rest of his life.

“I-…I don’t…I don’t know I’ve never…” you stumbled over your confession.

John nodded, gaze locked on you intently, “Of course…I understand.”

A beat passed between you two, and you were preparing yourself for him to pull off of you and tell you that he couldn’t-

“I’ll be good to you…if you’ll let me.” He whispered.

Trust.

You bit the inside of your lip as you thought; he didn’t move an inch.

Very slowly, you nodded, “Okay.”

He grinned ever so slightly, just enough to show those pointed peaks of his teeth. “Okay.” He repeated.

He leaned away from you then, and helped you to sit up while he rocked back onto his heels to give you room. He pulled off your sweater just as carefully as he had when he had undressed you after your attack.

“Arms up.” He murmured and you did as he said for him to tug your dress over your head.

A part of John was wailing at him to look away from you and to let you keep your dignity. Told him to dress you and take you home and tell you that he wasn’t a good person. But John had always had a tendency for selfishness, and he knew you were letting yourself be just as selfish as he. He knew you were likely having the same or similar thoughts.

So when he let himself look at you.

He let himself gorge on your beauty.

Greedy. Gluttonous.

He remembered then when he was on the cusp of priesthood when he must have been just a little younger than you. How his mentors would remind him of the perils of the seven sins, and how they would test him when he least expected it. How he would have to employ the Lords graces to overcome them. But John more vividly remembered how those same priests would overfill themselves at holiday feasts, and how he had caught a few staring a little too long at women and girls during services. It was difficult to fear their words when they themselves betrayed them.

Which was why John felt guiltless as the fabric came away from you.

Because he would much rather fear the true wrath of God than the intimidating warnings of men. And if God disapproved of the admiration of one of his creations, then John would take the punishment if he was granted this one time to fill his senses with you.

Your hands shook. And you dropped your arms back down as he placed the garment to the side. You half expected him to remain clothed, but he remained where he was and shrugged off his sweater, and grabbed the back of his plain shirt, and pulled it over his head.

You stared up at his form- still and curious. John took your hand in his, and placed it on his chest where his heart used to beat. Feeling his skin somehow made him feel so much more human. Like there wasn’t a lifetime between you and different blood in your veins.

He sighed at your touch and closed his eyes when he sunk back down to you and your hand moved along his collarbone to his neck to the nape where his dark hair curled. Your other hand joined, and tugged a little on the tender hairs there.

He took his hands away from you for only a moment to kick his jeans to the floor, then he returned to you- skin against yours and the veil of your underwear between you. It felt so foreign to know what his flesh felt like. Of course you knew he was born to this world just as every other being- bare as a babe. But he had become so superior in his status that the idea that he had calves and biceps and skin and hair under his chasuble took away so much of that inhuman pedestal you had unknowingly put him on.

Heat seemed to radiate between you both, and your skin became sticky against the winter chill that crept inside through minor holes and cracks in the old building. You pulled at him and tried to press him closer but it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know what it was, but your greed that you had so perfectly neglected since childhood seemed to rear its head with the Father against you.

You found your dwindling strength to push him away and he chased your mouth for a moment and you let him- open mouthed kisses from afar.

“F-father I’m- I- I um…” you tried to shift and squirm to get your point across but even you didn’t know what you wanted.

The older man above you watched intently with almost a paternal care as you tried to explain yourself.

“Is there a gluttonous warmth that’s settled in that belly of yours, sweet girl?” He asked with a small smirk that truly caught you off guard. You suddenly remembered that he was not entirely inexperienced such as yourself, and you briefly wondered if he has always been a little domineering, or if his age had snubbed it or perhaps it was an embraced trait with his renewed youth.

Your mouth lay agape for a moment, then you nodded and squeezed your thighs around him. The stiffness you felt there pressing insistently against your clothed flesh managed to intimidate your insatiability, but didn’t curb it.

“Would you allow me the gift of bringing you to rapture?” He asked so softly, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth and caressing your cheek while his other hand’s thumb stroked under your bra’s band.

Your poor mind attempted to catch up, but his touch was making your head spin and melt. His purred question had you recalling everything you had been taught since childhood by your family, “Father isn’t…we…it’s a-“ you started.

“You might think that…but it cannot be a sin. Not when you are this lovely and willing…You are no temptation…you are a gift.” He countered easily. Like he had thought about this before in detail.

“What if you are the temptation, Father?” You asked.

He grinned a little at your retort. Always one to keep him on his toes.

“If I am that, then is it not better to indulge in me than an irrefutable sin another time?” He nudged your nose with his.

You realized then that never once had you ever heard him preach the sins of the flesh. Indeed that temptations were made to misguide us, but never specifically that.

You breathed his air, and flushed your eyes between his, “Then bless me, Father.” You whispered before you could tell yourself it was wrong.

John’s breath caught in his throat, and he could almost feel his pupils expanding into dinner plates.

Cheeky girl.

“It was always going to be you…” he mused aloud, looking over your face, “No disobedience like Adam and Eve listening to the serpent… no you are…you are too good. My holy deliverance.” He kissed you so tenderly.

Then he kissed your cheek, and down your neck to your shoulder where he pulled the strap of your bra down. He followed the elastic to your chest and he helped you remove the article entirely. You looked away shyly, but he brought your attention back to him with a finger under your chin.

“There we go…look at me…you’re alright…” he whispered, a slight shake to his hand, “I’m with you.”

You nodded and sighed as you fought to not overthink.

Once Father John was certain you were alright, he kissed you one more time and began kissing your chest. His hands were a little timid and out of practice as he squeezed your opposite breast, though did not fail to make your toes curl as he pulled sounds from you that you stifled late at night and shamed yourself for; Hail Mary’s falling from your lips like breaths. He lapped at your skin as he descended down over your belly where your ecstasy lay tightly wound and molten.

He stopped then, and looked up at you , face a little shy in his want.

“Your fruit is the only harrowed offering I desire to eat…and if that makes me a sinner then I will humbly accept my punishment.” He murmured.

Your face was so warm you thought you may faint. You didn’t know the man with the stiff white collar and slightly nervous disposition could have such a blunt, honeyed tongue.

You leaned up a little then to look down at him as he kissed at the top of your panties.

“What are you…” you trailed off. You had had an educational sex talk with your mother when you were a teenager, and had read mentions of the various acts you could do, but you were at a loss with how Father John seemed to wish to venture further than just your stomach or hips.

It was no willing education that the holy man had gone through for sexual acts. It had been decades of confessions from islanders and tourists alike back when the island was alive. Some explicit ans some leaving him curious. Tales from visitors he didn’t know who came to spend a few weeks on Crockett and took advantage of the anonymity of the village confessional booth with a young pastor to hear their sins and absolve them before they returned to the city.

It took years, but after a while, he began to piece things together. They made his ears grow hot and his hands grip his rosary a little tighter.

But curious he remained.

Was a woman’s body so wholly splendorous that a man desired deeply to kiss upon her lips where no tongue sat between them? Would she taste as addictive as they said?

“I’d like to kiss you h-here…”he whispered, and so gently ran his index finger down the edge of your underwear where it curved down your thigh, “…please.”

His eyes were wide as he stared up to you; still so unsure but so lost in his desire to think twice.

“…okay.” You managed. Just as lost as he.

His veiny hands ran gentle trailed up and down your thighs, and he peppered kisses in their wake. You shivered and squirmed under the sensations he drew forth, and you wished you knew what to do with them. Were you supposed to moan or tell him what to do? Were you supposed to ask for more? You didn’t know. What you did know was that you wanted his hands to touch you, and that seemed like a good place to start.

It seemed you hadn’t been paying full attention for a moment, though your focus returned tenfold when you felt a warm kiss there against you. You twitched in surprise, and stared down at the man sat between your legs; his dark hair all tousled curls that fell over his forehead and gaze intently immersed in your reaction. He repeated the action, his lips caressing the fabric that still covered you. Your breathing became something you had to actively remember to do when he grasped the undergarment and pulled it down your legs.

With yourself bare to him, you reflexively notched your knees together, though he easily parted them with a little coaxing from his tongue running up your inner thigh.

“Fa-Father Pr-“ you stuttered out breathlessly.

“Shhh…I know…”he whispered against your hip where he kissed and ran a pointed tooth over your skin. He could barely hide the fact that you using his title affected him more than it should have. “Say a Hail Mary with me, sweet girl.” He said.

Your eyes went wide, and the devil in him reared its head for just a moment. He liked seeing you so shocked. But when he began to recite the prayer and you followed his lead, that heathen calmed a little.

“Hail Mary, f-full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed…” you realised the Father had stopped speaking and had begun running his lips down your hip to your pelvic bone, and he tilted his head to nestle his cheek against you for a moment.

“Continue.” He murmured.

You remembered to breathe, “B-blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb-“ you lost any ability to talk when Father Pruitt leaned down and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the delicate flesh between your thighs. You felt the tip of his tongue against you, and his large hands held you firmly in place.

“J-Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” You rushed the end.

John looked up at you and kissed your thigh with a proud look in his dark eyes. “Amen.” He whispered.

Then slow and deliberate, he leaned back down and kissed you again, this time ushering his tongue into the slick pedals of skin. You stuttered out another deep breath, and clutched at the sheets beside you. He lathed his tongue in you and swallowed greedily, rutting himself into the bed while his long legs braced him. His hands began to guide you to roll your hips up into his open mouth and you found that sensitive spot that had your squeezing your eyes shut and your mouth dropping open in sinful gasp.

When your movements became more bold, and your fingers wove into his thick hair, Father John settled deeper into your flesh. He worked his jaw slow and steady. He was an attentive learner and listened to when your breathing stopped and felt your legs shake or your fingers pull him closer into you.

Then like he could hear your mind, he removed one of his hands from your legs and ran his index finger down the curve of your thigh to your entrance when he carefully pushed in; just as careful as when he turned the pages of the Bible. Your body jerked, and you couldn’t help the cry that he pulled from you as he sunk into you to the knuckle.

“How’s that?” He asked you just as breathless as you.

You couldn’t speak, and you found yourself starting to grow far too warm all at once.

“Good?” He prompted, patient as ever, “Tell me if it’s nice, young lady or I’ll have to stop.” He chastised you.

His comment curled deep inside you like his finger as he stroked you and lapped at your tender clit.

“I-it feels go-good Monsignor.” You managed to shoot back.

He grinned and suckled you into his mouth as he pumped you firm and slow. He knew there was somewhere inside you that would make heighten your pleasure, and he slowly teased and touched every inch he could reach until he found that patch of membrane inside you that had you bolting up and pushing his face into you harder.

“S-sorry I’m- I- Fath- Joh-“ you began to babble and try to form an apology as you immediately backed off, but his used his free hand to bring yours back to his head and had you push down again as he sucked and kissed and lapped at your sweetness.

The pressure of his touch had that coil in you start to vibrate and heat up to uncomfortable heights. Your moans came in constant succession, and you found that you couldn’t breathe without making a needy sound.

You were so lost in your own building euphoria that you didn’t see how Father John devoured and held you with such need that he shook and shuttered. A voice in his head asked him if this was for your pleasure alone, or was this his devout need to know what heaven was like when he was surly damned. His hips rocked and ground into the mattress making his ears ring with want.

Your movements met with his and he let you use him to catch that pleasure you had worked so hard for until your body went ridged. A relieved cry tore from your throat and your muscles constricted around his fingers- when had he added another?- and coated his tongue in his prize. You muscles ached from the tension you endured as you rocked against him to ride out your ecstasy. He licked at you gingerly, helping you through it as the blood stopped rushing in your eardrums.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, your eyes lost their glaze and you could look at him. John kissed your thigh, and slowly drew his fingers from you. You winced slightly, and your eyes grew heaviler when he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean like he had been waiting for that.

“There she is…” he whispered and kissed you one more time before climbing up your body and nestling his face into your neck. You locked your legs around him and pressed him against you, your breath hitching at the firmness there that prodded at you insistently.

“Wa-was that okay?” He murmured, and kissed your cheeks.

You nodded lazily and laughed a little. So old fashioned at heart, even in his youth. He smiled back, and blew air over your flushed face. He might have been about to say something else, but you tugged him down to your lips before much more than a muffled sound could come out. It couldn’t have been important as he gave into your want and returned your kiss.

It seemed you both grew aware of the heady need that still hung in the air and your joined lips slowed and stopped until you were both simply laying there with your mouths close to one another.

You flushed with embarrassment when a thought crossed your mind- one that belonged in the gutter. Evidently your burning cheeks were observed by the older man, and his eyes grew searching.

“Tell me…” he whispered, and kissed your temple.

You looked away and fidgeted, then subconsciously looked down.

John tracked your gaze, and when it flickered between you, he had a small idea of what was ailing you.

“We- we don’t…” he started, but you shook your head.

“Its not…I- can- can I-“ you fumbled and squirmed.

He stared at you, and felt your hands toy at the nape of his neck.

“Touch me?” He asked, seeing if that was what you wanted.

You couldn’t look at him, but you nodded ever so slightly.

He sucked in a breath to steady himself as he grew lightheaded.

“…give me your hand, sweet girl.” He shuttered and swallowed.

You timidly removed one of your hands from his neck, and gave it to him. The good Father paused for just a moment to check on you, but you bit at your lip and nodded again, and he continued. He rolled a little to the side, and guided your hand down to his waistband. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a moment, and you followed suit in staring back. He helped you slip your little hand inside, and you could feel him pulse against your palm.

Johns breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes when you shyly touched him. You ran your hand gently up his shaft, and grew a little more empowered when his hips jerked towards you. Then, you slowly wrapped your hand around him, and his eyes fell shut and his mouth dropped open with a sigh.

You watched him closely, completely unsure of what you were doing as you moved your hand up and back down. You squeezed him slightly, and his head fell into your shoulder with a soft groan. You dragged you hand back up to the tip, and found a wetness there that helped you. It only took a few moments before he was gently taking your wrist and rolling you back under him.

“I’m- I’m sorry…I can’t- please…” he murmured and you nodded again as he took himself out slowly. John braced himself above you, just a few inches away to see you properly, and he sighed. You really were so…so beautiful.

So lovely.

He blinked, and swallowed.

You started breathing deeply when you felt his slick skin against you, and he kissed you again.

“Shh…take a deep breath for me, litttle one.” He said calmly like his own hands didn’t have an elated tremor to them, “C’mon, with me: in…” he took a breath in, and you followed his lead; his eyes held yours in the dim light, and you felt safe.

There was a pressure at your tender flesh that you seemed to crave as your cramped muscles relaxed and gave away to his body.

“And out…” he imitated for you, and you did as he said, though you found it difficult to breathe. The fragile skin slickened, and welcomed him inside you, and you found yourself pressing every inch of yourself against his damp skin to touch, touch, touch.

John sighed and buried his face into your shoulder where your scar was still fresh. He kissed there and scraped his teeth over the unevenness; your nerves were set alight, and you constricted around him suddenly at the sensation. He smiled and kissed again then trailed up your neck to your cheek where he gathered your lips with his again and swallowed your gasp as he pressed himself further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“There you go…such a g-good girl…you alright?” He whispered as he gasped in his own euphoria.

You took a couple breaths then nodded; the stretch that your muscles completed to accommodate him made you ache, but when his addictive kiss coated your lips with his saliva, it ebbed away.

“Deep breaths…there we go just like th-that..”

He started slow. Gentle rocking of his hips into yours as he stroked your thighs and distracted you with sweet encouragement in your ears. Introducing your body to sensations it began to crave and demand. And after a few minutes, your pelvis began to chase his as he moved until he started to lengthen his rocking- drawing further and further out of you and rooting himself inside you like a plant looking for soil.

Your whining in his ear only furthered his chase for pleasure. Your pleas and moans that he savoured and swallowed. Then when one of his hands left you and disappeared between your bodies, you tried to see what he was doing, but your curiosity was sated when you felt him press just above where he entered you, and stroked you so gently. The sounds you cried out into the small, dark room were enough to summon angels and demons alike to bear witness to your willing invasion.

“How’s that sweet girl?” Came his whisper that curled in your ear and peaked your nipples.

“I’m- I-“ you breathed out an attempted response to convey your approval but to no avail.

You could feel his smile against your skin, and you let him touch you like it belonged to him. You rolled your hips to meet his- slow and steady. You began a succinct string of breathless supplications that played in repetitive order in Johns head as he felt you begin to constrict around him. It took his well practiced willpower and patience to remain composed with you. The selfishness in him wished for him to lock his arms around you and take his pleasure from you as if it was something owed, but he knew he was better than that. He was more than the poison in his veins.

For you he would be better.

Then your nails found purchase in the skin on his back as his pace grew insistent, and he groaned a low hum into your neck. But despite the mounting pressure of sybaritism, he kept his hand steady and calm as he helped you meet your own bliss. It wasn’t that he was well practiced or that he knew what he was doing, but he had hearing that could detect every time your breath caught and when a secret gasp would sit in your throat. Just as he had been with priesthood, he was an eager and curious learner, and he was just as dedicated to knowing what your body craved.

John paused for only a moment to readjust you against him; he knelt before you and shifted your hips up to compensate for the change, then his hands gripped your thighs and pushed them down to your torso and guided your hands to hold them. As he slipped back inside you, your swollen mouth dropped open and he crawled back down to you.

“There we go…that’s it.” He whispered, voice shaking so slightly.

So many explicit confessions from his youth had initially made his ears turn pink and his hands shake from the salaciousness; yet now here he was murmuring those same words into your eager ears.

Any Hail Mary’s he might prescribe after having you under him would be hollow. Not when he knew the enjoyment of such tender flesh. You were the epitome of sublime in your chase for pleasure, and he knew he shouldn’t find such carnal desire in seeing you lose yourself. Yet there he was, wanting to savour every moment of your young body falling apart for him to devour.

Your eyes grew heavy and nearly slipped shut. That furnace in your belly was on the brink of combustion, and the good Father only stoked it. So you let him. You relaxed completely and let your mind go blank as he moved you to completion. You could feel your muscles start to tighten around him, and curl to pull him deeper and closer.

Then bliss…

You could barely register your elevated cries into his shoulder as he brought himself closer to you, his eyes crinkling with pride. You rolled your pelvis up to meet his at pleasure overtook you and used you like a marionette to procure every ounce of your deserved euphoria.

Warmth filled your tummy when Father Pruitt went still. He shuttered and sighed low in his chest as he held you tight and filled you.

Your heartbeat pulsed between your chests, and was like thunder in John’s ears. The rush of your blood through veins and your body trying to recover were like music to his ears. John kissed your shoulder, and sighed.

Neither of you spoke…no words to say or sound to make. A mutual silence.

Slowly, he drew away from you, and you found yourself feeling empty. Had you always been so empty?

He lay to your side and pulled you back against him like you used to embrace a pillow on stormy nights as a child.

It was only when he brought your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there did you both notice that you still clutched his rosary; an imprint of its beads and cross evident in your palm.

“Amen.” He hummed and looked up at you softly.

You faintly smiled and he savoured the expression. A look of fondness.

There was a peculiar feeling inside you, and it wasn’t the way you ached from him or how warm you were. It lasted days as they passed, and only seemed to grow with the more kisses you shared.

When he would run his nose along your neck and hold your hips against him or when he would tilt his head down to you when in the middle of reading and taste your tongue with his if only for a moment.

But also when he would remain calm and honest when his hunger grew. When fear never returned to you. When you both would visit Hassan’s grave at night and he would tell you stories as you readied for bed.

It was the startling question of whether you wanted to stay. And what that would entail. When he had asked you just days ago about your wishes, you had of course wanted to see your family and travel, and in the depths of your heart you still wished to do those and more. But the longer Father John held you, the further those dreams seemed to be.

Would it be so horrible if you stayed? If you lived there forever with John Pruitt and rebuilt your routine there? Would it truly be sinful to alter Gods plan and will and give in to eternal life? Something you had so greatly feared?

Which was why you turned to John one night as he lay beside you. He held you in his arms and was waiting for you to fall asleep before feeding when you sighed.

“Father?” You asked.

He smiled, “You know you don’t ha-“

“Force of habit…forgive me.” You smiled a little too, “I…I’d like to stay.”

Johns brow pinched, “At the rectory? My dear I think we’re past-“

“No I mean…I mean here. On Crockett.” You murmured into his clavicle, and he took a steady breath, “I’m ready.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, “Alright.” He whispered and kissed your hair.

You thought he sounded pleased. In a way he was. Turmoil had been making his stomach sour as he dreaded that moment. Wondering what your choice would be. But as you said those words into his skin, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

This was his moment to set you free.

You fell asleep on him just as you had often now, and he let himself indulge in your sweet warmth for a while longer.

His last selfish act.

They say if you’re hungry enough, you’ll start to eat your own heart. John’s was gone long, long ago, with only a cavernous need to adore and worship left behind. He knew that one day his hunger would grow too much for his abilities to curb it, and he was not about to let you meet that same horrible fate.

