#a new challenger (squirrel) approaches

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | honeymoon special

You and Yoongi travel to Scandinavia for your honeymoon, well more like babymoon. You camp, fish, hike and enjoy nature as you always do, and you even go surfing! 

→ Pairing: mechanic!Yoongi x reader (female) → AUs: roadtrip!au, non idol!au, established relationship, mechanic!Yoongi. → Genres: slice of life, humor/crack, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 8.8k → Warnings (explicit): semi-public sex (in a caravan on a campsite), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, multiple sex scenes, nudity, oral (female and male receiving), breast play (sucking, slight biting), hickeys, squirting, deepthroating, creampie, impregnation kink, dirty talk, pleasing kink → Author’s note(1): another extra for friendcation is here! 🥳 I hope you enjoy this one too! 💜  → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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When Yoongi revealed that he had already booked your honeymoon, you envisioned a sun-soaked paradise where you could bask in the golden warmth, bathe in crystal-clear waters, and revel in the essence of summer. But instead of tropical shores, you found yourself in the rugged mountains of Norway, on the cusp of autumn, where nature whispered secrets in the crisp, cool air. Yoongi had chosen this destination, a place forever etched in his heart from a trip with friends many years ago. He longed to share its raw, breathtaking beauty with you, and as you stood there, surrounded by towering peaks and pristine wilderness, you had to admit—the splendor was undeniable. Majestic mountains embraced the horizon, and the forest teemed with life—graceful deer gliding silently among the trees, playful squirrels darting about in a dance of their own.

For nearly a week, you nestled in a quaint cottage deep within the mountains, cocooned in the serene tranquility of nature. Each day, the world seemed to slow down, allowing you to savor every moment in this hidden paradise. But now, a new adventure beckons as your journey takes you onward to Denmark, with the enchanting landscapes of Sweden to explore first. The anticipation of Swedish forests, mirrored lakes, and ancient woodlands fills you with a quiet excitement, promising more adventures and moments of serene beauty.

The weather is a delicate dance between warm sunlight and the early September chill, hinting at the approach of autumn. Your journey from Norway to Sweden unfolds by bus, and upon arrival, a picturesque walk from the bus stop to your next secluded cottage awaits. The lightness of your luggage, carefully packed with warm clothes, turns the trek into an enjoyable prelude to the days ahead. You silently thank Yoongi for the foresight to pack hiking boots, as the rugged terrain tests your endurance. But the challenge is worth it, as each evening is rewarded with the simple pleasure of curling up in Yoongi’s arms, his hands soothing your tired feet as the day’s adventures fade into the warmth of the firelight.

In the Swedish cabin, time flows effortlessly, unburdened by the outside world. Yoongi, ever the thoughtful partner, prepares mouthwatering meals with ingredients fresh from the surrounding land, and with patient hands, he teaches you the art of fishing—a skill that had always eluded you on previous vacations. His steady guidance, coupled with whispered advice to remain silent, keeps the fish from fleeing, and you manage to catch a few, only to release them back into their watery home with a sense of reverence. Days are spent hiking the rolling hills and dense forests, each return to the cabin marked by the comforting embrace of each other’s arms, the crackle of the fire, and the soft murmur of the wilderness outside. Time slips away like water through your fingers, and before you know it, you’re packing for the next chapter of your journey.

The bus carries you southward, where a train awaits to whisk you to Denmark. There, just outside Copenhagen, you rent a car and a charming caravan trailer, your home on wheels for the next leg of your adventure. Denmark’s landscape, while familiar to Sweden’s, carries its own unique charm—its language more rough, its fields more open, a reminder that every place, like every person, has its own distinct personality.

Both you and Yoongi present your driver’s licenses, receive the keys, and locate your vehicles with the excitement of a new journey just beginning. Yoongi takes the wheel, his hands confidently guiding you northward to a place called Thy, a region he had spoken of with a quiet reverence. The local radio station fills the car with the lively tunes of Danish pop music, and as the road unfolds before you, a bridge rises to meet the horizon. You recline into your seat, lulled by the soothing rhythm of the road beneath you, when Yoongi mentions needing a break. He spots a rest stop, effortlessly maneuvering into a spacious parking area, and for a moment, the world outside pauses, allowing you both to take a breath and savor the journey that lies ahead.