He needed to do right by you.

For you, he would be better.

He knew that having you to hold each day and converse with and grieve with and laugh with would be a paradise, but he knew it wasn’t what you deserved. John hoped you would forgive him one day for what he would do.

But he knew it was what you needed, just not what you wanted.

He slipped from your grasp and found that bag that you counted as your home. He gathered all your little trinkets and books, and found that knife you had long forgotten about. John found his eyes start to prickle as he finished. Your little life in one bag all because of him.

Next, he sat as his desk, picked up his pen, and began to scrawl a note on a piece of paper.

What have I done…

John sighed and continued. His chest ached a terrible pain, and he feared it may fall right out of his chest. Of course it didn’t, but somehow he was certain the pain still wouldn’t have surpassed what he felt then.

He signed it, and folded the paper into his pocket, then he began writing another note entirely. This one he didn’t fold- instead this one would sit atop his desk for the time being.

Then, he picked your bag up and slung it over his back, and moved back to where you lay. It took him half an hour to sit you up gently and slip your coat on without you waking. He knew he didn’t have long. John finished dressing you- socks and boots and all- and hoisted you into his arms.

He forwent his own coat, and cast a look around the rectory to see any last reminders of you. There was only a cup in the sink from you. And he smiled at it.

With you tight against his chest, the Father left the rectory, and strode through the damp grass to the main road. The stones crunched under his boots, and he let his vast memory overtake him as he walked. Memories of seeing you that first morning when he returned. How he had danced with you; how he had looked forward to seeing you. How badly he wanted the best for you, and how poorly that had turned out. He thought of how wonderful it had felt when you finally let him help you…your smile, your kindness, your resilience, your intelligence, your selflessness. He let it all fill him up. John pressed a kiss to your head when you stirred a little, and shushed you until you settled.

His precious little lamb.

You didn’t even bleat as a wolf held you.

A chill brushed your cheeks as you awoke. There was a calm rock that soothed you and kept you just on the edge of opening your eyes. You nuzzled your face further into John’s chest , but something felt off. You sighed, and thought nothing of it until you realized it was your own arm that you were laying on.

And you were cold.

You jolted awake and sat up. Your eyes flickered around in a fright. Under you was a bench, and as you looked at your surroundings, there was water. You were on the Belle.

Alone.

A lump rose in your throat as you pushed yourself up and nearly tripped over your bag that was at your feet. You ran to the railing, and saw that you still weren’t too far from the marina. The next thing that dawned on you was that it was getting light out.

As you gripped the railing, you felt something dig into your hand, and when you looked down, you fought for breath.

“No…” you whispered, “No, no…”

Father Pruitt’s rosary was wrapped around your hand, securing a note to it.

You unwrapped it frantically, and opened the note with shaking hands. At first you didn’t look down at it as you began walking down the side of the boat to look back at the dock. A single tear broke free from your eye when you saw that familiar figure standing on the edge of the platform staring back at you.

You gasped for a breath, and finally began to read. But as you did, you had to fight against tears to see the elegant handwriting.

“Hello little one,

You may not understand now, but I need you to know that you are free now. You had always been sunshine, and you deserved to shine. I have been a selfish man for much of my life, but you would be my one selfless act.

You will find a church with a preacher who reminds you of God and lights your soul. See the world that is not shaped like Crockett Island and breathe in its splendour.

Look for me in solar eclipses, sweet girl; when the moon touches the sun just as you let me grace your glow. You might think of me in years to come as a dark time in your life…and know that I will indeed think of you.

You were a blessing.

You were everything.

Saying goodbye isn’t close to what I want to say, but it is what you need to hear.they say that the worst farewells are the ones unsaid and unexplained. I do not wish to give you any more grief. Which is why I must hurt you this one last time…then no more.

I am with you, sweet angel girl.

Always.

Yours,

John M. Pruitt”

Your head felt far too light at your body far too heavy. You felt bile rise against the lump of grief in your throat.

“John…” you whispered like you had never spoken before. You could barely hear yourself against the ringing in your ears. Then all at once, you realized how bright the sky was, and he wasn’t moving from his place on the dock.

You cried his name louder than you thought you could.

John stood, watching you from the pier.

You screamed his name.

You were terrified for him.

John knew he had to hurt you one last time. Just one. He needed you to never come back.

One more time and then you would be free. John knew better than anyone that grief was just love with nowhere else to go. It was bottled up and leaked out through your eyes and scraped at your esophagus.

“It’s alright, little one…” he whispered, “You don’t need me anymore.”

His dark eyes gleamed with tears that once would have been hot against his cheeks as they fell. Grief. Just love compressed with a cork.

You frantically looked from him to the thin white line that was beginning to form on the horizon as the sun rose. You saw him say something, and somehow you knew he was trying to comfort you.

“John!!! JOHN GO HOME!” You cried, anxiety starting to squeeze your throat, “Please!!”

You could see a fond smile on his face as he gazed at you, and he extended his arm in a wave as if to say “See you again old friend.”

Come back soon.

But you knew then that he had no intention of letting you see him again.

He was setting you free.

And John knew then.

He knew that when you finally passed and you drew your last breath, you would feel a spring breeze against your skin and smell fresh flowers and live in the sunlight for eternity.

But with that realization came his own fate. John knew that when he had enough, and he let his body burn, he would only awaken to the scent of scorched forests and stale air.

Much like the smell following the Easter vigil all those months go.

And John realized that he had indeed already been living in his own death all along.

His own personal hell.

And John remembered then how he had once compared you to a person trying to stay afloat in a body of water with nothing but hope to keep you going. But he saw then that you had never been near drowning; you had never been on the cusp of being dragged down into the depths of the ocean.

He had been the one astray.

And John saw that now, as the sun crested over the empty horizon.

So he took a breath…and let it out.

And he let the cold swell of his fate pull him under.

His eternity.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

[nyxyxx]

Godly Desires - Part 2 -

So yeah here's the second part. A little rough but the next few should get more interesting. I. II. III. IV.

As usual this story will contain yandere themes and religious themes so please proceed with caution.

"For you"

-

An apple? You blinked twice, confused. You hesitantly reached up towards the mitachurl's hand and took the apple in both of yours. After gazing at it for a while, as if looking for permission - you took a bite of the apple. It was delicious. It tasted so real it almost entirely discarded your belief that this was a dream.

You sat in the hilichurl camp there for a while, as they kept gifting you with seemingly random food and materials, but they seemed overjoyed with it regardless. It was an odd feeling. Despite the fact that they were known as dangerous monsters, they showed such kindness to you. You were almost compelled to just live among them for as long as they'd allow you to stay - but you knew you had to keep going.

You had to continue down the path, to find out how exactly you got here, and why. So, after a long time of playing with the hilichurls, you said your goodbyes, and they said goodbye too - or at least you think they were saying goodbye. You weren't exactly the most knowledgable on hilichurlian.

You walked down along the beach, trying to figure out where in Teyvat you could be. It didn't take very long for you to notice the tip of a very recognizable cathedral. So you were in Mondstadt. That made sense, you supposed. It was where the traveler first woke up, so it would make sense that you would appear here too - except you were on the opposite side of Monstadt.

It would take a while for you to reach Mondstadt just by walking, and you weren't even sure what you should do when you got there, but you might as well start now. You turned back towards the hills and kept walking, resting by trees when it got too dark, or hanging out in more hilichurl camps - where they always seemed to welcome your presence.

It was safe to say that you did not go hungry. Though, you could really use a change of clothes. They were starting to feel all gross. You luckily were by a lake, and well - you might as well take this opportunity to bathe and wash those clothes.

You were a little worried about being spotted, but figured you were in a quiet enough area that it was unlikely. Or if it were monsters, you had little fear of being attacked by them. So you carefully stripped down and submerged yourself in the lake, trying to adjust to the cold temperature of the water.

When you were finished washing yourself - you reached back up to the rocks to grab your clothes to wash them as well, only to find that they were gone. Wait...gone??? Panic began to set in as you realized that you were currently naked and stuck in some lake in the middle of nowhere. What were you going to do...?

You stared at the water for a while, tucking yourself as closely to the edge of the water as possible, as you just thought mindlessly over what you were going to do next. That is, until you heard a voice.

"Excuse me, by any chance do these clothes belong to you?" A voice called out, and you instinctively hid yourself lower into the water. "My bad, I don't mean to invade your privacy. I'll just leave these here." The man said, before you listened to his footsteps get more distant. You slowly lifted your head up to look, only to find the man in the distance standing behind a tree, facing the other way, waiting for you.

You looked back to the ground and found your clothes returned, though in a slightly worse condition, but regardless, you hastily threw it all on no matter how wet they were going to get. Once you were done, you ran over to the man in the distance, who slowly turned his head.

"An animal must have stolen them," he began, "I was out for a walk and saw them on the ground by the grape vines. The animal must've left them there after it realized there was no food in them." He smiled.

You were sure you knew who the man was, but that suspicion was only confirmed when you glanced down, and saw the pyro vision hanging from his belt. "...Diluc?"

"Ah right, yes I'm Diluc Ragvindr, at your service." He seemed a little surprised that you knew his name, but internally, his mind was on fire. You, of all people, knew his name. He could barely contain his joy, although it was nearly impossible to tell from the outside.

"Oh. Nice to meet you. Thank you for helping me there." You said, a little taken aback. at your service? what did he mean by that? Regardless, you felt like you might as well thank him for helping you.

"Please do not mind it, I am only doing what should be done." He said, only showing as slight smile. "If you would like to thank me properly, how about I invite you for a drink?" He asked. He hoped you'd say yes.

"Oh sure. Lead the way then." You failed to notice just how exuberant he actually was that you agreed. It has been a while since you've last talked to - or even seen - someone, so you were a little bit lonely. You also figured that you could get some helpful information from him, so you might as well take this opportunity.

-

soon we're actually gonna get into the more entertaining parts but that's it for now. The next part is gonna have a lot more Diluc which is nice but also terrifies me I'm so not prepared to write him. Taglist @mmeatt; @iamapotatoe; @clavichordcleffa

[zepskies]

Take Me Home - Part 4

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from.��

AN: Ready for a riding lesson? 😏

Song Inspo: “Sunshine on My Shoulders” by John Denver

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, and a cliffhanger...

❤️ Series Masterlist

Part 4: A Past & Future Thing

You gasped and gripped even tighter with your thighs. With almost everything you had.

You were still far too unsteady for comfort on this damn horse. The poor animal whinnied, tossing his head back with a huff. Unfortunately, that just made you tense up even more as you held onto his neck. 

Beau tried not to laugh. You looked like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

“Okay, you needa relax a little,” he said. “He ain’t gonna buck you, long as you don’t give him a reason to.”

You shot him a narrowed look. He was sitting all calm and natural on his own horse, a chestnut brown beauty of a stud. Apparently, his name was Clyde. You were riding his brother Dale, who was supposed to be the older, gentler of the two.

Beau was right next to you, since he was the one holding the reins. You two were still just a little way off from the stable as he guided your horse with his, letting you just get a feel for the ride.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that animals can sense our vibes,” he said, giving you a look that tipped his Stetson forward. “So if you just take a few deep breaths, I promise you, it’ll get easier.”

You met Beau’s gaze. You didn’t know if it was the smooth, steady tone of his voice or the sincerity in his eyes, but you did as he advised. You made the effort of exhaling slowly, and you began to relax.

“Okay,” he nodded with a smile. Then he gestured ahead. “Now, look forward for me. Try not to look at his hooves, though I know they’re pretty.”

He teased a smile out of you as you did what he said, casting your gaze up ahead to the horizon. It was a beautiful day. A wide expanse of terrain laid out ahead of you, with green grass mottled with some brown, and a weather-beaten trail clearly carved by horses and lessons given.  

“And like I told you,” he added, “Try not to squeeze so hard with your legs, or he’ll think you’re rarin’ to go.” 

You blushed, and relaxed your thighs enough so you were just supporting yourself on the horse, not giving yourself a leg cramp. 

“Okay, I think you’re ready for me to let go. Wanna keep going on your own?” Beau suggested. 

You were wary, but you tentatively nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Are you sure?” Beau asked. Again, his eyes met yours. “I’ll keep guiding you the whole way if you want. Either way, I’ve gotcha.”

You swallowed down a bit of nerves. “Yeah?”

He smiled, and you noticed how it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’re not gonna fall on my watch.”

Warmth coiled its way around your heart. You let out another deep breath, and you agreed to have him hand over the reins to you. You were nervous at first, but Beau reminded you of how to guide Dale with subtle movements.

The old horse plodded forward without incident. When you gave Beau a triumphant look, that answering grin of his warmed you down to your toes. The two of you rode together more as companions while making your way across the grassy plain.

“So of all the things, why’d you wanna learn to ride a horse?” Beau asked.

“Because it terrified me,” you replied honestly. “I love animals, don’t get me wrong. Riding one though? They’re unpredictable…but I’m also tired of being afraid of what I can’t control.”

Beau nodded. He could certainly understand that.

Together, you traveled up a roaming hill. Once you reached the peak, you marveled at the view. The afternoon sun was bright and golden above the mountains and the distant line of trees.

Meanwhile, Beau glanced at you. You’d gotten more confident and comfortable in what you were doing, and it was endearing to see. You were cute, he could admit. Beautiful, as a matter of fact. You had the sun shining in your eyes, and on your hair getting tousled by the chilly breeze.

You also seemed to have a kind heart. He’d seen it in just how hard your friend’s death had hit you. He saw it again when he helped you move into your apartment. He saw the joy you took in cooking dinner for all of them after a long-ass day, even though you could’ve just ordered a pizza.

It was the little things, he thought, and the more he saw of you, the more he liked.

That thought also made his heart twinge, and not in a good way. Carla reared up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was more with annoyance or guilt at this point, but she’d moved on a hell of a long time before he had anyway. (Beau could admit that point, just to himself.)

It just made him wonder what he was doing here with you. Was it just because he knew you were having a hard time, and he wanted to cheer you up? Was it because you were Denise’s family? Or was it because…he just wanted to see more of you?

“You don’t get this view in the city, huh?” Beau asked. 

“You do not,” you replied. Your smile grew, making his do the same without him realizing.

Inside though, he wanted to shake his head at himself. You were a bit younger than him. Maybe not by all that much, in the grand scheme of things, but he was in his mid-forties, divorced with a sixteen-year-old daughter, and a somewhat unpredictable, occasionally dangerous job. At this point, he wouldn’t exactly consider himself a catch.

You were also dealing with a complicated past of your own. You’d been through a lot, especially in the past couple of weeks.

And yet, Cassie’s probing questions circled through his mind, invading his thoughts every time he found himself looking your way. 

Your face slowly dimmed. “Next week is Mary’s funeral. I’m going back home for a few days.”

Beau processed that with a nod, but he could guess why you looked worried. 

“And your ex?” he asked.

“He’s going to be there for sure. We were all close.” A deep breath rushed out of you. You peeled your eyes away from the view and looked over at him. “God help me, I don’t want to go home…does that make me a bad person?”

“Nah, I get it,” he said. He regarded you with more weight in his gaze. “But this guy. Is he the aggressive type?”

“No,” you assured. Then more wryly, “He’s only dangerous to my mental health.”

You contemplated that reality for a moment, and you shook your head.

“You know how I found out about what he was doing?” you asked. “He sent me a Happy Birthday text…a spicy one, you could say. But it wasn’t my birthday.” 

“Damn,” Beau said, grimacing in sympathy. 

You tried not to, but you began tearing up. Beau wanted to brush them from your cheek as he drew closer on his horse. Instead, he settled a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he said, quiet and placating. “I’m thinking you’ve cried enough over this.”

“I just…I still feel so damn stupid,” you muttered, wiping under your eyes.  

“What, are you a Professor of Cheatin’ Bastards too?” Beau quipped. You smiled reluctantly.

“That’s not funny,” you complained. 

He flashed you a grin and allowed himself to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear when a breeze of wind blew it into your face.

“Come on. You know I’m funny,” he teased, but then, he became more serious. “It’s not your fault. Trust me, I know something about being the problem, and it’s not on you.”

Both your interest and concern were piqued.

“You and Carla?” you asked. “You’re telling me it was all on you?”

“Well, maybe not all. But like you, my ex-wife ain’t a fool,” Beau said. His eyes lowered, along with his hand from your arm. “Let’s just say, it was justified.”

Let’s just say, you contemplated. That seemed to be his favorite catchphrase.

You didn’t know if you altogether believed that. He was going to grief counseling for a reason. You wanted to ask why, more than anything, but you also didn’t want to press him on something if he didn’t want to talk about it. If he felt comfortable enough with you, someday, maybe he’d open up to you. 

So after a few minutes of savoring the view, and the moment, you returned to town together.

A few days later, Beau still had a bad feeling about Avery.

His company was being investigated by the SEC and was threatening to go under. Apparently, Avery had made “friends” with Luke on the trip, who according to Avery, let it slip that he and Paige had $15 million in cryptocurrency.

The passcode to that $15 million account was missing. Beau had more than half a mind to think Avery had made a play for it during that camping trip. Carla hadn’t known her new husband’s company was being investigated. She’d put her foot down with Avery about the lying, at least.

As a result, Beau’s only consolation in all this was that she and Emily were back in their house, while Avery was living out of a hotel in town. Beau might not be able to pin him for the stolen crypto right now, but he knew where to look for Avery when the evidence came.

The man was #1 on Beau’s punch list, and it was only getting longer.

Instead of letting those thoughts fester, he decided to actually take his lunch break, and go check in on his daughter. Denise and Cassie told him she was doing well as their summer intern.

Emily seemed to be enjoying her time helping the private investigators. She showed him her small workstation beside Denise’s desk, where she was organizing old and new files, inputting the hard copies into digital ones on Cassie’s spare laptop. Emily was also helping out with some database research on existing cases.

Satisfied that she was helping out, but wasn’t doing anything too close to actual police work, Beau took the opportunity to lean over to Denise and discreetly ask about you.

Namely, how you were doing, and if you’d called her from Chicago. He managed to hold himself from asking when you were coming back to Montana, at least.

Denise still gave him a certain smile.

“Yeah, she called yesterday. She’s coming back today actually,” she replied. “I’m planning to pick her up in a few hours.”

Beau’s lips twitched at a smile, and he nodded. “Good. That’s uh…that’s good. Tell her I said ‘welcome home.’”

Denise and Cassie shared a look, one that drew even Emily’s attention. She shot her dad a glance and noted the dumb smile on his face. One that he tucked away when he met Emily’s gaze.

“Anyway, looks like you’re doing all right here. You’re coming to stay with me tomorrow, right?” he asked her.

“Yeah, sure,” Emily agreed.

“Okay, kiddo. See ya then,” Beau said. He gave her a hug and kiss to the side of the head. Though she gave him a hug back, she watched with a bit of suspicion after he said goodbye to Cassie and Denise, strolling out the door like he was making some kind of escape.

The adults again shared a look of mutual understanding. Then Cassie smiled and grabbed her work bag.

“All right. I’ll be back in a bit. Need to check on a few leads,” she said.

After Emily and Denise waved her off, the latter made some tea and returned with a mug each for her and Emily. Denise reclaimed the seat behind her desk, but she turned towards the girl beside her.

“So, hun, how’re you doing?” Denise asked. “I mean, I know you’ve gone through a lot these past couple weeks, and we’re happy to give you a little distraction here. But are you okay?”

Emily bit her lip and turned her rolling chair towards Denise. She had to take some time with her answer. Ever since coming back from that camp, she didn’t know if she’d really answered that question honestly—not for her mom, or her dad.

“Well, on one hand, Mom kicked Avery out. Or, I guess he kicked himself out,” she said. “On the other hand, my mom and dad are getting along better than they have since before the divorce, so…there’s that.”

Emily rested her elbow on the desk in front of her, head in hand. Denise gave her a sympathetic half-smile.

“I don’t hate Avery,” Emily admitted. “I actually like him a lot. He made Mom happy again. But would it be nice if she and my dad…if we could be a family again? I mean, yeah.”

Denise was patient as she listened. She tried to keep her true thoughts on the matter inside as you came to mind, though she pushed all that into the background in order to give Emily her undivided attention. 

“At the same time, I don’t know,” Emily shrugged. “My dad’s a great person, but he’s not good at letting people in. I don’t think Mom could go through that again.”

“Go through what?” Denise asked. 

“The way my dad shut us out, after what happened to his partner,” Emily explained. Her face went from slightly sad, to wry. “Okay, yeah, my mom’s not the most patient person. But Dad still doesn’t talk about it, not even to Mom. Or to me.”

Denise had heard some small thing about Beau’s former partner from you, and even Jenny, but she didn’t know the specifics there. All she knew was it laid at the heart of Beau and Carla’s divorce.

“Well, he’s your dad,” Denise said with a sigh. “He wants to protect you, even if that means protecting you from himself.”

“Sure, okay, but he doesn’t have to though. Not all the time,” Emily said.

She could be a strong, even-keeled kid, mature for her age, but Denise saw the rare vulnerability in the girl’s eyes.

“Sometimes I wish he’d just talk to me,” Emily said. Her eyes fell away.

Denise’s heart broke for the girl. Not knowing what else to say, she scooched her chair forward and pulled Emily into a warm hug.

By the time Denise picked you up from the airport and dropped you off at your apartment, you were beyond exhaustion. Coming home from a week in your hometown in Chicago left you feeling drained. Physically, emotionally, down to your toes.

At least you were home.

It was a surprising feeling—the feeling that this was your home now. Already it felt real.

Seeing your ex will do that to you.

“So how was it?” Denise asked. She’d graciously made you dinner as well, so you didn’t have to cook or worry about eating out. You two sat on the couch in your living room while some romcom played in the background.

“Everything I thought it would be,” you replied, around a mouthful of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. You let out a heavy sigh.

It had been good to see your parents, you explained, and you’d finally been able to give your condolences to Mary’s parents in person—at the funeral.

That’s where Michael tried to corner you to hash out what would’ve been yet another argument, at the burial of all things. You had to restrain yourself from making a scene in front of Mary’s entire grieving family, as well as yours.

Denise shook her head. “That guy ain’t got an iota of shame.”

You snorted. “You’re telling me?!”

You shook your head and speared at your green beans with your fork. You couldn’t even mourn your friend in peace, for God’s sake.

“Did your parents try to get you to stay longer?” she asked.

Again, you scoffed. “Oh, yeah. They actually tried to use Mary’s death to get me to think Helena was more dangerous than Chicago.”

While you’d understood their point to an extent, your home city still maintained one of the worst crime rates in the U.S.

“Still think you made the right decision?” Denise asked. “Whatever’s in your heart about it, just know that I’m so happy to have you here.”

She took your free hand and squeezed. You managed to smile, if just a little.

“Yeah. I think so,” you replied.

Chicago would always have a place in your heart, but for better or worse, this was your new start. And you were taking it.

You woke up the next morning to a shiny new text message. Still bleary-eyed, you unlocked your phone, and you just had to smile.

It was from Beau Arlen, you were pleasantly surprised to find.

Hey there. Heard you were back in town. (Welcome home, by the way.) Just wanted to let you know that me, Cassie, and Jenny are hitting a bar tonight after shift. You’re welcome to join in. Say around 8?

Without even really thinking about it, you typed out your reply:

Sure! I’ll be there. (And thanks very much. It’s nice to know the county sheriff rolls out the welcome mat for all of Helena’s returning citizens.)

You got up and started your day. You were midway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Your lips curved into a smirk when you read Beau’s reply.

Sounds good. (And I’m happy to oblige. 😉)

You shouldn’t have been blushing at such a simple message, but it set off the butterflies regardless. You huffed and set down your toothbrush.

Damn it.

You were in trouble.

With such a nice start to your morning, you were smiling all the way into town. The place you were headed to was just down the street of Dewell & Hoyt, so you knew you had to stop in just to say hello. There you found Denise and Emily.

“Did you have a good trip?” Emily asked, after you let her go from a hug. You gave your aunt one next.

“It was…good,” you replied, with a sigh. “Mary’s at rest now.”

Your eyes stung at the thought, but you tried to blink past it, taking in a breath to steady yourself. While Denise rubbed your back, Emily squeezed your arm in comfort, leading you to give her a smile. She was a sweet girl.

“What brings you over?” Denise asked.

You shook your head to come back to yourself. You showed them the large bag you carried on your shoulder. It was full of your painting supplies.

“Well, I’m actually headed to an art studio just down the street. I looked up the lessons they were offering this week, and apparently today it’s painting on glass. Like a bowl, or a mug, or a little stained glass window. They’ve got different options.”

Emily looked intrigued. “Ooh, that sounds cool.”

“Yeah?” you said, raising a brow. “You’re welcome to come with me if you want. Unless my aunt can’t spare you, or you’d rather not. It’s fine.”

There was no pressure to your offer, but you remembered Emily being somewhat interested in your painting endeavors while on the camping trip. With everything the girl had been going through, you thought maybe she’d like something creative and fun to try to get her mind off things. You knew it was doing the same for you.

“No, that would be fun, I guess,” said Emily. She looked to Denise in askance, who waved a dismissive hand. 

“It’s okay, hun. Take the afternoon off,” she said. “I’ve got things here.”

Emily smiled and nodded.

“Okay. Let me just grab my stuff.”

You and Emily ventured together right down the street to the art studio. You paid for the $40 entrance fee each for you and Emily into the class.

You could see that she felt uncomfortable with that when you two took your seats near the back of the studio. It was pretty full, and neither of you wanted to be right at the front, preferring to hang out more chill-like in the back.

There at each long table was an easel each, after you chose what kind of glass you wanted to paint on. Emily chose a funky looking bowl, while you chose a rectangular piece of wood-framed glass.

“I’ll pay you back,” Emily said, once you two were comfortable in your respective seats. You waved her off.

“It’s okay, honey. I invited you,” you said. Then you gave her a conspiring look. “Here’s my rule of thumb, especially on dates, for example. The person who invites you should shell out.”

Emily smiled. “That makes sense to me.”

You saw the gears in her mind turning, and it reminded you of her little “summer project.” She’d told you about it a couple of times on that camping trip.

“How’s your podcast going?” you asked. The girl sighed; she chose a brush and started painting blue stripes across her glass bowl.

“Slow,” she admitted. “I’m lacking interesting subjects.”

You hummed at that. “Maybe you need a guest to help kick things off.”

Emily smiled at that. She turned to you with a gleam of excitement.

“Would you do it?” she asked.

Your mouth fell open in surprise. “Me? I think I’d be too boring. Isn’t your podcast about relationships?”

“Well, yeah, but that was a good bit you just had,” she said. “Who pays on a date?”

You thought about it with another hum of contemplation. Suddenly you could start to see the potential in her idea. You still didn’t want to be a subject of inquiry, but you didn’t want to dim her spark either.

“Well, it would be fun if you got a man’s perspective too,” you said.

Emily brightened. Finally, someone who cared about her side project. 

“What about Dad?” she said. “He’s a guy.”

You chuckled. “Well, yes.” 

Though you wondered about the last time he’d been on a date since his divorce, or if he even was dating right now. 

The more you thought about it, the more interesting it might be to see Beau answer some of those kinds of questions. It wasn’t at all because you were curious about the man yourself…

“Maybe you’re onto something there,” you said, a smile growing on your face.

“I’ll ask him,” Emily vowed. “Maybe he’ll actually open up for once.”

She sort of muttered that last bit. It caught your attention with a wry brow raise.

“What? Your dad is as chatty as they come,” you said. Emily rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, about dumb stuff,” she said. “Try to get anything serious out of him. He’s like an old clam.”

A snort of laughter escaped you. “Old clam. That’s nice.”

Though you saw that there was something deeper there for Emily. You’d seen these kinds of moments in some of your students before. Sometimes, they felt comfortable enough with you to share what they were going through at home. In Emily’s case, it seemed like she was hurting about something, maybe for a while now.

You continued painting on your glass project, but you offered her a look of understanding.

“Remember how I told you that my dad used to be a firefighter?” you said. Emily nodded.

“Well, your dad sounds a bit like mine. He’d rather consult a bottle of Jack Daniels than anyone else, really,” you confessed. “He saw a lot of things on the job that were hard. Too hard to explain. Possibly too hard to even work through. It made him…distant, when I was a kid. I don’t think we really connected until I got older.”

And even now, your relationship with him was rocky at best, after he’d suggested you try to work it out with Michael. You and your father hadn’t truly spoken ever since.

You still gave Emily a look of encouragement.

“But, it seems like you and your dad have a better relationship than I did with mine at your age,” you said.

That fell between you both while Emily ruminated in it. She started adding gold strokes to her bowl alongside the blue in swirling patterns, and it was a really nice touch, you told her. She thanked you with a little smile.

“Did my dad tell you that he lost his partner on the job?” she asked.

You sighed. “Yes, he told me some. We didn’t go too deep into it.”

“Well, for a whole year, it was like we barely existed,” she said. “Mom tried to help him. I tried…but I guess he was a lot like your dad.”

Your lips pressed together. You were sad to hear that, but it did remind you of what Beau told you that day, when he took you horseback riding.

“Well, maybe not all. But like you, my ex-wife ain’t a fool,” Beau had said. “Let’s just say, it was justified.”

You now nodded in understanding as you hummed. Let’s just say.

“He seems better now,” you remarked. 

“Yeah. He cleaned up when Mom left him,” Emily said. “I guess that’s what it took to snap him out of it.”

You shook your head, and you kept painting.  

You could understand Carla, all too well. It just hurt you, now that you knew what a good man Beau was. Your sympathetic heart said he didn’t deserve to get left behind when he needed his family the most.

However, the more logical part of you knew that sometimes, love just wasn’t enough to keep you tied to someone who didn’t seem to want to help themselves. When it felt like they were giving you no choice.

“Anyway, you’ll be my other guest, right?” Emily asked with a smile. “For the podcast.”

You barely resisted the urge to groan. As much as you preferred not to put yourself out there, you didn’t want to discourage the girl in her project.

“Well…okay. If you get your dad on, I’m sure it’ll be interesting,” you said, your lips forming a grin. You two continued to paint while chatting about Emily’s favorite subjects in school. English, sadly, was not one of them, but you weren’t offended by it. Shakespeare wasn’t for everyone.

“I’m actually meeting your dad for drinks tonight. If you want, I’ll ask him about being on the podcast, try to soften him up for you,” you offered. “Though I’m sure he’ll do it if you asked.”

Emily considered you with a bit more scrutiny. “Are you…seeing my dad?”

“Oh, no,” you said immediately. Just the suggestion had your cheeks warming. “Cassie and Jenny will be there too. It’s nothing like that.”

“Sure,” Emily said. She gave an awkward laugh. 

“Really, Em. He and I are just friends,” you promised. 

Even if that thought stung a little.

Despite what you told Emily, you did put a fair amount of effort into your appearance to meet your new friends that night for drinks.

You even put on your favorite red lipstick with some dark wash jeans, a black pair of ankle boots, and a black lace top to match, complete with off-the-shoulder sleeves. 

Cassie whistled lowly when she saw you walk into the bar from her seat in one of the booths. She smiled and nudged Beau, whose face slackened when he saw you. 

God help him, you were sexy as hell in black. 

Black lace, he corrected himself. Your hair was a bit wild and teased out. The flash of red was a pleasant surprise, momentarily drawing his eyes to your lips. He felt the back of his neck heat up, but he tried to hide it all behind a friendly smile. He found himself sliding out of the booth to hug you in greeting. 

Goddamn, she smells good too, he thought. Was that your perfume, or your shampoo? Whatever it was, he liked it more than was good for him.

He managed to let you go though, and he grinned at your somewhat shy smile. You moved on to greet Cassie next, then Jenny, before you slid into the booth next to her and across from Beau and Cassie. 

“How was Chicago?” Jenny asked. It brought the mood down some. You gave a true smile, however tinged with melancholy. It was still very difficult to talk about Mary, but since everyone at the table knew the full story, it was easier to be honest.

“Chicago was needed. It was good, in a way. I got to lay her to rest,” you replied. “But I’m glad to be back.”

“Glad to have you back,” Cassie said. She passed you a tequila shot. 

“Ooh, nice.” You weren’t usually one for hard liquor, but tonight, you thought you could let yourself go a little. You downed the shot in one. 

“Eyy, good job,” Beau said, raising his whiskey with a wink. You laughed in slight embarrassment and wiped the corner of your mouth.

While Cassie called over the closest server to get them started with some appetizers for the table, you turned to Beau.

“You know, I did a painting class with Emily today,” you told him. “She did great! Has a nice little bowl to put her jewelry in.”

He raised his brows, smiling. “Is that so? What do you know. My little girl’s a budding artist. Is she gonna go all broody and steal even more of my vinyl?”

You shook your head in amusement.

“She’s a teenager. They don’t need any excuses to be broody,” Jenny remarked.

“Fair enough,” Beau chuckled.  

“Actually, she asked me to be on her podcast,” you said. “She wanted to see if you’d join in for a segment.”

The man looked uncertain at that. You understood his reservations, because you had the same ones. Cassie and Jenny looked amused by the idea of him getting recorded and put on social media by his sixteen-year-old.

“Look, I know, but she just wants to ask us a few questions,” you said. “Like who should pay on a date, that sort of thing.”

Beau rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands. The humor in his green eyes shone under the soft gold lamplight.

“Well, that’s easy. I was raised to be a gentleman,” he said. “I wouldn’t feel right letting a woman pay for me.”

You tilted your head in interest. A smile started to play on your lips as you leaned forward on your folded arms.

“Huh. Well, I think whoever asks the person out should pay,” you posed. “That doesn’t necessarily mean the man pays every time.”

Beau’s lips twitched, but there was a subtle shake of his head.

“I don’t know. That just doesn’t sit right with me for some reason,” he said. 

You turned to Jenny and Cassie for some support, and they both gave Beau an unimpressed look.

“You mean to tell me you wouldn’t let me pay for my own drinks?” you asked. “I have a job. I make money, same as you.”

At that, Beau chuckled. “Hey now, I didn’t say you couldn’t pay for your own. But you’re certainly not paying for mine.”

“So in your world, I can’t ever treat my man if I want to?” you challenged.

“What, you mean to tell me you don’t like getting spoiled?” Beau countered.

When you smiled, it had an amused, almost flirtatious edge that began to make him hot under the collar. 

“Occasionally, sure I do,” you replied. “But then again, who doesn’t like getting spoiled now and again?”

“Doesn’t have to be about who pays either,” Cassie interjected. 

“It sure doesn’t,” Jenny agreed. The women laughed and clinked their drinks together, leaving Beau with a warming face under his beard. He once again chuckled, conceding defeat. 

Conversation spiraled from there, in which Jenny mentioned something about her and Beau’s latest finished case about Brett, a skydiving, former firefighter’s murder.

It was a coverup for a larger scheme within his old firehouse—where firefighters had been looting homes after they’d been cleared out of a fire. Brett’s friend had been killed on one of those jobs, and not by accident either.

“That’s awful,” you said with a frown, once she finished explaining.

Against your will, it made you think of your ex-fiancé, Michael. He was still an active firefighter. While he had been a shitty boyfriend, at the very least you’d never had reason to question his integrity as a first responder.

“Yeah, it was hard on the father too. He’s the unit chief, and the whole operation was happening on his watch,” Beau said. “One of his own firefighters killed his son. It’s damn near unthinkable.”

Beau’s mood had shifted the moment Jenny brought up this case, you noticed. He was staring mostly into his half-empty whiskey glass, as if contemplating a refill.

“We said we wouldn’t talk shop tonight,” Cassie said. She seemed to notice his downshift as well. She got up out of her seat in the booth. “Let me get the next round. Another tequila?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. You’d probably pace yourself this time.  

“Not for me, I’m good with this,” Beau said. 

He held that whiskey between his hands, and you were glad that he was going slow. Your conversation with Emily about his own bout with grief and loss was still fresh in your mind. While your heart broke for him, you were also a little worried for him. Had this latest case opened up some old wounds?

“I’ll go with you,” Jenny said. You slid out of the booth so Jenny could as well. It left you and Beau to talk, while Jenny and Cassie went up to the bar together.

Cassie tried to get the bartender’s attention, but she glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine. Why?” Jenny replied. But she wasn’t meeting Cassie’s gaze. She was watching you and Beau, almost in melancholy.

Cassie’s brows furrowed as she realized what was happening. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before, considering both of their professions. 

“Aw, Jenny…” Cassie breathed. She wondered just how long her friend had been harboring some feelings for Beau Arlen.

Knowing she was “caught,” Jenny gave a wry smile.

“Don’t. It’s not a big deal,” she said quietly. “He likes her.”

Cassie sighed. “I think so. Even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”

“He deserves something good,” Jenny said. Her smile was a bit more genuine this time. Cassie nodded in agreement.

“So does she, after what she’s gone through.”

“So how are you doing?” you asked Beau. It was the first time you’d been alone with this man since that horse riding lesson last week, and part of you was feeling a bit nervous.

Just friends, like you told Emily. You had to remind yourself. Just friends…until evidence points to the contrary.

At your question, Beau heaved a sigh, running a hand over his face. Suddenly he looked more tired than he did before. The laugh lines around his eyes looked more like the telltale signs of stress.

“Well, first off, we found the missing backpacker,” he said. “It seems the poor young man fell down a cliff while hiking.”

Your brows furrowed and you covered your mouth with a hand. “Oh my God.”

Beau nodded in grim confirmation. His gaze met yours.

“But I also wanted to tell you this in person when you got back. I’ve also got a silver lining on our mountain man, Walter,” he continued. “He confessed to murdering Paige. He’s keeping tight-lipped about Mary and Luke, but we’ve got him dead set to rights on at least one of the murders.”

You processed that with a shaky breath. Then you nodded.

“We’re gonna keep working on him from every angle, I promise,” Beau said. Just like he’d promised you before—that he would get justice for Mary. You believed him.

“Thank you,” you said. Your gaze softened, and you contemplated laying your hand over his on the table. You just barely stopped yourself.

Instead, you cleared your throat and swiped some of your hair over your shoulder.

“Any other news, hot off the press?” you joked, trying to alleviate the heaviness in your heart. Beau quirked a smile. He leaned back in his seat and carded a hand through his hair.

“Ahh. Well…you know I’m investing my ex-wife’s husband,” he said drolly, sipping his whiskey. “And that’s going about as well as it sounds. I can’t get into the details of course…but he might be dealing in something shady.”

Your eyes widened. “Shady, or dangerous?”

Beau realized how he’d let that last bit slip out. He wished he hadn’t. Not only did he not want to worry you, but he didn’t want you anywhere near his open cases.

“I’m keeping close tabs on Carla and Emily just to be safe,” he admitted. 

Your face became the picture of concern. But before you could respond, a man approached the table, tall and lean, with a shaggy cut of dark blonde hair. He wore a pair of faded jeans, boots, and a gray and red Chicago FD shirt. 

Your face paled, and your mouth parted in surprise. 

“Hey there, stranger,” he said with a smile. 

“Michael?” you gasped.

AN: 🫣 Yep, we're going there lol. But how did you like the horseback riding lesson? Or her little day out with Emily? Or the bit of fun at the bar, before Michael showed up?

You'll definitely be seeing more of that guy in Part 5...

Next Time:

“Michael?” you gasped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Beau’s eyes widened. Michael was younger than him, closer to your age. And cocky too.  

“Hey, baby,” Michael said. His smile quirked with charm, but his next words were anything but charming. 

“We need to talk,” he said, raising his brows.

“We actually don’t,” you retorted in a firmer voice. Cold even. You straightened in your seat. 

Beau saw none of your softness and good humor from earlier. This was a different woman, and he was actually proud of you for standing your ground. Though he realized then that he’d never gotten on your bad side. (He hoped he never did.)

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Series Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106

@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @deans-baby-momma @tabsluvsu @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @deans-spinster-witch @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @lostin-jensenseyes @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow

[atinylittlepain]

Hi, love your writing!!! Anyways, I was thinking, a Joel x Reader! One-shot, where the reader possibly messes up a deal or trade with a different group and Joel is PIIIIIISSSSSEEEDDDD (grumpy angry Joel bc yes obvi 🧎🏻‍♀️) so anyways they go back to Jackson and he slowly gets over it y'know, BUT then when the next occasion for a trade arises, Joel brings reader along and it seems like Joel is betraying the reader, trading her for supplies (possibly handing her over to enemies or some real sick people) but then he reveals its a ploy to get the upper hand on the group and the two take out (k1ll) the bandits and Joel is basically like " I would never trade you for anything even if you mess up sometimes" Yada Yada fluff 💕💕💕

-yc :3

baaaabe, apologies for my delayed reply, but i love some good angst and wanted to do it right <3

gif by @riley-keoughs

Cold as Ice

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

when she messes up on a job, Joel's anger freezes her out harder than the biting Wyoming winter.

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical violence, feelingsssss

..................

She was freezing. It was the middle of winter in Wyoming, and she was shaking so hard she could barely steady her hands on her rifle. It didn’t help that she was laid out in the snow on her stomach right now, peering out from an overlook at Joel and the men he was dealing with. She knew it shouldn’t be much longer though, so she did her best to steady her focus back on the scene in front of her. 