Yoongi quickly exits, making a beeline for the restrooms, while you step out, stretching your limbs with a quiet sigh. The late hour casts a golden glow, the sun hanging low on the horizon, bathing the world in a warm, amber light that feels like a fleeting embrace. Around you, the scene is tranquil yet alive—lush green trees stand as silent sentinels, large trucks and trailers rest like sleeping giants, and an array of cars glimmer under the fading daylight. Your gaze drifts to a small store nearby, and you consider the idea of grabbing a meal, but something else catches your attention. A group of young men huddles around a car with its hood propped open, their faces etched with worry, a silent image of distress. Though the intricacies of engines elude you, Yoongi’s knack for mechanics brings a knowing smile to your lips. Almost as if sensing the moment, he appears beside you, his hand finding yours with effortless grace.

You gesture toward the troubled vehicle, your voice soft yet tinged with curiosity. “Do you think we should ask if they need help?”

Yoongi clears his throat, a quiet confidence in his nod, always eager to lend a hand when cars are involved. Together, you approach the trio and their ailing car, a shared purpose drawing you forward.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asks in English, his voice carrying a note of calm assurance. Two of the young men exchange giggles, their reason a mystery, but the one peering under the hood turns to Yoongi with relief plain in his eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

“I’m a mechanic. I don’t mind taking a look,” Yoongi replies, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his veined forearms, a sight that sends a flutter through your chest. “Babe, can you grab me a flashlight?” he asks, his voice gentle, and you’re quick to comply, retrieving it from the rental car. As the sun sinks lower, each sliver of light becomes precious, a fleeting gift for Yoongi’s hands to work by.

With the flashlight in hand, you stand close, watching Yoongi immerse himself in the task, his focus as sharp and radiant as the golden hour surrounding you both. His expertise becomes a quiet melody in the twilight, a dance of hands and metal that feels almost sacred in its simplicity.

“I’m Jonas, by the way. Thanks for looking at the car,” the young man says, stepping away to rejoin his laughing friends, a moment of lightness amidst their concern. You watch him playfully slap one of them on the arm, the sound of laughter briefly filling the air before your attention returns to Yoongi. You adjust the flashlight, its beam following the precise movements of his hands as he examines the engine. Yoongi lets out those soft, endearing noises he makes when deeply engrossed in a task, a habit he likely doesn’t even realize he has, but one that always stirs something deep within you. This moment is no different. Watching him work with such intensity sends warmth through you, a reminder of why you cherish these shared moments, even in the most unexpected places.

Grease begins to smudge his hands as he delves deeper under the hood, reattaching a loose valve and checking fluid levels with the practiced ease of someone who has spent years mastering his craft. Over time, you’ve absorbed a few of his car maintenance tips, knowledge passed on in quiet moments like these. Yoongi steps back from the car, a signal for you to turn off the flashlight, and you comply as Jonas, his brows knit with lingering concern, approaches to hear Yoongi’s verdict.

“I reattached a loose valve,” Yoongi explains, his tone measured and thoughtful, “and you’re low on radiator fluid. Be cautious when you drive; the car could overheat. You should refill it as soon as possible. Do you live nearby? It’s risky to drive far in this condition.”

The young man nods, gratitude and relief mingling in his expression. And as you stand there, bathed in the fading light, you can’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction in the simple act of helping, of being there in that moment with Yoongi, where the beauty of the setting sun is matched only by the warmth of his presence beside you.

Jonas nods, a wave of relief washing over his face. “We live close—we’re almost home. I’ll drive carefully and contact my mechanic tomorrow,” he says, offering a grateful smile. Yet, as his friends snicker behind him, their eyes linger on you with a gaze that feels like a brush of unwelcome heat, as if you’re some forbidden temptation. “Thank you so much for your help,” Jonas adds, shaking Yoongi’s hand with a vigor that speaks to his gratitude, pulling him into a spontaneous hug.