Joel had asked her to hang back while he traded with them, men that he had encountered a few weeks back on a solo patrol shift. Always careful to keep the existence of Jackson a secret, Joel had told the men that he was a lone survivor, making camp in the valley of the mountains for the winter. While the men had accepted this lie, they had also asked to meet soon to trade, something that Joel couldn’t deny without stirring suspicion. So, he made a plan to return to the plains the next week, bringing her along for hidden back-up if need be. 

She had said yes to joining him without hesitation.​ They’ve been partners for a while, having traipsed across the states with Ellie in tow and witnessed their fair share of horrors. Somewhere along the way, they had started seeking a little more creature comfort in each other, but she had chalked it up to just that, comfort, no need for feelings messing things up. 

Where Joel goes, she goes, and vice versa. But as she shivered in places she didn’t know could shiver, she wanted more than anything to be back in town where the unfathomable luxury of space heaters exists. 

Her nose was running, snot freezing right to her face as she tried to keep her eyes on the men down in the valley, but the deep itch of cold kept forcing her to rub her face in the crook of her arm.

It happened so quickly she didn’t have time to even think of stopping it, a hard sneeze racking her body. She was lucky her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but the men still seemed to have noticed it, heads whipping around to look up the hill that she was tucked behind. She could hear a swell of heated murmuring between Joel and the men. She pressed herself as flat into the ground as she could, praying that they would chalk it up to the whipping wind or an animal. The men’s questioning chatter died down into silence and she held her breath as the only sound that remained was that of boots trudging closer through the snow. 

She craned her neck up just enough to look out over the hill, relief flooding through her at the sight of only Joel hiking toward her, the four other men receding in the opposite direction. Her relief was short-lived, however, with the way he hauled her onto her feet with a harsh hand hooked under her arm, pushing her to keep walking along with him.

“What the hell was that?” Suddenly, the cold was the least of her worries, with the way Joel was seething beside her. She stumbled over her reply.

“I-I fucked up. I’m– I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t get to fuck up. Not out here. You know that.” Her heart dropped at the harsh tone of his words.

“Wh–what happened with those guys? Where are they going?” Joel huffed, keeping his eyes forward as they continued to trek back home.

“They got spooked. Gonna have to come back in a few days to finish this fucking deal. You’re lucky they weren’t smart enough to think anything more of that sound.” It was the last thing either of them said the whole hike back to Jackson, Joel’s anger cracking and fissuring between them until the distance felt insurmountable. 

For the first time since they settled in the house Tommy gave them, she slept in her own bed that night, startling awake to the sound of Joel slamming the door to his room.

…

It had been a quiet few days back in Jackson. She had been avoiding Joel as best she could, and he did nothing to stop her, each of them taking odd shifts to stay out of the house as much as possible. Ellie had sensed there was something wrong right away and had asked her “what the fuck happened” but all she could do was sigh and shake her head at the thick heat rising in her throat. 

More than anything, she was upset at herself, that she had made such a stupid mistake. But a close second to that feeling was the wary fear she felt being the subject of Joel’s obvious ire. If they happened to cross each other’s paths, he wouldn’t so much as look at her, keeping his head down and his brow furrowed as he quickly shuffled off. She hadn’t been sleeping at all either, having gotten so used to tangling up with him each night. There was no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull her to sleep alone in her own bed. 

She was starting to resign herself to this new reality in which Joel Miller seemed to want nothing to do with her. She told herself that she’d stick around for Ellie, but otherwise, she’d keep away from the man she had so clearly let down. This didn’t last long, however, not when Joel sought her out at the stables, sidling up next to her where she was grooming one of the mares. It was hard to look at him, and she resolved herself to keeping her attention on the horse as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“I, uh, need your help tomorrow.” She couldn’t help the scoff she let out at that.

“Why would you want my help? I’ll probably just fuck it up anyways.” She knew it was a childish thing to say the moment it left her mouth, a heavy silence falling between them after. Joel finally cleared his throat to press on. 

“Gotta go back out tomorrow to finish that deal. Nobody else can know what’s going on, Maria’d probably have my head if she found out.” Her heart sank at the realization that the only reason he was asking her for her help was because she was the only person he could ask. She let out a harsh cough to mask the thick sadness creeping up her throat, nodding at his words, but still not looking at him.

“Alright, fine. We’ll head out in the morning.” Another stilted silence fell on them. She knew Joel well enough to tell that he had something else to say, by the way he was toeing his boot into the ground and lingering next to her. But he seemed to think better of it, letting out a sigh and grumbling that he’d meet her at the gate in the morning as he was already trudging out of the stables. 

…

The silence was maddening. They had been walking for a few hours, getting closer to the meeting point, but it had felt like an eternity with the way neither of them was speaking. They had never been particularly talkative on the road, but by the time they had settled in Jackson they had warmed to each other enough to usually keep a quiet conversation going. No longer able to stand it, she finally cleared her throat, words puffing out into the cold air.

“Joel? I am sorry– about last time. I–” Before she could finish speaking, Joel came to a halting stop, pressing her back behind him, and it was then that she saw the four men coming toward them, guns cocked. Shit.

“Drop your weapons! And whoever you got tucked behind you better step out to the side.” Joel glanced at her over his shoulder, a hesitant nod as she shuffled out alongside him, both of them shouldering off their guns, palms up as the group of men closed in. 

One of the men let out a low whistle, looking her up and down like a piece of meat.

“Was that noise we heard last time you, pretty?” She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying hard not to give anything away in her expression. The men all laughed, but Joel was quick to cut through it with a firm few words.

“This doesn’t have to be a problem. We can still trade.” The men instantly steeled back into silence, the mouths of their guns all aiming at Joel. The man who seemed to be the leader sneered.

“Was I talking to you, man? No.” He turned his attention back to her.

“Why don’t you walk over to us, pretty? Then turn around nice and slow so you’re facing your man.” With four guns aimed at them, she knew the man wasn’t asking, he was telling, so she did as he said, quietly trudging through the snow closer to the group before turning around to face Joel.

“Can’t blame you for hiding this one from us, buddy.” The man sauntered closer to her and she had to will herself to keep from flinching as he pressed up behind her, frostbit fingers skittering along her cheek. 

“What’s your name, honey?” She muttered her name to the man, trying to keep as still as possible as he skated the barrel of his gun along the side of her neck. She couldn’t help the quiet yelp that escaped her lips when he brought his other hand to the swell of her thigh, squeezing hard. She didn’t dare look at Joel, shame rising like hot bile in her throat.

“S’a pretty name for a pretty girl. Don't you think your boyfriend here was a little rude for not introducing us?” The men laughed again, a sound that sat heavy in her stomach. The man behind her hummed a little, pressing his cheek against hers as he looked over her shoulder at Joel.

“Isn’t he a little old for you, honey?” The men snickered, and her eyes finally darted to Joel’s face, his eyes squinted, mouth screwed up. A shiver of fear ran up her spine because for the first time in a while she couldn’t read him, couldn’t parse out what he was thinking or feeling in that moment. She had never felt so alone.

A gasp escaped her mouth when the man wrapped his forearm around her chest, cocking the barrel of his gun right under her chin as he kept his eyes set on Joel. She thought she could see his fingers flex where his hands were still held up.

“Tell you what, pal. I’ve got a new deal for you. You let us take this sweet thing off your hands, and in return, we won’t shoot you where you stand.” Blood rushed in her ears, an icy panic settling in at the way Joel wasn’t seeming to refuse, to offer up some alternative. She couldn’t help thinking that maybe this really was it, that Joel Miller was cutting her loose and feeding her to the wolves. Her thoughts were jolted by the sound of the man cocking his gun again, pressing the barrel a little harder into her jaw.

“I’d rather not ask twice, man. Do we have a deal or not?” She could see the bob of Joel’s throat, but he refused to look at her, his gaze staying on the man holding her up. 

“She has my knife. Just let me get it back and she’s all yours.” His words felt like a quick kick to the stomach and she choked on her breath, but her mind followed fast with the realization that what Joel said was a lie. His face was still unreadable, but it was becoming clear that he had a plan. The man behind her let out a breathy chuckle before harshly shoving her forward toward Joel, he catching her forearms to steady her.

“Go ahead, then. But make it fast.” Joel finally looked at her, reaching around her to unzip her pack, she guessed to look like he really was digging around for his knife. He ducked his head down, his words a low murmur just barely heard above the whistling wind.

“Know you keep a side piece in here. You still got your knife?” She offered him a faint nod.

“I’ll cover you. On my word.” She could feel his hand in her pack closing around the pistol she had stowed in there. She met his gaze again, one more jerk of a nod followed by Joel’s muttered “now.” 

They did what they do best. She whipped around in a flash, Joel already shooting one man down as she ran up on the others. The three men left standing were so disoriented, unsure where to aim their guns, and she made quick work of a second man, striking her blade across his throat and sending him down to his knees, warm blood spurting across her face. Joel was quick to put a bullet in another one, leaving the leader for her. She was more than happy to jam her blade up into the softness beneath his ribs, watching blood gurgle out of his mouth before he slumped to the ground. 

Her hands were shaking as her eyes swept over the aftermath, but Joel quickly came up behind her, spinning her around to face him and cupping her jaw in his palms, eyes searching her expression.

“You alright? Not hurt anywhere?” She shook her head in his hold, finally letting out a stuttering laugh, making Joel furrow his brow at her.

“What? What is it?” 

“I just– really thought you were gonna let them take me for a second there. Thought you were finally done with me.” His face slackened at her words before he snapped back with a gruff scoff.

“You fucking serious right now?” She shrugged, eyes not quite meeting his.

“After last time, figured you didn’t want to work with a fuck-up anymore.” Joel made a harsh sound in the back of his throat, dipping his head down to try to catch her gaze.

“That’s bullshit. You’re my partner. I’m not gonna fucking dump you just ‘cause you made a mistake. That’s not how this works, how we work.” She finally met his gaze, a little fire kicking up in her anger.

“Oh, it’s not? Then why have you been avoiding me like the fucking plague ever since?” She didn’t get an answer, Joel breaking away and quietly muttering that they needed to get home.

Another agonizingly quiet walk back to Jackson.

…

When they got back, she was quick to stomp off toward their house, but could feel Joel watching her the whole way as he trailed behind. She was sick of getting jerked around by him, and now it seemed the tables were turned and it was she who wanted him out of her sight.

She took the stairs two at a time, quickly shuffling into the upstairs bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She wasn’t expecting there to be so much blood spattered across her face when she looked in the mirror, and the sight made her pause, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time she had to harshly scrub away the remnants of violence. 

The soft click of the bathroom door opening didn’t stop her from continuing to drag a damp washcloth across her face, skin going red and splotchy under her ministrations. 

“Hey, hey. Just stop– will you look at me, please?” Calloused hands grabbed her wrists to stop her movements, turning her toward him. Joel let out a long sigh when she still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was never mad at you– was mad at the fucking situation. A-and I was trying to create some distance before I said something I didn’t mean. Never wanna hurt you– you’re– I–” he stopped himself with another sigh, leaning back against the sink. She tentatively stepped between his legs, her wrists still held firm in his hands between them.

“I’m sorry too, Joel. It was an accident– but it was a stupid one. Fucking hate that I let you down.” He let go of her wrists to bring one hand to cup her jaw, tilting her head to finally get her to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t let me down. Even if you did– more than made up for it today with the way you took out those fucking fools.” That coaxed a half-hearted smile from her as she leaned into his touch.

“We did that together.” He nodded lightly, thumb stroking the arc of her cheek and making her breath hitch.

“We did. Make a good team. Right, partner?” Her smile stretched into a grin at his words.

“Right– partner.” When he kissed her, it felt different. This wasn’t their usual lust-driven tangles. It was careful, and dizzyingly sweet, something she hadn’t known Joel was capable of. He pulled away just slightly to rest his forehead against hers as they silently followed the push and pull of each other’s breath. 

“You know I wouldn’t do that, right? Would never leave you.” She sighed, nodding her head slightly against his.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded every now and again.” That made him chuckle as he brought his other hand to her hip, squeezing lightly.

“Consider this your first reminder then.” 

The kiss he gave her that time was just as sweet as the first. It was all the reminding she needed.

[swifty-fox]

For the bathing prompts, #1 for clegan PLEASE 🙇🏻‍♀️

¹⁾ sitting on the edge of the bathtub and letting them lay their head against your thigh as the fatigue starts taking hold

What they're supposed to do, what their loose orders are is to stay on base. To rest and heal and have medical eyes on them to make sure their wasted bodies weren't about to give out on them.

Gale had been back months before John had, and though he'd regained muscle that John was struggling to catch up to, there was a haunted animal look in his pale eyes that just wouldn't quit. There were bags under his eyes like he hadn't had more than a few hours of sleep since his return. A fact, John knew to be true because the restless paranoia wafting off of Buck like a physical scent was keeping him up as well.

The doctor kept telling him to sleep, he kept telling them "I can't"

I can't, not when my other half lies awake.

So, really, neither of them are sleeping. Neither of them are relaxing and the nurses keep warning John about what stress and starvation did to the heart and poor Buck had gotten smaller than the rest of them. And so when Bucky marches into Chick Harding's office for two weekend passes he's back out before the ink had even finished drying.

He drives them to the nearest inn, somewhere off campus where the doors locked and they had a double-bedded room to themselves. There's a small balcony with squashed but comfortable-looking cushions and two pairs of dressers to match the two beds and through a cracked door John can make out a warmly tiled bathroom with a clawfoot tub dropped in the center like a great contented cat..

Buck, who had gone silent the moment he'd no longer had to act as God-come-home for their flyboys and the new recruits they'd become legend and fable to, sat on the bed slowly removing his cufflinks and staring at his feet. His face, while not particularly concerning in its expression, aches with exhaustion and a quiet melancholy that John felt mirrored in his own chest. They had looked into the horrors and the horrors had looked right back and now they both carried the scars of it with them.

He's fine for now, so Bucky leaves him to his undressing, smoothing a thumb across Gale's forehead as he goes and gets a faint smile in return. He takes his time unpacking their duffels, heads down to charm to the lady of the house into some cucumber and chicken sandwiches made with real saw-dust free bread and scampers back put to the room with his prize.

Gale's still on the bed, stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, sprawled on his back now with one hand over his eyes and the other on the hollow rise and fall of his stomach. Not asleep, but resting at the very least and John takes full advantage of the chance to admire the graceful curve of the other man's body. The delicate just of his wrists, and relaxed put of his flush lips. The smooth jaw that would be stubbled by midnight and the flat downy hair on his thighs and legs.

He was too skinny, wasted muscle and shoulders that were angular where they should be soft and rounded, his collarbones a series of mountains ratner than hills. But he was alive and breathing and free and for the first time in years he's all John's.

He sets the plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade he'd gotten just for the reward of being so handsome - the madam's words not his - on the nightstand and pads into the bathroom. His knees click and his body protests as he kneels in front of the giant tub, and he remembers he too is running on fumes and stubbornness and pure Pilot luck. Running the water he waits for it to heat up before plugging the drain. There's a bottle of something sweet-smelling on a stool by the faucet and he tips it into the churning water experimentally, exclaiming quietly when bubbles smelling of lemon and lavender foam up.

Leaving the tub to its filling he makes his way out to the main room and brushes a soft kiss over the knuckles covering Gale's eyes.

"C'mon doll, lets get some food in you."

Gale makes a soft noise of protest but rises, eyes drooping tiredly and happy to settle against John's side.

They're both silent as they eat, both reverent to the point of religion at the freedom to fill their bellies.

"Real bread," Gale comments.

They each eat two apiece, drink half the pitcher and John kisses the sour-sweet droplets of lemonade from the pillow of Gale's upper lip. Tugs him up gently to be led across the room and into the now steamy bathroom.

"Bucky come on we were going to sleep -" he cuts off, looking at the tub and the popping chromatic bubbles covering the surface like a cloud. His face pinches inwards, brows lowering over his sunken eyes in an aching expression.

"Jesus, John."

Slipping behind him, dragging his hands up the stepstones of Gale's ribs and dragging his shirt with it, John presses a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, "You hate going to bed unclean."

Johns hand is spread across the center of Gale's chest, a soothing slow circle of pressure he knew made Gale melt into relaxing, so he feels clearly the ragged sobbing inhale that shivers through the blonde. But when he looks Gale's face is dry, lips parted just slightly and eyes fixed on the tub.

"I don't want to fall asleep in the bath on you."

"I won't let you slip under, sweetheart."

John slides out from behind Gale, stealing his shirt as he goes and settling on the stool. He toes his shoes and socks off, rolls his army regulation slacks up past his knees so he can stick two feet in the tub and gestures.

"Come on in Major, waters fine."

Gale shakes his head, puffing out a laugh and drags his briefs down his legs.

It's equal parts admiration and grief in how Bucky stares at his lovers body. Wasted from what it once was. Beautiful to him always. He schools his expression into something more neutral when Gale looks up, lifts a hand to help him into the tub without slipping and guides him down into the water.

The delicious groan Gale lets out, lashes fluttering, shoulders and head slumping forward in relief is better than any reward.

"That's good," Gale sighs.

"Yeah?" John whispers, rubbing his hands along the hills of Gale's spine, drags his thumb along the bump of them and massaging his fingers along the nape of Gale's neck until he makes another helpless noise and grows more boneless.

"Y'wanna get in?"

John shakes his head, fingers still working at the tension around Gale's spine, "Naw, enjoying watching you have a good time. You look cute with all the bubbles."

Gale chokes out a laugh, shudders out another one of those awful sobbing breaths. This time his shoulders flinch with it, and the roll through Gale's body like a tidal wave and John makes a noise of concern.

"Hey Buck," he says softly, scritching his nails along Gale's scalp, "Hey my man, my fella."

"It feels so good," Gale repeats, words clicking and wet and young.

Gale wasn't a man who needed coddling, and he certainly wasn't prone to outbursts of emotion and John is loathe to do anything that might put a stop to the release of emotion. So he lets Gale weep, lets him cry out all the poison he'd been carrying around and rubs his back and when he's finally done, bends to press a kiss the center of Gale's spine.

"Tired," Gale mumbles softly, sniffles wetly and the water splashes as he reaches up a hand to rub at his eyes.

"Okay," John says softly, "You wanna get out?"

Gale shakes his head and John hums, plucks at the blonde strands that had fallen out of the careful coif from the humidity.

"Alright," John says, guiding Gale's head to his higher where the other man sighs, nuzzling into his hip and relaxing bonelessly, "I've got you, won't let you slip, doll."

[ldysmfrst]

American Mate (15) -  The Pack Meeting and Troubled Pasts

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 15 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 10,486

Work count for Story: 117,926

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work because I almost died in August of 2024.

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have pack dynamics, Alphas fronting, and discussions of past trauma, violence, abuse, illegal sex work, underage escort services, and threats of death. THIS IS A HEAVY CHAPTER.

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

It's so warm, soft, and orangey. 

Wait, orange? 

‘When did the pillows ever smell this orange-like?’ You think this as sleep slowly fades away. 

The light from the sitting window shines as the sun rises over the hills. You haven’t felt this well-rested since you used to curl up on the couch with your father before he skipped out on the family. Well, maybe the kitty piles with Evie’s family were this good, but then again, maybe not.

Chasing the evil thoughts away, you snuggle into the pillow harder when you realize– it’s purring. 

That is when you feel a chin snuggle down on your head, something tightening around your waist, and a hand rubs your back. There is also the slight rise and fall that you failed to recognize, which should have reminded you from the start that you weren’t alone.

Slowly tilting your head up, you blink them to focus on the sleepiest and warmest dark red eyes. There is a sleepy smile on the Alpha’s face as he purrs more at your attention.

Your night scones back to you as you remember asking the now-purring panda to stay with you because being alone again or even sleeping after having nightmares was not something you were good at doing. Honestly, you don’t even remember falling asleep.

Moving back away, the Alpha’s grip holds strong before he says, “No, stay. Sleep more.”

“Alpha Chim, I really should get up,” you softly reply, not wanting to disagree with him, but you did have to pee. Even though you would love to relish in the body heat provided by the Alpha, proving Namjoon’s point from yesterday, you didn’t want his mates to find you two like this.

When you go to move your arms again, you find that you have one arm under his waist, one resting on his chest, one leg between his, and the other over his hip. Great! Either you were a tornado, and this is his way of containing you, or he is a cuddler. 

Snickers are heard off to the side of the bed, snapping your attention to see who else is in the room. Seokjin is leaning against one of the bedposts, his eyes like crescent moons as he smiles at the two of you.

“He is strong for being one of our tiny mates. Need to get away from Alpha Chim?” he asks quietly, moving closer to the middle of the bed. You nod, hesitant to speak up and wake the still-sleeping Alpha, who is very much attempting to be one being with you.

Tapping your leg, Seokjin signals you to move it off Alpha Chim’s hip, making you blush because you realize again how compromising your situation's look is to the eldest bonded mate in the Bangtan pack.