Yoongi returns the gesture with warmth, clearly pleased to have made a difference. As he walks back to you, you notice him wiping his greasy hands together in a futile attempt to clean them, a small smile playing on your lips at the sight.

You greet him with a smoldering gaze, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips, a kiss that holds both affection and a touch of mischief. Are you putting on a show for the boys who ogled you earlier? Absolutely. As you pull away, you lean into his ear, your voice a whisper in English, “You always look so damn hot when you’re working. I can’t wait for you to fuck me later.” Your words are barely audible, yet you catch the sound of one of the guys choking in surprise, a wicked smile curling your lips as you take Yoongi’s hand. With a playful wave to the three gaping men, you turn and saunter back to your rental car, feeling Yoongi’s hand squeeze your ass with a low chuckle.

“You’re such a good and dirty girl,” he murmurs, his words a spark that sends warmth pooling in your core. His praise, his touch, his very presence—everything about him ignites the fire within you.

Slipping back into the car, Yoongi starts the engine, the soft rumble beneath you a prelude to the journey ahead. The night deepens as you drive, the world outside dissolving into shadows and starlight, the road a ribbon of dark velvet stretching toward the unknown. Hours later, you arrive at a quiet camping ground nestled in the northern wilderness. Yoongi picks a spot at random, the exhaustion of the day evident in the slump of your bodies. He parks and turns off the car, the silence of the night settling around you like a blanket.

Yoongi sets to work preparing the caravan, a compact haven of white and beige. Inside, it holds a tiny kitchen with a sink, fridge, and portable stove, a dining area that converts into a bed, bunks that will remain untouched, and a small bathroom. As he transforms the dining space into a bed, you slip out of your clothes and into one of his shirts, the familiar scent of him comforting against your skin. Yoongi follows suit, and after brushing your teeth together, you both crawl into bed, the weight of the day melting away in the warmth of each other’s presence. 

He spoons you, his body pressing close, and you feel the unmistakable hardness against your ass, a thrill of desire sparking within you. Unable to resist, you grind back into him, eliciting quick, needy sounds that only fuel your own arousal. You turn to capture his lips in a kiss, your voice breathless as you whisper how much you need him.

Without a word, he turns you over, his hands deftly pulling down your panties and sliding his own underwear aside. The moment he enters you, a sigh escapes your lips, the smooth glide of him filling you completely, a perfect fit that sends waves of pleasure rippling through you. He moves with a rhythm that drives you wild, each thrust deeper, more urgent, as his hand finds your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. The pleasure builds, coiling tight within you until it snaps, your climax washing over you in a wave of pure ecstasy. He follows soon after, his warm release filling you as he grunts against your neck, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder.

In the afterglow, he gently pulls your panties back up, his touch tender as you both settle into the bed, the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. Exhaustion pulls you under, and with the comforting weight of Yoongi beside you, you drift into a deep, contented sleep, the echoes of your shared passion lingering in the quiet night.

Morning breaks with the gentle chorus of birdsong and sunlight spilling into the caravan like liquid gold. You groan softly, stretching your limbs as Yoongi stirs beside you, his warmth anchoring you to the comfort of the moment. The new day whispers promises of fresh adventures, but for now, you linger in the serenity, savoring the feel of his body close to yours.

“Morning, babe,” he murmurs, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep, his hair tousled in a way that only adds to his effortless charm.

“Morning, Yoon,” you reply, your voice soft as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, a gentle exchange of warmth before you rise to greet the day. The morning routine is simple and sweet—brushing teeth and hair, sharing a light breakfast—each small act grounding you in the shared rhythm of your lives.

Stepping outside, the landscape unfolds before you, vast and open, dotted with tufts of grass and stretches of sand. The air is brisk, carrying the salty tang of the sea and the constant, soothing lull of waves crashing against the distant shore. You inhale deeply, the cold, invigorating air filling your lungs as you take Yoongi’s hand, the two of you setting off to explore the campground, the natural beauty around you awakening with the first light of day. The world is still in its early stirrings, granting you a peaceful solitude, a shared quiet that feels almost sacred.