Your movement, however, causes the red panda to wiggle into a smaller ball with a slight pout and, in turn, releases your leg from between his. While making the soft-looking red panda even cuter, it also allows some wiggle room for the arm trapped under his waist. 

Looking at Seokjin, you can see the oldest mate taking in the many options for the situation you are unaware of. A smile graces your face as you see the puffy eyes from him recently waking up, the red line on his cheek from a crease in his pillow, and the non-brushed hair on his head. How his one sleeve is pushed up to his elbow shows off the lean strength of this forearm and the slimness of his wrist.

This is the real Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes trace the contours of his face before meeting his eyes, which are watching you ogle him. Immediately, you blush and hide your face in Jimin’s chest, putting yourself back towards the very hybrid that you are currently trying to flee from.

“My Dear, you have no reason to hide that pretty little face from me,” coos Seokjin. “I am happy you are taking the time to see me. However, hiding in Jimin’s chest won’t help you escape his grasp anytime soon.”

You let out a slight whine, pulling a more resounding, instinctually calming purr from Jimin. Glancing back up at him, his eyes are still shut, but his orange is sweeter with a hint more vanilla. Confusion colors your face as the slightly intoxicating scent tries to lure you back to sleep. 

“No, no. Don’t let the cuddly panda keep you here. He is notorious for being late to things, my Dear.” Seokjin says as he lifts said panda’s arm draped over your waist. “Lean back.”

Following the direction, you lean back as he rests Jimin’s hand on the space on the pillow that was previously occupied by your head. Well, you are primarily untangled aside from the trapped arm. Tilting your head a bit, you look at Seokjin with an expression that says, ‘now what?’

Seokjin raises a finger with a smirk, asks you to hold on, and then points for you to watch. Your eyes dart between the two Alpha mates, wondering what the heck is gonna happen. 

Seokjin leans down, chittering in Jimin’s ear, and softly kisses just behind his lobe, causing the panda to gasp slightly. Continuing to lay soft kisses on the sleeping mate, Seokjin kneels outside the nest with one hand on the wall behind you. 

While Seokjin technically does not cage you in, you are being hovered over by the Alpha. It feels similar but not overwhelming just yet because it feels safe.

Soft whines mixed with tiny groans escape Jimin’s sleeping form, bringing your attention out of your thoughts. Your eyes do not know if they want you to watch the slow flushing of Jimin’s skin as he is peppered with kisses or the smooth, taught muscles of Seokjin’s chest that you can glimpse now that gravity has pulled his sleeping shirt away.

It’s Jimin who finally wins with a high, keen sound escaping. Now his soft lips have parted, his breathing has sped up, and his hand on the pillow is grasping tight. How he is still sleeping through this amount of affection is beyond you. Even more confusing is why Seokjin isn’t upset that his ministrations are being, well, ignored by the younger.

“In a moment, you will know when, please move out of your nest, that is if you still want to,” Seokjin whispers, glancing at your heated face.

You nod, still fascinated by the sight before you. Half of you wants to know what it would feel like to be Jimin, another half wants to be Seokjin, and a whole different version of you that you haven’t felt in a long time wants to watch it play out. 

If you were several years younger, your bladder wasn’t screaming at you, and there wasn’t the mantra about them being bonded mates of Bangtan, you could see how any rational young woman would have jumped at the chance.

Seokjin can smell your evident attraction to what is happening, but because of what he overheard from the open window last night when you and Namjoon returned, he knows he cannot push it more than he already has. He wants you to know that the option is there, but he can see in your eyes that you are still not seeing them for who they are to you. 

Using the arm against the wall to keep himself propped up and not falling into your nest, Seokjin uses the other to lower Jimin’s sleep shirt, exposing his shoulder and neck. Tailing his kisses down to the juncture where they meet, Seokjin bites down enough to jerk Jimin’s body in a startled manner, which twists the panda onto his back. Jimin’s arms fly up to wrap around Seokjin’s upper body, almost as if he is grounding himself as he is woken up by the feisty actions of his older mate.

With a gasp and an inappropriate amount of arousal, you almost miss your chance to pull out your arm as Jimin jerks and twitches under Seokjin’s distraction-induced ministrations. The amount of strength the elder shows by holding himself aloft while the younger clings to him is astonishing.

Scrambling out of bed, you bolt into the bathroom and shut the door. Making your way to the sink, you don’t dare look in the mirror because you already know how flush your face is. You can feel the heat coming off of you in waves. You were taught better than this; you bit your bottom lip with the thought that your family would be beside themselves with distaste at your reactions. 

You are 10000000% sure that Seokjin could smell your reaction to what he was doing and was awake enough to understand whatever it was that he could get from that. You don’t think Jimin even realized you were still in the bed with the both of them, much less how your internal slut was reacting. You would only hope that Seokjin was okay with it. Being okay with it at the moment and being okay with it hours later are two vastly different things. 

You were human and a woman, after all. Jimin had mentioned that previous Playmates were homosexual. Would that be upsetting to them if you weren’t? Do they realize that you are, in fact, only straight and not any other version of sexual preference?

While you have no issues with any of the LQBTQ+ lifestyle, community, and an individual’s preferences, look at Derek and Lily; you were bland, plain old heterosexual. You weren’t opposed to the idea of noting how sexy or beautiful a biologically trans, cross-dressing, or drag queen female form was. You just weren’t interested in pursuing them because most of them you might be curious about were way out of your league.  

Out of your league, just like the Bangtan Pack.

Today, this meeting with the packhouse of Alphas has to happen. There is too much in the air that you need to really get settled before you find yourself doing something unladylike or, worse, getting fired. With that thought, you go about your morning routine.

Not wanting to disrupt Seokjin or Jimin if they were still in your bed, you dawned Namjoon’s bathrobe over your pajamas since it was still there and hot-footed out of your bedroom, closing the door as quickly as possible.

The rest of the pack house sounded quiet, prompting you to take time for yourself. After making a cup of Earl Gray tea with a bit of honey and milk, you grabbed a blanket from the living room and went outside to the pavilion you noticed while talking to Ryan the other day. 

Moving one of the chairs to face the sun as it rose, you bundled yourself in the blanket and sipped your tea. Your mind wandered about everything you wanted to discuss with the Bangtan pack. 

You had to share your past with them as you did with Namjoon, and then your family history explained the human fort/nest issue. There was also the desire to set some ground rules, like private me times or intimate with each other times.

You weren’t a prude. 

You knew they were mates and what that meant. They even told you they took care of their ruts within the pack. So, you just needed to know what to do when those times came along. Today was the second time you had been very much present, and at least one, if not both of them, had been 100% aware you were there when they did… stuff, and you didn’t want to impose. 

Though the fact they would even do stuff like that with you around would indicate that you were, in fact, not imposing, but that didn’t mean that the others like Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok would think the same way. It also didn’t mean that they would be comfortable with you just being there and watching them like they were your own personal live-action porno. 

You continued thinking of things you needed to do over the remainder of the day, maybe fix or change the fort, whose not-date date would be next, etc.

What you didn’t notice was the three sets of eyes watching you. 

Jungkook was heading inside when he heard you messing around in the kitchen, looking for whatever you were looking for. His little heart was racing a million beats per minute when you almost caught him in his animal form as he scrambled into a bush near the door when you came outside. 

He knows that you are not her, but at the same time, that doesn’t mean you won’t react like her. 

Yoongi and Taehyung watch you from the second story. Both are not fond of the idea that you are purposely sitting alone, outside, in the cold, by yourself, and deeply thinking about something that could very well lead you to a place that doesn’t involve them without anyone with you.

Did they note just how by yourself you thought you were?

They could tell you were unaware of the Alpha outside with you because you didn’t come running and screaming inside, or you didn’t end up with a rabbit the size of a dog in your lap. 

“Why is she alone, hyung?” asks Taehyung with a large pout of his lips and furrow of his brow.

“Humans tend to cherish their time alone. They don’t have the pack mentality that we are born with,” answers Yoongi with his tail snapping back and forth.

Huffing, Taehyung whines, “She even made her own drink. Does she not understand that it is my job to do that right now? How will I ever gain her forgiveness if she doesn’t let me show her that I care for her and can provide?”

The soft steps of another mate joining them paused the conversation. Jimin hugs Taehyung around the waist, burying his face between the taller mate's shoulder blades. Low-toned chittering and purring fills the silence, pulling their attention to the shortest mate.

“What's got you in such an interesting mood, Jimin-ah?” inquires Yoongi as he moves away from the window to look at the panda’s face. “Oh sorry, Alpha Chim.”

“That would be a combination of me and Y/n,” Seokjin says from the doorway. “Our minnie love decided to find his way into Y/n’s nest last night to sleep.”

“What?!” exclaims both Yoongi and Taehyung. The latter pulls out of the back hug to look at Alpha Chim’s flushed face. Taking a deep breath, Tae can smell the sweetness of his oranges mixed with cherries from Jinnie, but there is a sweetness almost like they were candied, which could only come from you.

“You did not,” Yoongi states more than he questions.

“He didn’t. Nothing was done between them other than holding onto each other like a pair of koalas as they slept fully clothed. I had to help Y/n wiggle herself out just to go to the bathroom,” chuckles Seokjin. “Someone didn’t want his ladymate to leave the nest this morning.”

“Then why is Alpha Chim out?” wonders Taehyung out loud. 

Crunching his face, Seokjin says, “Not sure, actually. He was out when she woke up. I wonder if Alpha Chim was sleeping with y/n for some reason.”

“Protect, mate,” Alpha Chim finally speaks up. “Nightmares. Crying. Alpha, protect Luna– mate.”

A collective understanding spreads in the room. Taehyung closes the distance between him and Alpha Chim, kissing his forehead. Yoongi follows suit and kisses the Alpha on the cheek.

“Such a good Alpha. Consoling, reassuring, and protecting her,” says Yoongi. “Thank you for stepping in for me like a proper mate, Alpha Chim.”

Alpha Chim nods and smiles brightly as his eyes bleed back into Jimin’s natural color. Looking around at the other three mates, Jimin says, “She wants a pack meeting. I think last night spooked her a bit, and Taehyung and I are to blame. Don’t worry, I will join Taehyung in servicing to compensate for it.”

A growl startles the room as it comes from Taehyung. His jaw is set firmly, and he says, “She won’t even let me service her much less adding you into it. She made her own tea or coffee or whatever she is drinking now. She didn’t even try to wake me up.”

“Does she know to wake you up?” asks Seokjin, to which Taehyung shakes his head no. “You cannot blame her for letting you sleep or do whatever then. She is human. She doesn’t want to impose more than she thinks she is already. Remember what manager-nim said.”

“Maybe this pack meeting is a good idea,” conveys Yoongi. “We may not be able to tell her she is our bondable mate right now, but maybe we can clarify more about the rights of being a pack mate she has yet to discover, like waking any of us up if she needs it.”

“Or not running away when there is skinship or intimate moments between us,” mumbles Jimin with a frown. “She ran out like the nest was on fire when Hyung woke me with kisses and a little nibble. You would have sworn he was trying to fuck me in front of her already with how she reacted.”

“You two,” Seokjin points to Yoongi and Jimin, “Go and wake the others. I will make something quick for breakfast. Taehyung, please get her out of the cold. Bring in Kook as well before he has a stroke in the bushes.”

Still lost in thought, you are unaware of the eyes still watching you. 

Jungkook has inched closer to you, wanting to watch your features light up as the sun hits them. He knew you were pretty before, but seeing you as the world wakes up was something completely different. 

He is going to ask for or acquire cuddles with you today. He has to. With his warm and fuzzy feelings, any other choice was not an option. Being the youngest, he typically got away with more things than the others were able to, and he has been happy so far that you are allowing him the amount of skinship he has taken so far without complaints.

He hopes it is because you subconsciously feel the bond between the two of you, not because you see him like a namdongsaeng. He never wants you to see him in that light because it would cause more complications than anyone wants to deal with. It is already enough that all of Bangtan are younger than you.

You, being their noona, are sexy in the way that an oppa is sexy to younger women. Unfortunately, a dongsaeng is not sexy in any way. He wants to be sexy to you– they all do.

Taehyung watched his youngest mate feed into his animalistic side as he hopped through the bushes, his little fluffy tail twitching excitedly. He chuckled at the enormous flemish rabbit hiding in the bushes, stalking his newest mate, who was totally in another world. You must feel safe at the pack house because you seem to have lowered your guard. It fills him with pride, even if you do not realize what you are doing.

He can see your profile when he comes out of the door. Stopping his approach, he observed your microexpressions changing as each thought must have been coiling through your mind. What had such a sobering effect on you?

He whistles as he walks to you to gain your attention without startling you. Noticing your body unconsciously tense at the sound, you look up to find him and relax with a gentle smile. He wants to puff his chest at the fact that you visibly relax with him, which means that you aren’t still mad at him, he thinks. 

Apparently, today is the day for lounging and no primping as Taehyung slowly makes his way towards you with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye. He is also dressed in sleepwear, although he has now decided to wear a shirt—a flash of his toned chest filters through your mind. Trying not to blush at the memory, you smile at the tiger.

“Good morning, Taehyung,” you greet him with little puffs of breath showing in the still-chilled air. 

“Morning, Dove,” replies Taehyung with a lift of his head as he steps into the pavilion. “Why are you sitting out here in the cold?”

You hear his words as you look around, trying to find the mourning dove he spoke of. Frowning, you answer, “I rarely get to see the sun rise from my packhouse. There are too many buildings around me. Plus, I needed to think about some things before the day started.”

“What’s wrong?” questions Taehyung, now looking around for whatever you are looking for, spotting Jungkook and nodding his head toward the door, hoping the little devil would take the hint to go inside already. 

“The chueybird,” you say with a bit of sass because what else would you be looking for? Glancing back at the Alpha standing before you, you notice the absolute lack of understanding and giggle.

“A chueybird is what my dad used to call mourning doves. They are a part of the dove family, Columbidae. They have many names but mostly are called the American mourning dove, the rain dove, the turtle dove, and the chueybird,” you explain with a slight tint of sadness.

It isn’t often that you speak about your father. He was an ornithologist, and chueybirds, though common, were one of his favorites. They were the easiest to spot with their lovely, unique coloring. It was also the first bird your father thought you about when he would take you bird watching in the local parks. 

A chuckle from Taehyung stops you from searching. Looking at him, you notice the coy smile and crescent moon eyes. “Y/n, I was calling you Dove and saying morning to you.”

You feel your eyes go almost comically wide with a flush to your cheeks as you muse, “Oh… I guess I am a morning type bird but really am more like a terminally exhausted pigeon.”

“Are you not sleeping well?” Concerned, Taehyung kneels in front of you. His hands hold your face as he inspects to see the darkened circles under your eyes, along with their puffiness. He also notes the dryness of your skin, though it is still soft.

He thought that sleeping with Jimin last night would have allowed you to have better sleep, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Maybe it is because of the events with Namjoon and the nightmare that stole your resting sleep.

The warmth of his hands on your face shows just how cold you have gotten sitting outside for who knows how long. You relish in the feeling for a moment longer before you lean back, saying, “It’s normal for me, though. I haven’t been able to sleep well for a few years. Maybe when my pack is around it’s better…”

You trail off on the thought because you know for at least the next several weeks, you won't be able to have sleepovers with your pack while having to stay with Bangtan. While you knew you would be giving up on things being here, you never reasonably thought about the home life you would leave behind. 

Clearing your throat, “We should maybe get inside? That is why you came out here, isn’t it? Do you have a schedule today that I need to get ready for? I forgot to check my phone.”

Moving his hands to your shoulders, Taehyung helps you stand while keeping the blanket secure. When he held you, your lips were pale, and your skin was like ice. The tea had long gone cold and had done nothing to keep you warmed. 

“I came out here because my Mistress did not wake me to prepare her tea for her or to keep her warm while she contemplated whatever it was you were contemplating in the cold morning air,” grumbles Taehyung.

Scoffing at him, you dispute with, “I’m sorry, but I am not the Idol here who needs his beauty sleep so that a galizzion bajillion stans can fawn over him, now am I?”

Taehyung’s lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed at your remark. You must have stepped over a line you didn’t understand was there. Dropping your head, you fidget by adjusting your grip on the mug, waiting for whatever harsh words he is preparing to say to you.

“It’s time to go inside. Seokjin-hyung is preparing breakfast. The rest of the pack is waiting for us and after we eat, we will discuss a few things,” coldly informs Taehyung. “Jimin mentioned you wanted a pack meeting and that is what we will do.”

Turning your shoulders towards the door, he gestures to it and says, “After you.”

Breakfast was awkward, to say the least. 

Namjoon couldn’t stop watching you eat while wearing his bathrobe. 

Taehyung wouldn’t let you get any of your own food, insisting he was doing this job. 

Jimin and Jungkook wouldn’t even look your way without blushing or startling.

Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin were the most normal, but even then, no one really talked about anything. 

You insisted on helping Seokjin and Namjoon clear the table but were abruptly stopped by Taehyung, who ushered you to the single plush chair in the living room and made you sit down. Once sitting, you found your lap instantly becoming Jungkook's pillow as Taehyung went to help in your place. 

“Y/n, why are you frowning?” asks Jungkook softly, stilling his nuzzling into your plush thighs once he notices your facial expression. 

Looking at the soft Alpha almost half in your lap while still sitting on the floor, you run your fingers into his hair, causing his eyes to flutter slightly. 

“I just feel useless right now, Thumper.” You say, moving to sit more comfortably in the armchair. “Here, come sit between my legs; it will be more comfortable for both of us.”

Jungkook’s ears stand straight up at your offer. He blushes slightly as his ears slowly fold onto his head, asking, “Are you sure, Y/n? I don… that is a very… umm… close way of cuddling.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you purse your lips at him, “Thumper, I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t comfortable with the idea. In fact, it would be nice right now to have your comfort with me or Yoongi’s, but you are here now.”

Nodding, Jungkook twisted around until he was situated between your legs with his knees to his chest. Laying his head on one thigh, he closed his eyes as you resumed finger-brushing his hair. He notes that you are careful not to touch his ears; however, you get so close that he thumps the foot on the ground and grabs your ankles. 

“Hmm,” you hear over your shoulder. Turning, you see Yoongi standing just behind the chair with his eyes on your hand in his youngest mate's hair. Slowly, you remove them from the soft locks, pulling a whine from Jungkook, who looks up at you with puppy dog eyes despite the fact he is indeed a Flemish Giant Rabbit. 

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” comments Yoongi. “I was just wondering why you chose to sit in the chair meant for one.”

The look of, maybe, hurt in his eyes catches you off guard. Shaking your head, “It was Taehyung who sat me here. I had no choice. Then I got seatbelted in by a rather large bunny.”

“Hey, you could have moved to a different seat, and I would have followed just fine, Sugar,” Jungkokok says, squeezing your ankles. 

You shrug and put your hands up, “I don’t know this. When an Alpha, especially one with Tae’s reputation, puts you somewhere– guess what? You stay there,” you say, looking between the two, hoping they get what you mean. 

“Yeah, well, right now, it's you who is in control of said Alpha and his reputation,” Yoongi says with a scowl. “Where do you want to sit? Who do you want to sit with?”

Looking at Yoongi like he had almost lost it, Namjoon walked into the living room, followed by Seokjin and the rest. “Y/n, please sit where you want and direct the pack to where you will be most comfortable. It is you, after all, who called the pack meeting,” declared the Prime Alpha.

Your eyes go wide. You called the pack meeting? But you aren’t of a status in the pack to call meetings, right? You are temporary, and you are not Luna here. Umm… shit. You have overstepped, which must be why breakfast was quiet.

“With your permission, Prime Alpha,” you start in an attempt to mend whatever you had done, only to be cut off by Taehyung as he storms over to you, causing Jungkook to hop out of the way comically. 

Dropping to his knees, Taehyung bares his neck slightly. He still wants to look at you and says, “Y/n, my Dove, you called the meeting. Everyone within this pack has a right to call a pack meeting; this includes you. Please.”

Searching his face, you see that he is honest. A movement behind him catches your attention as you focus on seeing Jungkook follow suit and kneel with his neck fully bared to you—your mouth gaps when you hear a whine from behind Namjoon.

Looking in that direction, you see Jimin nibbling on his bottom lip, watching his two mates show signs of submission to you. Taking in the reactions of Namjoon, Seokjin, and Hoseok, they also look worried but not.

After another beat, their eyes all snap at you.

Waiting.

While avoiding seeing Yoongi’s reactions to the unusual display, you look at Taehyung and say, “I would like us to sit comfortably.”

“How would that look to you, Y/n?” questions Hoseok. 

“Well, that is a good question,” you reply. You want Yoongi with you more now than before, but you know that Taehyung’s rules require him to sit at your feet, but Jungkook was there.