As you stroll, the calm is broken by the sight of an elderly couple walking past—naked. You exchange a startled glance with Yoongi, his expression mirroring your own surprise. The closer you draw to the beach, the more you realize that everyone around you is unabashedly bare, the air thick with a sense of freedom that feels, to you, both strange and out of place. Overdressed and bemused, you settle down on the sandy shore, leaning into Yoongi as you take in the unexpected scene.

“What is this place?” you murmur, half-amused, half-bewildered by the sight of naked bodies in every direction. Yoongi chuckles, pulling out his phone to solve the mystery. Moments later, his laughter bubbles up, contagious and bright.

“It’s a nudist campsite and beach,” he explains, his eyes sparkling with amusement as realization dawns on you. Laughter spills from your lips, a shared moment of levity in the midst of this peculiar discovery. There’s something admirable about the courage of those around you, their ease in embracing their natural state, even if it’s not a comfort you share. With a grin, you tell Yoongi that while you can appreciate their confidence, you’d much rather prefer a different campsite—one where the only naked body you see is his, perhaps later tonight.

The day unfolds in a series of light-hearted decisions and shared smiles. Later, you venture into the chilly embrace of the sea, donning your swimwear despite the nudist surroundings. The water is cold, biting against your skin, yet it awakens something within you—an invigorating contrast to the warmth of the morning, cleansing and bracing. Afterward, you drive into a nearby town for lunch, soaking in the lively atmosphere, the air filled with the hum of conversation and the sound of laughter. Hand in hand, you wander through quaint shops, not seeking anything in particular, but relishing the simple pleasure of being together.

The hours pass in a blend of humor and quiet adventure, each moment wrapped in the comfort of Yoongi’s presence. Together, you weave through the day, creating a tapestry of memories that feel destined to become cherished stories—reminders of the joy found in the unexpected, and the beauty of sharing life’s quirks with the one you love.

You return to the campsite, hitching the caravan back to the rental car, eager to find a new haven—a place where the landscape is as private as your desires. The drive is peaceful, the miles slipping away under a sky that deepens into twilight, leading you to a secluded campground far removed from the nudist site. As night falls, you settle into the quiet embrace of nature, the only witnesses to your evening the stars that begin to shimmer above.

Under a canopy of twinkling lights, you and Yoongi sit side by side on a pair of worn stools, warm cups of tea in hand. The night is cool, the air crisp, and the silence between you is companionable, filled with the unspoken understanding that comes from years of shared moments like this. The sky stretches out endlessly above, a vast canvas of dark velvet scattered with diamonds, and you both soak in its serene beauty, letting the tranquility of the moment wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

Later, you retreat to the warmth of your caravan, its small space transformed into a world of your own. Curled up in bed, you lean in for a kiss, the softness of his lips familiar yet always thrilling. Your fingers find the waistband of his boxers, and with a deliberate slowness, you peel them away, revealing his hard cock that you always crave. Your desire for him is insatiable, a fire that never dims, only burns hotter with each passing touch.

Wearing nothing beneath your nightshirt, your slick arousal greets him as you straddle his hips, a low moan escaping your lips as you grind down, the friction intoxicating. The rough texture of his pubic hair against your sensitive skin, the solid heat of his cock against your aching pussy—every sensation drives you wild, fueling the need that pulses through you.

Dripping with want, you wrap your hands around his thick dick, guiding him to your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate motion, you sink down onto him. The stretch is exquisite, your body accommodating him inch by inch until your ass meets his pelvis, the fullness making you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re always so big,” you pant, the words tumbling out as pleasure ripples through you, your head falling back in ecstasy.

His groan is guttural, raw, as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place. “You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin, his need for you as urgent as yours for him. “Taking me so good, baby,” he rasps, already breathless, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You hum in response, setting a steady rhythm as you begin to move, your hands splayed against his chest for balance. Leaning forward, you press kisses to his collarbones, his neck, your breath hitching as you whisper into his ear, “Get me pregnant, Yoon.”