“Yoongi, Jungkook, and I will sit on the long couch. Taehyung, you will take your place as you should. Then I will leave the rest of you to find your comfort among the rest of the available seating,” you say with as much confidence as a kit. 

Yoongi steps around the chair and pulls you to your feet, keeping your hands connected as he follows your directions. It's like someone pushed play. Everyone starts moving without a word spoken.

Yoongi sat to your right. Jungkook sat to your left. Well, he laid down to your left with his head in your lap and pulled your good hand back to his hair with a cheeky smile. Taehyung copied Jungkook’s earlier position of sitting between your legs with one arm wrapped around your calf. 

Namjoon took the single chair while Seokjin, Jimin, and Hoesok made it work on the loveseat. Once everyone settled, time seemed to halt. Everyone looked at everything, but each other, and the seriousness of the meeting settled over the room. 

“Y/n, have you ever held a pack meeting before?” asked Jungkook softly.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you hum, “Ah, well, yes, but never with Alpha’s.”

“It isn’t any different because we are Alpha’s,” Jungkook says encouragingly. “Just talk to us.”

“I think I would do better answering questions than just talking,” you nervously chuckle. Glancing at the three Alphas you surround yourself with, you felt a slight ping of hurt that you had left out the others, but they weren’t yours to gather in a puppy pile or horde like a dragon.

“Actually, Jungkook, can you sit up, please? And Taehyung, can you turn to face me?” You ask with firmness. You want to see them as they are Alpha’s. Not the cuddly bunny that had already found an express pass to skinship that you never knew you had, nor the dominating Alpha seeking forgiveness for letting his instincts control his actions when he wasn’t aware of the situation. 

The others meet your gaze once they move as you requested, ending with Namjoon. You look at the Prime Alpha with a look you hope conveys the topic you will bring up. He nods once, slowly.  Glancing back at Jimin, you are met with a warm smile because he is the one who gave you the idea to do this. 

Well, here goes nothing.

“I wanted to have this pack meeting to tell you all something about me and my past at the same time,” you start, albeit shakily. 

Yoongi squeezes your knee, pulling your attention. “You only have to share what you think, nothing more nothing less.”

“We may ask questions,” interjects Hoseok. “But you don’t have to answer if you are not comfortable.”

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you smile. “I will try to be as clear as possible. I just ask that you wait till I finish before asking questions, if possible?”

Everyone nods, settling into an attentive stance. Their eyes look concerned but patient. Jungkook has scooched a hair closer to you. Yoongi already had his leg pressed against yours, even with him angled as he is to be able to look at you. Taehyung looked slightly conflicted with himself. It wasn’t until you shifted your leg forward to where it brushed his criss-crossed legs that he settled down. 

Looking at your lap, you fiddled with your brace as you started.

“My history hasn’t been one of hearts, stars, horseshoes, rainbows, and balloons. It’s been more of bruises, beatings, blood, abuse, and assault. Jimin was unfortunate enough to hear some of what happened when he woke me from my nightmare last night, which is why you found him in my room, Seokjin.

“I know you all know a little because of my medical check-up being in the contract, and Namjoon knows a bit more because I shared it with him last night. I figured it would be good for all of you to know. This way, everyone is informed equally, and I would only really have to tell all of it at once, here.”

You could hear movements rustling at the implications of your words, but you didn’t dare look to see who was getting antsy or what may have happened because you just needed to keep going.

“I guess I should start at the beginning. I am the youngest of two. My older brother is somewhat of a modern-day gypsy and hikes anywhere, sleeping in a tent, has shaggy hair, is built like a Mac truck, and takes odd jobs. According to my mother, he is living his dreams of being an explorer to help chart nearly impossible things for the advancement of environmental sciences. He does that, too, but it's just his way of escaping her. 

“My mother is a socialite. She has never worked a day in her life and never will. She comes from old money and married my father because he was in her social standing to do as such. I am pretty sure she never really loved him, but my father thought the world of her.

“He is a scientist who studies birds. He taught my brother and I basic respect for hybrids, animal rights, and survival methods for backpacking. Last I knew, he was in a different country, so he couldn’t take us with him, besides the fact that mother wouldn’t let him during the divorce. She said he was too wild to be a proper parental figure.

“For me, I have never been a thin, lean female growing up. Like my brother, I got my stockiness and size from my father. My father said it just meant that I was sturdy enough for childbearing, but my mother said it was because I had too much of my father in me. She would throw me into the latest dieting or workout trend like I was some pseudocelebrity that needed to maintain a particular look.

“I was quickly the target of bullies as early as grade school due to my physical build and hitting puberty earlier than the rest of the class. I could never go to my mother about these issues because I was bringing them on myself. It was always met with cold shoulders, stricter diets, and harsher workouts. 

“I didn’t understand how warm a hug was until Evie came into my life. I learned some skinship pack behaviors from the Foust Pack, but humans didn’t readily accept the cuddling. When I hit high school, it only got worse when I would try to have skinships with new human friends. So my mother and her sister taught me to use my feminine wiles and skinship behaviors to get the attention of desirable sons of her country club. 

“It worked like a drug with those high society boys. They enjoyed the tastefully revealing clothes and the looseness of my inhibitions as they called them. My aunt and mother said they were just showing me affection and I should be grateful for any type of acknowledgement that I could get. If I mentioned it was uncomfortable then it was because I was ungrateful.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath to gather where you want to head next with the conversation, you note the air is burnt and stormy all at once. It stills you, your brain registering that you are surrounded by very, very unhappy Alphas, which causes you to squirm in your seat. 

Glancing up, you meet Teahyung’s eyes briefly and note they are streaked with crystal blue. It's a startling sight that causes you to look around at the rest of the Alphas to find they are the same. Their eyes are fractured between their natural human colors and their Alpha eyes. It looks like lightning for some, and others are split in half or with one eye of each color. 

The squeeze of your ankle pulls your widened eyes back to Taehyung, who shakes his eye slowly and leans forward with a tilt. The rest of the room remains silent. 

Diverting your eyes back to your hands, you fiddle with the sash to your, Namjoon’s, robe and continue your story:

“In high school, when things would get nasty with the vulgar name-calling, slut shaming, and pranks my classmates would pull, it was harder for me to follow my mother’s rule to tear down the blanket fort. She would catch me and call me things like mongrel or filthy pack-rat. 

“My grandmother was the same way. She used to throw me in the closet for the weekend if she found it. She made me swear that I would keep what she was doing a secret. She would do… things to me if I either left the fort up too late or told anyone of the closet, but she passed away about five years ago. 

“As some of you know, my mother would follow meemaw and make me tear down the fort. She wouldn’t go as far as the closet but would do other restrictions. Reminding me of my place and worth within the family. She would have had a cow if she knew I had a fort at Evie’s house to use whenever I wanted. The habit of tearing it down is still with me to the point that, even now, I know it is still up and shouldn’t be– according to my mother.

“Aside from the restrictive socialite type raising to be prim, proper, and human, my mother was insistent on having me marry someone of stature and 100% human. Ultimately, she was delighted that I met Eric because he was from a societal class. His parents were chiefs of their respective departments at the hospital. The biggest bonus was Eric wasn’t a hybrid. 

“After my very short-lived rebellion stage and deciding to date an Omega Polar Bear hybrid, she thought he was my forever. Eric was perfect– at first. I guess that should have been my first red flag. He helped my mother when she was ill and bought her a condo when we got engaged. He was so kind, respectful, attentive, but that changed. 

“It started with underhanded and crooked compliments, leaving bruises from harsh grabbing to busted lips due to backhands. He was always forgiven because, according to my family, I should have apologized for doing whatever it was that was pushing him into that level of anger.

“I was with him for a long time. I thought he loved me because he got me gifts and would take pleasure with me whenever he wanted to. After we got engaged, I found out I was pregnant and was at seven weeks. I was so happy. 

“I just knew that this news of a baby would make Eric happy with me again. He would treat me better because we had proof of our love. When I told him, he reacted like I had told him that I gave him every STD known and unknown to man. This was after waiting hours for him to come home from work at 2 am after having drinks with the boys.

“He punched me for the first time that night, right in the stomach where the baby was. Then he pushed outside and down the stairwell, screaming at me about how I was ugly, fat, and pathetic. He even told me to get rid of the devil’s spawn that I was carrying. I ran. Left everything behind. Evie took me to the hospital, and I ended up with two fractured ribs, an ankle sprain, and a miscarriage.”

By this point, a thrum of energy had filled the room. Barely withheld growls could be heard by only those in the room. The pack remained this way for an unknown amount of time.

Each hybrid takes in what they hear, all of them struggling with their Alpha to not go and hunt down Eric, your mom… Oh, hell, your whole family. 

“Sugar,” Jungkook starts gently speaking to you as if you were a piece of glass about to break. “Thank you for telling us everything. I don’t want to diminish what you said, and I am sure that some of us have questions for you but can I share something with you first?”

You nod, grateful for the attention to be off you for the moment.

“You know the age-old saying about fucking like bunnies?” he questions with his ears coming to stand straight up on his head, attentively listening to your reactions.

“Yeah, it’s derogatory now, though,” you answer with a confused but concerned look. 

Jungkook smiles at your expression, “It is now, but it isn’t inaccurate. See, I was raised in a fluffle that was a feeder to a large underground brothel. I have more brothers, sisters, and half siblings than I could name or remember. The Madam used rabbit hybrids because we have a short refractory period, and our Omegas have heats up to twice a month. So it wasn’t hard for them to accept the attention of the trick they were assigned to.”

“I presented as an Alpha Buck, around nine years old. This came as a shock because most rabbit hybrids are Betas or Omegas. I was trained in etiquette and sexual practices right away because I was so rare and would fetch a high price. I was to be used for the elite clients only and allowed to go out on dates with tricks like an escort service,” continued Jungkook, his ears twitching with each of your micro reactions. 

“Jungkook, you were so young,” you mumble. He reaches out, offering you his hand, which you take instantly. You are not sure if it is him or you who is seeking the connection of comfort from the other.

“I was in the eyes of the human world. As a hybrid, once we present it isn’t considered traditionally taboo. Just like puberty signals humans that the physical body is ready for mating. It works similarly in the hybrid world, except we follow a more animalistic view and start mating or seeking a bonded mate at that age as well. However, with the new human laws in place which help protect hybrids, it is considered illegal,” Jungkook says, squeezing your hand.

“I didn’t know about the new hybrid laws because my fluffle had been a part of the underground brothel for several generations. Laws meant nothing to Madam which meant they were worthless for us to know,” he continued.

“When our agency bought me to become a trainee and ultimately join Bangtan Pack as an Idol, it took a while for the hyungs to get me to understand that we were mates and not to see them as another trick or to think that they weren’t seeing me as a pseudo-Omega. Mates, especially bonded mates, aren’t typical for rabbit hybrids because we have a hard time sticking to a single partner. I think that is why I was lucky enough to have six of them. They showed me what it meant to be a mate, to be loved, to be cherished, and to be protected,” he smiled at each of them before settling his eyes back on you.

“I understand what it means to be groomed into what someone else wants you to be and not be allowed to be comfortable in your skin, Y/n. You don’t have to be what your mother wants you to be, what your aunt or grandmother forced you to act like. With us, you can find who you want to be.” Jungkook leans forward, one of his ears folding in half as he looks at you. “You can be as cuddly as a kitty or solitary as a wolverine, and we will all be by yourself along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly as you say, “I don’t think you would make a week without cuddles, Mr. Sneaky.”

“Hey! I can go without cuddling for a week. I am not the one who has been holding on to you this whole meeting am I?” the bunny says, sticking his tongue out at Taehyung, who playfully sticks his out in return.

“Let’s not get into who is more cuddlier than the other right now. This is a pack meeting and serious topics,” interrupts the Prime Alpha. “Y/n, thank you for sharing everything with us. I knew some of if from the contract and what you shared with me last night but I can see it's much more than what I even thought of.”

“Dear, are you… do you have anything… have we done anything to upset you?” asks Seokjin.

You blush at his question because it’s not that they have ever upset you. They listened when you have spoken up so far, but there are still blurred lines that you are nervous about talking about.

“Wait, before you answer that, can I ask what happened this morning?” Jimin jumps in with puppy-dog eyes. “I thought we were alright sleeping in your nest, but then you bolted.”

“WHAT!?!” screeches Hoseok and Namjoon.

You immediately pale at their reactions and shrink into a smaller ball, pulling out of Taehyung’s grip and curling your knees to your chest. Your scent turns with bergamot that you went too far and crossed a boundary in your panic after the nightmares.

A growl from your side snaps everyone out of the now-resounding commotion of trying to explain what had happened between you and Jimin in the middle of the night.

“Cut. It. Out,” declares Yoongi. “You guys are acting as if the two of them sharing a nest is scandalous when, in fact, it is a very positive action for the two of them! It has been ages since Jimin has built a nest for anyone outside of the pack nest, and for Y/n to accept it plus invite him to share it with her for whatever her reason was… that is a step forward we all want.”

Muffled by your face buried in your knees, you ask tentatively, “You want that?

Yoongi softly runs his hand over your back, “Yes, Princess. I am sorry we haven’t been as clear as we probably should have been, but I know I am not good with words unless it’s a rap.”

“Doll,” calls Hoseok. “Can you look at me?”

You tilt your head just enough to see the marten hybrid move Jimin onto Seokjin’s lap as he leans toward you, his hands clasped lightly together. You have seen the look on his face in the rare Teacher Jung videos right before he is about to get strict with the dancers for messing up the choreography. 

“There are those beautiful eyes,” he says with a smile that momentarily softens the intense look. “We have done much of this out of order– like all of it. We need to discuss boundaries with you. Since we are an established group, it is easy for us to forget that you are new to not only Alphas but to Bangtan.”

“Hoseok-hyung is right,” adds Namjoon. “We really should have said most of this before the contract was signed but it wouldn’t change anything really.”

You lift your head farther up to see the seriousness of the pack. “I would like boundaries or more like… protocols,” you agreed.

“Protocols?” questions Taehyung. Being the most dominant of the Alphas in the pack, protocols are typically within his realm of declarations. 

You nod, clarifying, “Yeah. Protocols, rules, or whatever you want to call them, but with certain situations.”

“Situations like this morning with Jimin-hyung?” pushes the tiger sitting before you.

“That is one of them, yeah. I would like to know what I am supposed to do when you guys want time together or when things get intense. Then there are the times, also like this morning, when I am getting up and need something or when I wa… or whatnot,” you elaborate before you sputter your words because you didn’t know how to ask for private time.

“Let’s start with that then,” Namjoon guides, letting your stumble slide for now. “We always want time together because we are bonded mates, Angel.”

“Joon-ah, she is talking about when we want to be more intimate and do things like kissing and such,” Seokjin speaks up. “This morning, Jiminnie here was trapping her in the nest and I used more intimate means to get our cuddly panda to let go.”

“Oh, would this also be about times like when we kiss each other and flirt?” questions Jungkook.

By this time, your face blushes into a beautiful rose color, and you nod, “Yes, that. Those times. The times that should be privately held.”

A chuckle comes from Hoseok, “But we are in private, Doll. All of those actions have happened within the pack house, have they not?”

“Well… yes, they have, but I was there when two of you kissed in a sweet moment over the top of me, and then it was something heated and not so innocent with those two this morning,” you whine.

“What did you want to happen then, Naekkeo?” questions Jimin, his eyes slightly darkened with remembering your scent turning to arousal as you watched them.

“I wanted to,” you gulp. “I wanted to do what was comfortable for your mates. I don’t want to stay for something that I shouldn’t be.”

“So you wanted to stay?” asks Sekojin with a finality that makes it almost not a question.  

The slip-up in your wording, of course, gets caught before you can save yourself. All you can do is widen your eyes at this implication because that is precisely what you wanted to do, but you don’t want to say it because you don’t have that kind of relationship with them like that. 

“Enough, guys,” Hoseok steps in and looks at Namjoon. “Prime Alpha, do you oppose Y/n being present when affection is shared between us?”

“I do not,” answers the wolf hybrid. “I think the pack would enjoy it if you stayed, Y/n.”

A mummer of agreement comes from the rest of the pack, causing your jaw to drop. “You want me to be there? Like ogling you as if you were in a movie?”

“You can watch or you can tell us what you want to see,” Jungkook says.

“You can even move us how you want us,” suggests Taehyung. “It’s more fun when everyone present is involved anyways, isn’t it?”

You sputter at the thought, your mind throwing you back to this morning and the possibility that you could have joined in. You glance at the two cuddled on the couch. Seokjin has the small Alpha in his lap. You can see they are both thinking at the same time you are. Their eyes are equally dark as Seokjin raises his eyebrow at you. You know he is implying something, but you look away quickly.

Your eyes come to meet Namjoon, who seems to know something transpired between the three of you. He says, “Are you okay with this boundary or do you want us to hide our intimacy behind bedroom doors?”

Frowning at his question, you take a moment. Do you want them to hide from you? You are in their pack house, and it is their one safe space to be a mate-bonded pack. 

Did you want to take that freedom away from them?

“I don’t want to take your spontaneity away from you and make you stay behind closed doors. I am okay with those boundaries but I want to reserve the ability to walk away without hurting anyone’s feelings,” you agree conditionally. 

“I think we can accept that,” says Yoongi.

Nodding, you add, “It has been a while since I have been around such intimate gestures, and sometimes it becomes overwhelming for me– like the skinship thing.”

“Does that mean we can still get head scritches and cuddles?” asks Jungkook.

“What do you mean we? You are the only one who has gotten any of that,” whines Taehyung.

You giggle at the comment and join in, “The Tigger tiger has a point there, Thumper. You seemed to have found a fast pass to all of that.”

“Tigger? Did you just call me Tigger? After that stuffed toy thingy from the Honey Bear cartoon?” Taehyung glares at you.

“What? Sorry. You just reminded me of him when you came bouncing, sleepily into my room yesterday with your hair all flouncy and bouncy,” you giggle more as the others join in.

“So you have a Tigger, Thumper, and Kisa. When do the rest of us get nicknames?” asks Hoseok with a pout. “You are already my Doll.”

“Huh?” you look at him questioningly. “But Seokjin has called me a doll, too.”

“He did what?” Teacher Hoseok, who now you are figuring is more like Alpha Hope, slowly turns his head to the offending mate.

“It was an accident! I didn’t realize you had claimed Y/n as that,” pouts the eldest, acting more like the youngest. “I will only use Dear from now, I promise.”

“You better, hyung or not. We will talk later about you using the wrong claim,” says Hoseok.

“Sugar,” Jungkook pulls your attention to him. “We each have nicknames that we use with each other. It was decided in private, back when you went out with Seokjin-hyung, that we would each claim a nickname for you.”

“I take it yours is Sugar?” you question, and Jungkook confirms.

“I call you Princess. Hoseok is Doll with Seokjin now as Dear,” adds Yoongi.

“I call you Naekkeo,” says Jimin.

Teahyung grabs your ankles and pulls them back to his lap, “You are my Dove.”

You look to Namjoon, and he smiles, “You got named my Angel last night, Y/n.”

“Oh,” you nibble your lower lip. You are embarrassed but in a loving way, which you have never felt before. Pouting, you comment, “You all already have something picked out for me but I haven’t figured one for all of you.”

“You don’t need one until you are ready,” says Namjoon. “But back on topic, Taehyung wanted to talk to you about something of concern.”

Your eyes drop to the tiger, giving you a soft massage of your calves.

“Well, other than explaining how you ended up sleeping with Jimin to the rest of the pack, why did you not wake me this morning when you got up? Again?” asks Taehyung. 

You blush again for who knows how many times this meeting at Taehyung’s choice of wording before you respond saying, “Jimin can explain how he ended up in my bed… wait that sounds just as bad as sleeping with him. We just had a sleepover more or less.”

“As you this morning, I told you that I wanted to let you get your sleep. I know how crazy your schedules can be, and I didn’t want to steal the extra time from you,” you answered.

“Y/n. You never need to be alone or let us sleep if you need something. For one, right now, I am at your service. For two, Yoongi-hyung is supposed to be helping because of your hand. For three, well, you shouldn’t hesitate to wake us, ask us questions, ask for something, or heck, you could have even crawled into bed with one of us if you needed more sleep since you had two horn dogs in your nest.”

Shaking your head, smiling, “I wasn’t chased out of bed this morning. I left because I didn’t know what to do.”

Your eyes drop to your lap as you ponder how to word your next question. It’s not long before a black tail goes under your chin, pulling you from your thoughts to look at Yoongi.

“What has you thinking so hard?” inquires the jaguar.

“If... If I were to want some private time, how would I go about that?” you ask, tentatively keeping eye contact with Yoongi. Your breath is just a hint more shallow than before. 

“Private time?” asks Hoseok. “Mostly, we just close our den doors, but we never lock them in case of an emergency. I thought that was pretty obvious. Aren’t most households like that?”

Your blush deepens because Hoseok’s innocence shows, making you feel a bit pervy that you are asking what you are asking. 

Yoongi is studying your face, eyes, and posture. He sees the micro changes in your expression, the emotions playing behind your eyes, and the subtle movement of your thighs as you ask your question and listen to Hoseok’s reply.

“Are you worried that we might… hear something, Princess?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

Your gulp alone is enough to answer his question. He smiles, saying, “Princess, you don’t need to worry about private times like that. It’s natural and healthy for you to have them, so it’s nothing to be shy about. We may be Alphas, we may be flirty– some of us more than others, and we may be hybrids with excellent hearing but we won’t listen to you on purpose. ”

“Jungkook does,” you whisper.

“Ah, no, he doesn’t,” comments Jungkook. “I only heard you mumbling rather loudly to yourself about something dealing with the sheet or pillow or something, which is why I sent your servant boy to you.”

Clearing his throat, Namjoon speaks up, “Y/n, we are all adults here. The quietest room in the pack house is the pack nesting room because it has soundproofing. With your den down here, hearing certain pitches would be more challenging. You would be safe in your den if you want to handle those urges alone.”

In Namjoon’s head and the rest of Bangtan, the images of you ‘handling’ those urges course through them. They couldn’t wait until the day, night, or afternoon when you wouldn’t feel the need to hide those sounds from them or when you would be making those sounds from under or on top of them, well, just anywhere as long as it was because of them. 

A soft growl comes from Taehyung, who still massages your calf, and asks, “Dove, do you have what you need to deal with those– urges?”

Arousal shoots through your body at his question. Fuck is the first thing you can think. No, you don’t have things to help with that, and you were right-handed, but you weren’t thinking about actually doing anything inside the pack house.

Maybe.

However, when Taehyung asked that question, your lovely mind decided you had 70 fingers, seven mouths, and seven… yeah, no, you physically shake your head, trying to get the thoughts away. Your scent long gave away your train of thought to the hybrids surrounding you. 

Jimin wriggled in Seokjin’s lap as he felt the oldest's member react to your scent along with his own, causing their pajama pants to feel a bit too tight.

Taehyung’s grip tightened into a deeper massage on your calves. 

Yoongi and Jungkook squirmed in their seats, glancing at each other with heat before focusing back on you.

Namjoon licked his lips as if he could taste your scent. 

“Taehyung, that is not a question that I would think that Y/n is comfortable enough answering nor does she have to,” Hoseok informs, giving you an out despite his desire to know just how you would want to handle yourself right now. 

“Ah,” you gulp again, looking at Hoseok. “Thank you, Hoseok. I will figure it all out, Taehyung.”

With a slightly deeper push of Taehyung’s fingers against the inside of your ankle with one hand while the other pressed from the middle of the sole to the pad of your foot, causing an electric shock of pleasure to run from the base of your spine to the top of your head. Your eyes flutter at the feeling.

 “Remember, if you need anything I can always help you out,” coys the tiger. “I give excellent massages and I know all the right pressure points.”

You, slower than you will ever admit, pull yourself out of the hold he has on your foot as you glance around the living room, waiting for someone to protest Taehyung’s very blatant offer to help you sexually, but none comes.

Not trusting your voice, you nod and stand up, pointing to your room. Then you blanch and hope Taehyung doesn’t take it as you accept said offer. Looking at Namjoon with a question-filled face, he smiles and nods, to which you, not so subtly, walk with haste and shut the door.

Fucking hell.

They mentioned that the Maknae line was the horny or flirty part of Bangtan, but this was…You said the youngest trio needed a bucket of ice water earlier, but maybe you were the one who needed the bucket.

Previous / Next

Perminate Taglist - OPEN

@bethanysnow @braveangel777 @danielle143 @elliegrace1999 @skyys-universe @reallysparklychaos @stylishhwa @paramedicnerd004 @afangirl91 @psychosupernatural @marvel-potter-1d-korea 

Series Taglist - Closed

@nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages @kittycatkrissa @captain-joongz @roseidol @hecateslittlewitchling @ayoo-bangtan @someshinesomedont @cerulean1riz @butterfliesinthenightsky @elliegrace1999

[defectivevillain]

instinct & reason

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader is masc-intended; race is ambiguous and no pronouns/physical descriptors are used.

summary: Yes, the undeniable facts are staring you straight in the face: Hannibal offered you shelter, food, water, and clothing without a word of expected repayment. Safe to say, you’ll be indebted to him for the duration of your stay here. But there’s no way to ensure he will remain so generous.

word count: 3.1k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/death, cannibalism, gore; canon-typical references to hunting and animal death

author's notes: Read The Most Dangerous Game and here we are. We're not surprised.

You’re not the biggest fan of boats. Even the prospect of a business trip to a country you’ve never visited isn’t enough to override your skepticism when it comes to traveling over the water. Your mind is always filled with worst-case scenarios: what if the boat capsizes, leaving you to float in the middle of the ocean? Of course, this kind of thinking only increases your paranoia. 

Then again, you almost feel vindicated now, as you tread water and stare at the boat that is quickly tearing through the water and abandoning you. Honestly, you’re not really sure how it happened: someone dropped something in the water, you leaned over the railing to look for it, the ship took a nasty turn as the wind kicked in, and you went tumbling down into the water. 

And what did the captain say this stretch of waters was called again? “Ship-Trap Island”? You would sigh, if you weren’t using all your energy to stay afloat. Fortunately, after a few minutes of swimming, you see an island in the distance. 

By the time you reach land, your muscles are burning and you can barely push yourself out of the water before you’re collapsing onto the shore. You lie there for several moments, trying to catch your breath. It appears you’ve landed on an inhabited island, because you think you can see light in the distance. It’s too far away for you to get to now, however; swimming to shore took all of your energy. It doesn’t take long for you to lose the fight against your fatigue and fall into an uneasy sleep. 

You rise with the sun hours later, blinking away traces of exhaustion and slowly pushing yourself to your feet. Your throat is dry and you’re hungry. You thought you saw light last night, but that could’ve easily been a figment of your overactive imagination. Taking a measured breath, you head off into the lush jungle that surrounds the land. 

Then you hear screaming. At first, you want to attribute it to the animals inhabiting the dense jungle. But if it’s a wounded animal, it’s certainly one you’ve never encountered. 

You can’t quite convince yourself to move closer to the sound. It’s clear there are human hunters on this island, if the occasional clearings of jungle brush are anything to go by. But hunters mean weapons. And there’s no guarantee they would see reason. You instead settle for exploring the jungle in hopes that you’ll find signs of a settlement. 

At some point, the afternoon sunlight begins to grow harsh as it illuminates your surroundings. You duck under a distorted tree branch and freeze in place as your eyes catch on a huge building disrupting the natural landscape. Its elegant architecture and well-crafted towers couldn’t look more out of place amidst the lush foliage of the island. Something about the building makes you uneasy, but you know you don’t have any choice other than to set foot inside it to look for assistance. You just need to figure out how to get up there: the building is set on a tall cliffside that drops off on three of the four sides. Frowning, you ascend the hill and eventually find a worn footpath carving its way up the cliff and towards the building. 

The gargantuan wooden doors swing open upon your arrival. Goosebumps rise along your arms as an elegant foyer is revealed, complete with a grand staircase and a solitary figure standing at the foot of it. “Welcome,” they say. You squint as the doors slide shut behind you, removing the obstructing sunlight and revealing a European man with sharp features and gleaming eyes. “My name is Hannibal Lecter. It is a pleasure to meet you, even under such dire circumstances.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, still struggling to accept that a person could survive and thrive on this island. If the palatial quality of the building isn’t perplexing enough, then the man’s attire is: he wears a dark three-piece suit and tie. Your mind doesn’t seem comfortable with digesting anything about this situation, so you make quick work of introducing yourself before falling quiet again. 

If the man—Hannibal—is thrown off by your silence, he doesn’t show it. “We won’t waste time,” he announces, breaking the distance between you to place a hand on your shoulder. The gesture confuses you: your clothes are still waterlogged from the seawater, and you’re practically shivering as the air conditioning digs into your skin. “I have plenty of food, water, and clothing to share with you. You may rest here.”

“Thank you,” you choke out, your voice slightly raspy from dehydration. You’re not sure what else to say. You’re a bit overwhelmed, truthfully. And while you’re unspeakably grateful for the assistance Hannibal is providing, you can’t help but wonder if it comes with a price. Very few people will help another sheerly out of the kindness of their hearts. And something about this island rubs you the wrong way.

Before you can contemplate the thought any longer, Hannibal is leading you up the stairs and into an empty bedroom. He opens the closet doors and looks about for a moment, before pulling out a rather simple outfit that looks to be your size. Then Hannibal shows you to the adjoining bathroom, before leaving you with the promise to return once dinner is ready. 

You take a long shower, practically melting under the hot stream as it washes away the salty ocean water and dirt. Your forearms are a bit scratched up from your foray through the jungle. When you finally emerge, you take a moment to simply breathe… before feeling the clothing you’ve been provided. It’s a breathable fabric, light and airy. You put the pants on first, before realizing you left the shirt back on the bed. 

It’s all wonderfully unfortunate timing. The moment you exit the bathroom and reach the bed, Hannibal is standing in the doorway. For a horrible moment, you’re just staring at him, entirely frozen. He’s staring back unabashedly. Inexplicably flustered, you throw your shirt on and follow him to the dining room. Along the way, you chance a few glances at him. Hannibal is pretty hard to read, it seems—but you swear he almost looks smug at the idea of being caught staring. 

Dinner proves an ample distraction from that strange interaction, and the air is soon filled with easy conversation. Hannibal asks you about yourself and you answer with a mix of honesty and ambiguity. He’s keen to describe his passions when the question is turned to him, which you take advantage of. You need to learn more about this man before you can bring yourself to trust him.

Yes, the undeniable facts are staring you straight in the face: he offered you shelter, food, water, and clothing without a word of expected repayment. Safe to say, you’ll be indebted to him for the duration of your stay here, and there’s no way to ensure he will remain so generous. 

Hannibal describes himself as a natural born hunter. He lives to hunt, or so he says. He tells you of his life as a young boy in Lithuania: how he killed his first animal at merely five years old. That particular tidbit is a bit troubling, but you realize you can’t exactly be picky in this situation. It’s only when he divulges his recent boredom with the animals on the island that you begin to grow apprehensive. Animals no longer pose a challenge to him, supposedly. 

Hannibal sums it up eloquently: “I sought a creature with both instinct and intellect.” It’s easy enough to read between the lines and understand what he’s implying… But it’s very hard to accept. You desperately hope you’re wrong. 

“Animals don’t have intellect,” you remember to murmur, your heart thudding away in your chest. There is one creature that possesses instinct and intellect—one that can wield both as it suits them. You suppose it could be considered an animal. Its hubris often overpowers that classification. 

“Some animals do.” Hannibal smiles. The remark is about as subtle as a slap to the face; your suspicions are confirmed. He isn’t hunting animals in the traditional sense; his game is bigger, and far more dangerous. 

“Humans?” You ask, nausea brewing in your chest. Every nerve in your body is restless, but you know attempting to run now won’t do you any good. He wants you to run, because he wants a chase. After all, Hannibal is a hunter. It’s easy for you to find your role after that recognition—you’re the prey. 

…Hannibal hunts humans. Revulsion, fear, horror, and misery are fighting for dominance in your mind as you struggle to come to terms with that gruesome reality. You find your attention unwittingly pulled to the dish you’ve been eating. After all, hunters often feast on their prey. Did Hannibal prepare a dish made from his victims? 

“Your dish is venison,” he clarifies, evidently noticing the distress on your face. You can’t quite trust his response. 

“Yours isn’t.” You realize in the same vein. Your stomach turns unpleasantly as you catalog the differences between the dishes. You wouldn’t be able to tell at first, but now that you look closely, the cuts of meat look slightly different. 

“I heard a scream this morning.” You continue, your vision sharpening to focus on some unseen point at the far wall. All of the pieces are slamming together with uncomfortable force. Suddenly, you’ve lost the rest of your appetite. You place your fork down and fight off the urge to escape as you watch Hannibal finish his meal. There’s something very dangerous about him. It’s growing abundantly clear that he is a practiced killer. Just how many times has he done this before? How many people has he lured in with a false sense of security, before they’re swiftly exterminated?

You spend the rest of the meal in a troubled haze, and you are only broken out of it by a hand on your shoulder. This time you can’t suppress the flinch that runs through your body, and Hannibal only smiles in response. “Allow me to take you to your room,” he offers. You have no choice but to follow after him as he makes his way through the building. There’s a tense silence between the two of you, with only the echoes of your footsteps breaking through it. 

You find silk pajamas folded neatly on the bed when you return to the bedroom. You’re struggling to keep your composure, ever-aware of Hannibal’s presence in the doorway. Eventually, he must grow bored, because he leaves you with one cryptic remark: 

“Tomorrow, the hunt will begin.” 

Time drags on like a thick sludge. When night falls, you can barely sleep—as you think about this trap Hannibal set for you. It’s clear this is far from the first time he’s done this. This building may have been constructed for that very purpose: for his hunt. The thought is sickening. And you can’t bring yourself to let your guard down and risk being completely vulnerable in your sleep. 

You spend what you assume to be a few hours fighting off sleep, before you’re finally pulled into its grasp. It’s a fitful sleep, dominated by nightmares filled with a twisted smirk on Hannibal’s face and your bloodied head on a pike. The first traces of sunlight peek through the blinds of the window hours later and you’re roused awake, your eyelids burning from your rather lackluster sleep. 

What follows is a very tense breakfast with Hannibal. He spends the duration of the meal studying you; you sit in silence and pretend not to notice. The placement of his silverware on his plate would be a relief, if not for the looming recognition that the “hunt” will soon begin. Indeed, Hannibal is quick to lead you into another room, where he gives you new clothing and a hunting knife. 

And then… you’re effectively released into the wild, as if you’re nothing more than a zoo animal. Hannibal explains that he’ll give you a three hour head start, before promptly turning on his heel and walking back into the building. You’re left standing in place, helplessly looking around as you try to get a feel for your surroundings. One despairing truth immediately comes to mind: Hannibal has a distinct advantage over you. Not only did he engineer this entire thing, but he must be intimately familiar with the layout of the island; the flora and the fauna; and the hand-to-hand combat skills needed to overpower a person. And then there’s you: shipwrecked, still sleep-deprived, and frustrated. There is no competition. He will find you and kill you in a heartbeat. There’s no point in even participating in this hunt. 

That thought gives you pause. It is utterly pointless to participate. So… why participate at all? Hannibal is expecting you to run—in fact, he wants you to. He wants a chase. And if a hunt is what thrills Hannibal…. then you won’t give him one. You’ve only taken a mere few steps from where he left you. And you’re quickly coming to the firm decision that you will remain here. This is the only option that will award you even a minute amount of agency. There’s a good chance you’ll die anyway, but at least you’ll die knowing you were more than just prey. 

The ensuing three hours are the longest three hours of your entire life. You spend the time standing still for a while, before beginning to pace around… then you sit down… And that cycle continues, for what feels like an eternity. You spend a good chunk of that time second-guessing yourself and fighting off the fear in your chest.

It feels like days later when the doors to the building slide open and you find Hannibal. He isn’t carrying a weapon (it doesn’t matter; he doesn’t need one). You can see the moment his eyes find yours: the moment comprehension dawns on him and he realizes you haven’t moved. You’ve trapped him—engineered a situation where killing you would be boring. And if there’s anything Hannibal seems to abhor, it’s boredom. 

Indeed, Hannibal looks furious, a calculated rage gleaming in his eyes as he approaches. A sudden spike of adrenaline screams at you to run and never look back; against all odds, you suppress it. You will not give this man his perverted game of cat-and-mouse. Instead, you watch him warily as he approaches—the hunting knife in your hand a small reassurance. 

When his voice finally breaks through the breezy silence, it is deceptively calm. “You have outsmarted me,” he states with a detached and clinical tone. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with the notion. 

“You won’t kill me,” you respond. Your heart roars in your ears as his lips twist into a smile. 

“No,” Hannibal agrees, taking a step closer. Something lurches in your chest as he studies you with glittering eyes. His hand then travels from your shoulder, running up the expanse of your collarbone and stopping at your neck. 

It happens as quick as lightning. He tightens his grip; in response, you bring the hunting knife up to his neck. Hannibal blinks, something of an indulging smile on his face as his hand slips from your throat. Immediately you’re struck with the reality of the situation: he is allowing you this momentary glimpse of power, security. But Hannibal has the power here. He is always the hunter, never the one being hunted. 

His hand comes to cradle the side of your face, a gesture that would almost be intimate if not for the tumultuous storm of emotions running through you. Your knife is still pointed at Hannibal’s throat, but he doesn’t seem to care—instead tilting your head left and right. Your brows furrow in annoyance at this treatment, which only seems to amuse him. Then, finally, his hand falls and he takes a step back. 

“You intrigue me.” He hums. Then, Hannibal turns his back and heads for the house. You stare at him in disbelief, before beginning to understand what he’s doing. He’s baring his back to you because he doesn’t view you as a threat. He thinks—or maybe even knows—that you won’t hurt him when his back is turned. 

For a moment, though, you contemplate sinking the knife into his back; you imagine the flicker of surprise that passes over his face, before it’s smoothed over by indifference. You can almost smell the blood in the air, taste your remorse, feel your guilt threatening to break you down. You can see—perhaps too easily—yourself tearing into him, wrenching his ribs apart and cracking them off one by one. 

In your indecision, you lose your advantage. Hannibal is standing in the doorway to his home now, waiting for you with a quirk to his lips. Frustrated and helpless, you follow after him and do as he requests of you: take a shower; join him for dinner. Beyond that, you’re left to your own devices—with no idea when or where you’ll be tested again. 

You’re trapped in this sprawling tower overlooking the ocean’s choppy waters. You’ve entertained virtually every avenue of escape, but each is more unlikely than the last: jump out the window and get skewered by the sharp rocks below; wait for a rescue party that will certainly never come; attempt to reason with Hannibal. As for that last one… You’d have a better chance jumping out the window. Predators like Hannibal cannot be reasoned with—not when they see you as nothing more than a particularly troublesome specimen for their dissection. 

When nightfall finally arrives, you burrow under the soft covers on the bed and close your eyes, the jungle around the island humming and buzzing with life. You’re even more fatigued than last night, but you know sleep will be just as difficult to find. That look on Hannibal’s face is ingrained in your memory—the mere remembrance sends a chill down your spine. As you stare up at the ceiling restlessly, you can’t help but wonder if you would have been better off dead. Sure, you survived a day. But that intense gaze of Hannibal’s promises nothing but an existence dominated by constant wariness and danger. He will always be a predator. You will always be his prey. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But someday he will unhinge his jaw and tear his teeth into you, putting a permanent end to your uneasy life on this paradoxical island.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

hannibal taglist: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan (I swear one of these days I'll have an update for winding labyrinth......)

[softpascalito]

Snowy Surprise - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel takes advantage of your lunch break on patrol for ... other activities. Afterwards, a promise he made about christmas decorations comes back to haunt him.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 2200 Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Jackson!Era, Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Female Reader, Neck Kissing, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Christmas Tree, Snow Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: hello loves! i really wanted to do something special for christmas time this year and i had so much fun with kinktober that i decided to make a little pedro pascal advent calender! this also doubles as a piece for stephs (@toomanystoriessolittletime) winter writing challenge for this week! check it out here ♥

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“God, I hope they're serving some warm food tonight,” you mutter, your body slowly moving up and down as you steer your horse up the hill and through a small trickle, the water glistening with the thin sheet of ice that is decorating its top. It crunches under the hooves of the animal as you make your way past the abandoned houses, the caved in roofs and trees heavy with fresh snow.

The ice crunches again, this time behind you, and it's the only indication that you're not alone. He stays quiet.

“The soup we had last week- what was it? Pumpkin?” You ask absent-mindedly. “That was delicious. And hot. Burned my tongue. But it was worth it.”

He still doesn't say anything. Not that it's unusual. It's why you're such a good fit. You’re complementary in that way. You talk, he listens. He pretends to be annoyed, you know he secretly likes the way your thoughts fly out of your mouth, practically unfiltered in his presence.

You let your horse fall back slightly until he catches up with you, the two of you riding side by side. “Joel?”

He turns his head at that, soft brown eyes landing on yours as he seems to be snapped out of thought, “Hm?”

“Were you listening to what I said?”

A small grumble escapes his throat, a dark eyebrow moving up ever so slightly. You roll your eyes at him, deciding to just drop it, “Forget it, it doesn't matter anyway.”

He lets a few moments of silence pass until you reach the small lookout and demount your horses, tying them to a small fence post in front of the building. When he passes you on his way inside, there's a small smirk on his face.