You feel him twitch inside you, a reaction as instant as it is powerful, the mere idea pushing him closer to the edge. His grip tightens, possessive, and he begins to thrust up into you, his movements seeking control as he chases that intoxicating thought. His hips snap against yours with a newfound urgency, his pace relentless as he drives deeper, harder.

He holds you still as he pounds into your warm, wet heat, each thrust tearing a scream from your throat. You try to muffle your cries, aware of the thin caravan walls and the nearby campers, but the pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, and it’s impossible to stay quiet under his relentless onslaught.

Together, you find a rhythm, a perfect synchrony that sends you both hurtling toward the edge. He hits your g-spot with precision, over and over, until the coil in your stomach tightens to the point of breaking. With a choked cry, you unravel around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves as your body releases a rush of liquid heat, soaking his cock as you convulse in his arms.

Panting, you cling to him, your body shuddering as he continues to move, his pace unyielding until you collapse against his chest, utterly spent. It’s more intimate like this, your bodies pressed close, and as you whisper filthy promises in his ear, nipping at his lobe, he comes inside you with a deep groan, filling you with his warmth as he grunts against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in lazy kisses.

You both gasp for breath, slick with sweat and the mingled scent of your lovemaking. He cleans you gently with a towel, his touch tender, before pulling you back into his arms. You drift off to sleep in his embrace, safe and sated, just as you love to.

The terrain here is gentler, the low elevations a welcome reprieve from the rugged mountains of Norway and Sweden. Your days have been spent in quiet contentment, the two of you fishing in the calm waters, the simplicity of the act bringing a sense of peace. Words aren’t needed in these moments, the silence speaking volumes as you sit side by side, casting lines and sharing smiles.

One day, you take a bus into Aarhus, the city buzzing with life on a cold Friday night. The decision to take public transport is an easy one—no need to worry about driving as you plan to indulge in the vibrant nightlife. The contrast between the quiet days spent in nature and the energy of the city is exhilarating, and you look forward to a night of laughter and exploration, knowing that whatever the evening holds, it will be another memory to cherish with Yoongi by your side.

You’re adorned in a flowing dress that sways with every step, its fabric catching the cool breeze of mid-September. Warm boots hug your feet, grounding you as you navigate the lively streets. Yoongi walks beside you, his own boots echoing softly against the cobblestones. He’s dressed in jeans, a fitted shirt, and a cozy jacket that accentuates his broad shoulders. You’re wrapped in a jacket too, its warmth a welcome shield against the evening chill that settles in like a whisper from autumn itself.

The streets pulse with life, alive with throngs of people—mostly the young and inebriated, their laughter loud and words slurred, their steps unsteady as they weave through the neon-lit night. You and Yoongi sip your drinks, savoring the night with a quiet restraint, the alcohol a gentle warmth rather than a dizzying rush. Neon signs bathe the street in a kaleidoscope of colors, each one calling out the names of bars and clubs, their music spilling into the air, a chaotic symphony of bass and beats.

You step into one of the clubs, but the moment you cross the threshold, the music hits you like a wave, overwhelming and disorienting. The crowd presses in, bodies moving in a fevered dance, leaving no room to breathe. You cringe as strangers brush against you, the invasion of your space unsettling. Yoongi’s discomfort mirrors your own, his eyes scanning the room with a protective edge.

Then, a rasping voice invades your ear, the breath hot and unwelcome. “Well, aren’t you a sweet thing,” the man sneers in English, his tone dripping with an arrogance that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. A hand suddenly grabs your ass, and you know instantly—it’s not Yoongi’s.

Anger flares in you, sharp and hot. With a swift, decisive motion, you swat the offending hand away, spinning to face the drunken stranger. His eyes are wide and unfocused, lost in a haze of alcohol. He leans in, but before he can get any closer, Yoongi steps between you, his presence a solid barrier, gently pushing the man back. The stranger grunts, his voice slurred and angry in a language you don’t understand.

Yoongi turns to you, concern etched in the lines of his face, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. You nod, signaling that you’re okay, but just as you turn to leave, a rough hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back.

Yoongi’s reaction is immediate, but you step in front of him, a surge of determination coursing through you. The stranger’s grip tightens, but you seize his jaw with your free hand, your fingers digging in with a strength born of irritation. You stare into his startled eyes, your voice low and laced with venom. “I don’t appreciate that,” you hiss, each word deliberate. “I’m happily married, and I don’t want you touching me.”

The force in your grip makes him wince, and he releases your wrist, his bravado crumbling as regret flickers across his face. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, the fight leaving him.

You push him back, asserting your anger one final time before turning away, not wasting another second on him. Grabbing Yoongi’s hand, you pull him toward the exit, the need to escape the stifling club overwhelming. Outside, the cold night air fills your lungs, sharp and cleansing, each breath forming small clouds in the chilly atmosphere. The tension begins to melt away, and you savor the fresh, crisp night, grateful for the comforting presence of Yoongi at your side, his warmth a constant reassurance.

“That was kinda hot,” he murmurs, his voice low as he presses his body against yours, the heat of him seeping into your skin. “The way you handled yourself in there, babe.” His lips brush the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice still carrying the edge of disgust from the stranger’s touch. “But it was disgusting. His hands on my ass.”

Yoongi hums in sympathy, his grip on your hand tightening as if to ground you both. “I don’t like other people touching you like that,” he says, his voice filled with a protective anger. “I’m sorry that happened,” he says in a much softer voice, making sure you’re okay.

You chuckle softly, the sound carrying a hint of relief. “Yeah. I know you’re possessive, Yoon.”

“If we’d stayed there a moment longer, I would’ve decked him,” he huffs, the street lamps casting a warm, golden glow on the sidewalk as you walk.

“Oh, I know. But I don’t want you getting arrested in another country—or back home, for that matter,” you laugh lightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. “I had it under control. But thank you for having my back.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, the gesture soft and intimate, and just then, you arrive at the bus station.

The cold air bites at your skin, making you shiver as you wait. Relief washes over you as the bus finally arrives, its doors opening to reveal a sanctuary of warmth. You step inside, the chill of the night giving way to the cozy embrace of heated air. Settling into a seat, you lean against Yoongi’s shoulder, the comfort of his presence grounding you.

“Maybe we’re too old to drink and party,” you muse, your voice a soft murmur that mingles with the hum of the bus.

Yoongi’s laugh is like a melody, soothing and familiar, a sound that feels like home. “Maybe,” he agrees, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You’re an old man now,” you quip, playfully squeezing his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath.

“Hey,” he retorts, mock indignation coloring his tone, “you’re not much younger than me.”

Laughter bubbles up between you, the shared humor easing the tensions of the night. It’s a moment of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind that lingers long after the sound fades.

Back at the caravan, the atmosphere shifts, the night thick with anticipation. A surge of power and desire courses through you, igniting a fire that demands to be quenched. Seizing Yoongi’s jaw with the same assertiveness you’d shown the stranger earlier, you back him against the wall. Your gaze locks onto his, a silent command that he’s all too eager to obey.

With a teasing smile, you lick his chin, tasting the salt of his skin. “I want you, Yoon,” you whisper, your voice a sultry purr that sends shivers down his spine.

His breath hitches, the sound rough and needy. His eyes, darkened with lust, never leave yours as you tighten your grip on his jaw. “I want your tongue on my clit,” you command, the words slipping from your lips like a sinful prayer.

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. 

“Now,” you add, your voice brooking no argument.

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops to his knees with a reverence that makes your heart race, his hands sliding up your thighs to hike up your dress. The fabric pools around your waist as he tugs down your panties, his breath warm against your bare skin. You giggle in anticipation, the sound light and breathless.

He teases you first, a slow lick that sends sparks of pleasure through your body, followed by a gentle suck that makes you gasp. But then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he spins you around, your legs hitting the bed. You fall onto it with a soft thud, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. Yoongi chuckles darkly, crawling over you like a predator about to claim his prey.

He spreads your legs, the cool air brushing against your slick heat. And then he’s on you, his mouth finding your clit with a precision that makes your toes curl. His plush tongue licks and sucks, each movement sending you higher, closer to the edge. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you grind against his mouth, chasing the orgasm that looms just out of reach.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you pant, your voice a breathless plea as pleasure builds within you, sharp and relentless.