“It wasn't pumpkin. It was carrot.”

He does listen.

Joel signs the patrol book while you busy yourself with the binoculars. The snow is almost blinding, the past week having brought more of it than you're used to, even in Jackson.

It's the favorite topic at night in the tipsy bison, with people complaining about the cold, about pipes bursting and about paths needing to be cleared every few hours. But above all the complaints is the knowledge that the vast amount of snow also has its upsides, keeping infected unable to move as fast and raiders from entering the valley at all.

That, and the children have taken to sledding down the small slopes in the town center, filling the air of the community with genuine laughter and happiness that more than makes up for the hardships the winter brings.

“Coast looks clear,” you mumble into his direction and Joel gives a small nod of approval as he finishes scribbling what is no doubt another joke at Tommys expense into the large book.

As you place the lens caps back onto the worn-out binoculars, two strong hands are placed on each side of your hips, Joel's body gently pressing into yours as he hums into your ear.

“Are we on time?” 

You sigh dramatically but do check the small watch you carry in your backpack, finding that you've made good time on your way to the outlook, “We've got time for a small lunch break.”

But Joel doesn't let go, his arms only tightening their grip as he brings his lips to your cheek and you feel his teeth graze over your skin.

“Lunch break. For lunch,” you try weakly but he's having none of it. Joel's gloves come off with a swift motion and he drops them to the ground, his arms sneaking around you and pressing you into him with a little more force. His fingers don't quite extend to your most intimate areas yet, instead just teasing around them, his touch a little more forceful than usual to make sure you can feel it through your thick winter jacket.

“I think I have a better idea,” he mutters into your ear and you nod, pressing your body back against his as you give in.

It's not fair. The way that your brain practically goes silent the moment you're in his arms. It's like a storm raging outside and falling quiet the moment you shut the door. You wonder if he knows a secret pressure point on your body that noone else has ever found, one that eases your worries, that slows down the thoughts in your head that usually rush past at what feels like lightspeed. There's always something to worry about, something to consider, something to feel.

When you're with Joel, you only feel him.

He knows this. And he recognizes every time, without failure, the moment when your brain falls quiet, just by the way you push back into him, a soft gasp on your lips.

“Joel- it's too cold- '' you mumble. There's no heating around you, making the logistics of what he undoubtedly has in mind more than difficult.

“It's okay. I got you,” Joel whispers back. His hand is still warm from the thick gloves he always wears on patrol and he doesnt open a single button of your clothing, instead opting to flatten his hand and slide it into your pants.

His fingers barely fit into the front of your jeans and it causes them to press down on your skin immediately, drawing a whimper from your lips. He shushes you gently, curling his hand to reach further and a moment later, his index finger is inside of you, the calloused skin brushing against your inner walls.

“Fuck, Joel, please-” You practically beg, a familiar heat already burning in your core as you push yourself into the palm of his hand, squirming with the way his hand aligns so perfectly with your front.

Maybe it's because of the cold or because he knows that you're still on a schedule but he doesn't make you wait as long as he usually does, slowly beginning to move his finger in and out of you. You can feel your own wetness staining the inside of your panties as it runs down his fingers and your own hands begin to wander, one clutching onto his arm while you sneak the other around yourself, brushing over the outline of Joel's hard cock behind you.

He hisses under his breath, feeling the touch even through the thick fabric of his jeans and a second finger enters you almost automatically.

“This is about you, darlin’,” he mutters, pressing himself against you a little harder and using his unoccupied hand to grab your wrist, “You just be good for me and stay still.” 

So he doesn't want to go all the way, probably a smart choice in the current weather. Any disappointment you feel is quickly washed away however as you feel Joel's fingers curl inside of you, brushing over the spot that makes your knees weak.

You have no idea how he's able to finger you this well in the current position, restricted by the cold and all the layers of clothing between you. The small room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing and you can feel the warmth of Joel's breath in your neck as he uses his nose to push aside the scarf that's wrapped around your throat and nips at your skin.

His other hand, still wrapped around your wrist, comes to your front, still restricting your arm while also holding you up.

“Come on, let me hear you, baby,” he mutters under his breath. “Noone around to tell us off. Just you and me.”

And again, your brain doesn't protest. You don't think about the dangers of being too loud, of humans or infected being attracted by the sound, of anything really. Your body and your brain seem to agree. You're safe with him.

So you let the noises flow from your lips, whimpering and moaning, mixing Joels name with a string of curse words when his thumb begins rubbing over your clit.

“Fuck, Joel, please, please, please let me come, Joel-” You break off into another fit of unintelligible words and Joel hums behind you, rubbing his nose against your ear. You can practically hear the grin on his face, “Go on, darlin’.”

It only takes a few more thrusts of his fingers inside of you until you're falling apart in his arms, your body jerking as the pleasure of your orgasm shoots through you.

Joel's arms stay tightly wrapped around you and he gives a few more gentle, shallow curls of his fingers, letting you fully ride out your orgasm, before he withdraws his hands from your jeans, leaving your underwear a mess.

“There we go. That's my girl,” he mumbles into your ear as he turns you around carefully and tugs on your jacket a bit, making sure that you're properly protected against the cold. It's endearing how much attention he pays to your shirt being tucked in correctly and your zipper being drawn. He holds you for a while longer, placing gentle kisses on the skin that he still can reach until he's sure you're good to go. You catch a glimpse of him licking the taste of you off his fingers before putting his gloves back on.

Your legs are still wobbly when you head back to your horses a few minutes later and you nod towards the woods, “I'm gonna go pee real quick.”

You're not sure why you blush now when you've literally just had Joel's hand knuckle-deep inside of you but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he almost enjoys it, a small smirk playing around his lips, “You do that.”

Ever the gentleman, Joel waits with Old Beardy and Japan while you stalk through the snow for a few more meters until you find a spot that looks like it'll work well-enough as a makeshift toilet. It takes a moment to undress with all the layers you're wearing and you curse as you pull your panties down to find them stained with your own juices, the sticky liquid smeared throughout the cotton fabric.

Meanwhile Joel's hand is scratching the soft neck of his horse when he hears a small yell. In an instant, he has his revolver drawn and is hurrying into the direction you disappeared into mere minutes ago.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as his boots sink into the snow with every step, his muscles ready to strike out at whatever danger is lurking behind the trees.

And then, suddenly, there you are. Standing in front of a pine tree that's only a little taller than him, your hand caressing the needles wet with snow.

Joel takes a breath, his gaze flying over the surroundings once more before he lets out a small sigh and lowers his gun, “What's going on?”

Your eyes, round and gentle, wander between the tree and him, lips pursed, like you know his reply to a question you haven't even asked yet.

“I know it's not the most practical option but-” You mumble and you can see the gears turning in Joel's head before he pinches his nose, closing his eyes for a moment, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

It's been a few weeks since you sprung the idea on him while cuddling one night, mentioning that you hadn't had a Christmas tree for years and that with the woods around Jackson so full of pines, it would be a waste to not get one. Joel didn't care much for it but he was so content in that moment with you in his arms that he gave in, agreeing that a little bit of decorating wouldn't hurt. And it seems like precisely that promise is now back to haunt him.

Your hand leaves the pine and instead you reach for Joel, tugging on his jacket a little, “Come on. We have some rope, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we do have some rope,” he almost grunts, still keeping his eyes closed. When he opens them again, the brown in his eyes matches the trees around you and you're close enough to see the snow reflected in them.

“How bad do you want this?” He asks, honestly. He's straightforward, as always, so you decide to be as well.

“I really want it. It's perfect, it has the right size and we can keep it outside until I have finished the decorations and-”

Joel raises his hand a little, effectively cutting you off. He's heard enough.

“Okay.”

It's late when you get back to Jackson, riding through the wooden gate on your horses, the freshly cut pine tree tied to a makeshift sled behind you.

“I can't believe you talked me into this.”

Joel had offered a few more grunts and complaints about picking a tree so far away from Jackson when there were more than enough close to the perimeter. But then you had leaned over to him, just as he finished tying the tree down with a few sturdy knots.

“Maybe I can make it up to you by using this for something else, later.”

He smirked on the ride back, only stopping when you reached the small road that led down to the town and putting on his usual, gruff demeanor.

It barely lasts until you reach your doorstep.

notes: i hope you liked it! if you did, feel free to let me know if you want to be added to my twitter/tumblr tag list so you get a lil notification every time your advent calender is ready to be opened. wishing everyone a very lovely december ♥

[twilghtkoo]

summary. haechan gets hurt but you know that with him it’s not going to be as simple as putting a band-aid on it

pairings. haechan x reader (f)

genre. fluff, crack? friends to lovers??

word count. 1.64k

warnings. mentions of blood, a creepy man stares at reader

notes. me finding hello kitty bandaids in a store and buying them sparked this idea so :D like and reblog if you enjoy this !!

masterlist

—

your dear friend is one stubborn person. one who seeks excitement wherever he can find it and likes to find things out the hard way. in this case being, falling off of a skateboard. you told him to not ride too fast and to not go down the small pavement hill, and what did he do? go down the hill riding too fast. the hill had caused him to accelerate unwillingly and him not being able to stop himself before he collided with the ground.

you gasped at the scene from the bench that was a bit of a distance between you and haechan, who is lying still in the grass. he’s not dead, just lying face down suffering from embarrassment and moaning in pain.

you let out a big sigh, grabbing all of yours and his belongings before crouching down next to the limp body.

you carefully reach out your hand to place on his back. “haechan…”

he flinched at your presence, turning over slowly. “no go away, let me lie in my own embarrassment and pain alone.” he breathes out. his eyes are shut tightly as he holds his hip and his knees brought to his chest.

you roll your eyes at him, shoving his hand away to take a close look at his knee. “you’re a drama queen, you know that?”

his knee suffered the most from the fall, his hip for sure will have a bruise tomorrow.

you wince at the blood, the . “you’re bleeding haechan, we have to get back to the bench so i can clean it up.” you inform him.

he shakes his head, bringing his forearm to cover his face. “no, just leave me here to bleed out.”

you scoff, shaking your head before you take the arm that hides his face and pulling him up to his feet.

“shit,” he curses.

you allow him to use you for support as you both struggle to make your way back to the park bench. he sits himself down and finally glances at his knee.

his eyes bulge out at the bloody sheet on his knee. “ew, oh my god, that’s a lot of blood.”

you nod, “it’s not too bad, thank goodness. stay here i’m going to run to the convenience store and get stuff to clean it up.” and you’re gone before he can argue, leaving him alone with a bloody knee and an aching hip.

the doorbell chimes once you walk into the store, giving the worker a nod as you make your way to where the bandages are. there’s the store brand, a brand you recognize from tv and there’s some fun cartoon ones. pokémon, baby shark, toy story and others.

a certain box is quickly in your hands as you smirk to yourself. grabbing a few other things before making your way to pay for it.

“hey squirrel, did you see how i fell? was it embarrassing?” haechan speaks to the small animal that is munching on something next to his feet. the squirrel doesn’t react in any way, obviously. and he wonders to himself why he doesn’t listen to you, knowing you’re always right. why did he itch to go down that stupid hill and tumble to his doom. in front of you.

“look at all this blood. can you believe i fell in front of the girl i like.” he speaks again, but more like to himself as he stares at the gash on his knee and the drop of blood trickling down his leg.

you and him are close friends. first meeting each other at the movie theater when a few studio ghibli movies were showing. you ripped his ticket up in your cute work uniform behind the counter, making small conversation and telling him that spirited away was your favorite movie and telling him to enjoy the film.

and he enjoyed the film, even coming back out the theater room and finding you in the same spot you both met earlier. you were a quiet character, not much of a talker but just because you didn’t really have much to say but you loved listening. you love and care for people in your own way, something he admires and loves about you. to strangers you may seem closed off but when you grow comfortable with someone you’re very high spirited.

he hears footsteps running quickly to his side, the squirrel scurrying off probably to the tree behind him. goodbye, little friend.

you slow your pace down once you’re near him, a warm smile on your face as you wave the bag in your hand in front of him.

“i’m back,” you huffed, crouching and placing the bag down next to you. your bottom lip is sucked in between your teeth, deeply concentrated as you take out the essentials.

“i’m just gonna clean it with water real quick, okay?” you show him the water bottle and napkins in your hands.

you carefully pour the liquid onto the napkins, your hand grabs the back of his knee as you bring it closer to the abrasion.

before the wet cloth touches him, he flinches away. “wait!” he yelps.

you jump, “what?”

“i’m scared,” he pouts.

your hands drop. “of what?”

“it’s gonna burn!”

“oh my god, haechan do not start.”

he lightly kicks his leg away from you, shielding his wound with his hands.

“haechan i will literally hold you down, it’s not gonna hurt that bad. i promise.” you try to threaten him. you reach for his leg again, wiping the blood that trickled it’s way down and stained his white socks.

his eyes follow another pair of feet walking past you, a man in a tracksuit ogles at your back. haechan follows his eyes to you, and he realizes you’re wearing a dress. haechan’a eyes narrow at the man but the stranger isn’t ashamed as he keeps looking back at you. he’s sure the man can feel his hard stares but is just ignoring him and that makes his blood coil. haechan shrugs his zip up sweater off and cooly throws it over your shoulders, it’s big enough on you to cover the draft to any passersby’s.

you look at the sweater on your shoulders but ignore it, he observes you for a bit before dropping his shoulders. “hmph, fine.”

“and look!” you gasp, reaching down beside you to hold out the small box of hello kitty band aids with a big smile curving your lips upwards.

haechan’s face deadpans. “how old are you?”

you frown, taken back. “what? they’re bandages, but cute. do you want to bleed out? don’t disrespect miss hello kitty.” you stuck your chin out.

he laughs, “i’m a grown ass man, i’m not slapping hello kitty on my battle scar.”

now it’s your turn to laugh. “a grown ass man that fell and acted like he was on the brink of death. yeah, okay. give me your knee,” you demanded.

you quickly dab as much blood away as you can through haechan’s hisses. wiping away the dried blood was a bit hard since he was fighting you but it’s all clean.

“green or pink?” you ask.

he tilts his head, thinking before he answers green.

you take the selected band-aid, the hello kitty that is customized with a green bow and green dress, a blue colored sky behind her and a red flower on the ground that matches her outfit. how cute.

you peel it off from the wrapper, gently placing it over his wound.

you crumble the trash in your hands and place it inside the grocery bag. “all better now, see? wasn’t so bad.”

you stand up, wincing from the position you were sat in for so long before haechan’s long, slick fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“wait, you forgot something.” he tells you.

“huh, what did i forget?” you genuinely ask.

he looks at you seriously. “you have to kiss it better, so it’ll heal quicker.”

your lips part and your cheeks heat up. “what…” the word barely leaves past your lips.

he raises his eyebrows expectantly, as if he’s waiting.

you shake your head, snatching your hand out of his grasp. “be serious, haechan.”

“i’m being very serious,” he tells you. “come on, don’t you want me to get better?”

“it’s just a scrape, your leg isn’t broken.” can he hear the thumping in your chest? god, it’s like it’s ringing in your ears.

you know he’s not gonna let you get away without actually kneeling down and kissing his knee. he will put up a fight in this park and you know it. he likes to tease you.

but how can he ask that question so freely. your lips have never touched any part of his skin because friends don’t do that!

it’s like he loves torturing you, contributing these heartfelt acts unknowingly like an arrow to your heart.

“you big baby.” you mumble out, crouching down and taking a clear glimpse at the cute bandage on his skin, it makes you smile.

haechan gazed at you, anticipating the moment your lips touch his skin. he is so sure that once your lips come in contact with his knee, he’ll be able to run a marathon. can you hear the thumping in his chest?

your face nears his knee, you pucker your lips and you gently place a kiss just below the bandage.

you clear your throat. “there. better now?” you try to act cool, standing to your feet and peering down at your friend.

“i don’t know, can you watch how far i run?” and your friend zooms past you, running across the grass field as if he wasn’t whining and limping by your side just a few moments ago.

“what the hell?” you shout out, chasing after him. “how are you running? yah, lee donghyuck!”

[angelofacidx]

Pet pt 2

CW: Drugging, kidnapping, abuse, etc you get it

Part 1:

Your wrists had been rubbed raw and blistered from the constant use of handcuffs and your incessant thrashing. The collar, Simon quickly found out, was not a good fit for you. When determined enough you could slip it over your head, squishing down your nose and tugging strands of hair out. It had been eight—no, nine. Nine days after your first escape attempt. You track the days from their computer in the office, straining your leg as far as it will from your fixed position on the floor until your foot bumps the keyboard and brings the monitor to life. Nine days since the incident, and fifteen since you’ve been taken.

The screened side door was open like an invitation when you’d gotten free from the collar, and who were you to deny a mercy? Your captors seemed to be gone every three or four days for a couple hours to make the trek into town. If memory served, you’d have about an hour before they got back. It was now or never. You were off like a bullet, whizzing through the yard and beginning your journey onto the desolate dirt road. Maybe there’d be a car to help you, or hit you. You didn’t care at this point.

About a mile up the road your prayers were answered. A big black beat up truck sat just to the side of the road, parked, and—Oh fuck. Johnny was the first one out of the vehicle, a deeply wounded expression on his face as he paced towards you, frozen in fear. You didn’t even register Simon following behind him.

“Told ya Johnny. Can’t trust mutts to behave.” Simon announced, smugly.

He set you up. He wanted to catch you in the act. The bastard.

Your memories come to a dead stop, the pain in your ankles taking the forefront of your mind. They’d snapped them when you escaped, as easily as busting open a glow stick. Your punishment left you unable to walk or stand, only crawl on your hands and knees, wobbly like a puppy.

The door to the office opened slowly, letting you know from the action alone that it was Johnny and not Simon who would swing the door open so hard it hit the wall.

“Brought ye some food and a blanket.” His voice calm as he puts the plate on the floor for you and drapes the blanket over the hard surface of the crate you’d been sleeping in at night.

You watch him take a seat on the office chair, his hand extending to your head and offering you a few reassuring and affectionate pats. As much as you hate to admit it, the act of kindness doesn’t go unappreciated.

“Simon says if ye eat up we can take ye in the yard tomorrow. Good for ye to get some air.” He says, offering you a small smile.

Your gaze shifts down to the plate on the floor. The same leftovers that had been prepared for you since you started your little hunger strike. There was no way you’d eat off of the plate with your mouth like a dog. Sure, it was a weird hill to die on but you wanted the dignity of a table god dammit. Simon warned you that you’d be served the same cold leftovers until you caved or died of starvation. The choice was yours.

“Not hungry.” You grumble up to Johnny, wincing slightly as you try to shift away from the plate. Your ankle pain makes itself very known.

“C’mon sweetheart. I ken yer starving.” He says with a click of his tongue, picking up a piece of cold chicken off the plate.

“Open up.” He hums, extending it towards your mouth.

You do open up alright, but completely pass the food and opt for sinking your canine teeth into poor Johnny’s forearm. It’s petty and childish and not something you’d normally do, but you want him to feel a fraction of the pain you do. They want a wild animal? They’ll get one.

Johnny lurches back with a hiss, holding his arm and trying to rub out the grooves your teeth left to give himself some relief. Satisfaction washes over you for all of two seconds before your face smashes into the ground, a boot holding down the base of your skull.

“Stupid bitch.” Simon grunts from above, pressing harder until you squirm and cry out.

The boot is replaced by Simon’s hand weaving itself into your hair and yanking you up to meet his icy gaze. How is he always so quiet? How long had he been standing there?

“I’m done with your little games and tantrums. Open the fuck up. Now.” He says, his voice pure venom and malice.

You follow his demand, letting your lips part and head tilt back, balancing on your aching knees and trying to keep pressure off your injured ligaments.

“This is your fault too,” Simon quips as he rips down Johnny’s pants and boxers revealing his soft cock. “Coddled it too much. Now it thinks actions don’t have consequences.”

Johnny’s hips are pushed forward until his pelvic bone meets your nose and his cock is guided into your mouth by Simon’s hand. Feeling it begin to harden makes your eyes widen, beginning to sputter and choke, but Simon simply forces you back down onto him.

“Stay.” He commands, lowering his tone and exiting the room.

Johnny casts his eyes down to you, his expression half lust and half pity, his lower lip jutting out slightly as he tries to reassure you with a hand through your hair. It works temporarily and you scold yourself for feeling anything for someone who had a hand in your capture.

Simon returns shortly with a single long black paracord woven between his fingers. Quickly, the cord is secured around the base of your skull and meets around Johnny’s ass where he loops it a few times before tying it off; effectively trapping you to Johnny’s pelvis with his dick crammed down your throat.

“I will be back in an hour and we will try dinner and bed time again.” Simon announces before slamming the door, leaving you to overstimulate Johnny’s cock with your sputtering as you fight to breathe.

You’ll definitely take this as a lesson.