He slurps, the sound obscene and utterly delicious. When you glance down, the sight of him between your legs���his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes alight with desire—undoes you completely. You come apart with a cry, your body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your grip tightens in his hair, holding him to you as he licks you through the aftershocks, his tongue slow and sensual.

When you finally signal it’s enough, he pulls back, his face shining with your essence, drops of it splattered across his cheeks and lips. He looks so fucking hot, and he’s yours—your husband, your love, your everything. The thought swells in your chest, your heart beating a wild rhythm of adoration.

“You’re so hot when you squirt on my face,” he says, his voice husky with satisfaction as he sticks out his tongue to lick at the drops he can reach. The sight makes your pussy flutter with renewed arousal.

“Fuck,” you moan, the need rising in you again. “I want to suck your dick so bad,” you groan, your voice laced with a desperate, aching need.

Yoongi chuckles, a low, rich sound as he stands and begins to undress completely. You watch him, your eyes drinking in every inch of his body, from the strength in his shoulders to the ridges of muscle that ripple under his skin. He’s a vision, raw and powerful, and the sight of him makes your mouth water.

With a look of pure desire, you drop to your knees before him. His hand finds your jaw, his thumb brushing across your cheek with a tenderness that contrasts with the heat in his eyes. “You look so beautiful. Always,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence.

His praise sends a thrill through you, your body responding to the way he worships you with his words and his touch. Humming in appreciation, you reach out to grasp his cock, your hand soft as it glides along his length. Precum beads at the tip, slicking your palm as you stroke him.

You stick your tongue out, gathering saliva before you engulf him in the warmth of your mouth. You suck him like a piece of candy, savoring the taste of him, focusing on the sensitive frenulum and the head of his cock.

His hands land on your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he grunts in need. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your mouth as you work him over with slow, deliberate movements.

You begin to hum, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure down his length. You love watching him unravel before you, his control slipping as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, his grip tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, your mouth a hot, wet haven that he never wants to leave.

“Babe,” he warns, his voice taut with anticipation, a delicious strain that sends shivers down your spine. He’s closer than you anticipated, but you don’t relent. You want to push him over the edge, to taste his release. He tries to pull you off, his hands trembling, but you bat them away with a determined swat, drawing him closer, deeper. Without intending to, you deepthroat him, and his resistance melts into a soft moan, his legs buckling beneath the weight of his pleasure.

You steady your breath, fighting your gag reflex as you close your eyes and do it again, taking him in as deep as you can, your throat tightening around him. Your free hand moves to his balls, feeling the tension there, the tightness that signals just how close he is. A deep, primal groan escapes you as you pull off with a wet pop, only to engulf him again, your pace quickening with purpose.

You can hear it in his voice, the way he moans your name, each syllable a testament to how close he is to unraveling. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort to hold back, but you don’t give him that luxury. You push him closer, until, with a broken cry of your name, he spills into your mouth, the warm, salty liquid hitting your tongue in waves.

You watch his face contort in pure ecstasy, every line and shadow a portrait of his pleasure. When he’s spent, you swallow with a satisfied hum, pressing a teasing kiss to the sensitive tip of his cock, making him shudder with the aftershocks of bliss.

Panting, he runs a hand through his tousled hair, still trying to catch his breath. “You know,” he says, his voice still thick with pleasure, “you’re never gonna get pregnant if I come in your mouth.”

You giggle, a light, airy sound that cuts through the lingering heat between you. “Maybe not,” you concede, “but I love this too, you know. And we should have fun while we try.” You glance down, watching as he slowly softens, your heart swelling with affection for him. Leaning up, you capture his lips in a hungry kiss, pulling him down onto the bed where you eventually drift off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

A few days later, a strange ache tugs at your stomach, a sensation that’s unfamiliar, different from the usual pangs of your period. You brush it aside, though, too excited about the day ahead. Today, you and Yoongi are going surfing in a place known as ‘Cold Hawaii’, a name that hints at both adventure and the chill that comes with it. Neither of you knows how to surf, but that’s part of the thrill. You’re determined to make the most of it.

You head to a surf shop called ‘West Wind’, the air bristling with the energy of the ocean and the people who live for it. The shop is alive with the scent of saltwater and waxed boards, the sound of wetsuits being zipped up, and the murmur of excited voices. You rent surfboards and wetsuits, changing in nearby stalls, and then you’re off to the sea, the brisk air nipping at your cheeks, but the excitement in your veins keeps you warm.

The beach is a hive of activity, surfers riding the waves with effortless grace, their movements fluid and synchronized with the rhythm of the sea. Your instructor, a local with a laid-back demeanor, walks you through the basics: how to balance, where to place your feet. He makes it seem so simple, so intuitive, but you know it’s anything but.

When the time comes, you lie chest-down on the board, the cold water lapping at your sides as you wait for the right wave. The instructor’s voice guides you, telling you when to paddle, when to pop up. But it’s harder than it looks. Your first few attempts are clumsy, your legs wobbling as you try to stand, only to topple back into the water with a splash. You can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and carefree, mingling with the roar of the waves.

Yoongi, with his natural grace, seems to get the hang of it quicker. You watch in admiration as he balances perfectly on the board, his posture steady, his movements controlled. But just as you think he’s got it, he loses his balance and tumbles into the water, disappearing beneath the surface for a moment before popping back up, his black hair plastered to his face, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

You burst out laughing at the sight, the sound of your mirth carrying over the waves. Even the instructor joins in, chuckling at Yoongi’s comical fall. “That was actually good,” he says encouragingly, his tone warm and supportive. “You should both try again.”

Yoongi moves with an effortless grace, a natural on the board, and you can’t help but scuff lightly, rolling your eyes as you watch him balance perfectly, riding the waves as if he were born to them. His ease draws the instructor’s attention more towards you, his voice a steady mantra in your ear, urging you to paddle, paddle, paddle as the wave swells behind you, to pop up and find your balance before the ocean has a chance to pull you under.

You give it your all, and for one brief, glorious moment, you actually manage to stand, your feet finding purchase on the slick surface of the board. But the victory is fleeting; your balance falters so quickly it feels like whiplash, and the next thing you know, you’re crashing into the water, its cold embrace hitting your face hard. Your palms scrape the sandy bottom, and you sputter, your mouth and nose filled with the sting of salty water. The instructor isn’t fazed in the least, his calm demeanor a testament to his experience, and you tell yourself it’s okay—this is so much harder than it looks.

But you’re determined, your resolve like the tide itself, unwavering and persistent. Again and again, you try, each fall more bruising than the last, the surfboard sometimes feeling like it has a vendetta against you. Yet every time you’re knocked down, you get back up, driven by the desire to conquer at least one wave. Yoongi’s big, beaming smile tells you he’s loving every minute of this, his joy infectious even as you struggle.

“Just try again,” the instructor encourages, his tone unwavering, and you do, despite the toll it’s taking on your body. Your muscles ache, sore from the relentless attempts, and a small part of you wonders how long you’ve been at this. Time feels fluid out here, with the waves as your only measure.

Thankfully, the leash tethering you to the board spares you the task of chasing it down after each tumble, a small mercy in the midst of the challenge. You huff out a breath, catching Yoongi’s comforting gaze, his look of support giving you the strength to try once more.

Lying chest down on the board, you let the water cradle you, feeling the swell of a wave approaching. You paddle with renewed determination, and as the wave lifts you, you pop up, finding your balance. This time, you manage to stand, your feet steady beneath you, and the sensation is nothing short of euphoric. A giddy laugh bubbles up from your chest as you ride the wave, a wide smile splitting your face. “Look! I’m doing it!”

And then, inevitably, you hit the water face-first. But when you surface, it’s with a laugh of pure, unbridled joy. You’ve done it. After countless attempts, after losing track of how many times you’ve tried, you finally rode the wave, if only for a moment. And when you see the pride shining in Yoongi’s eyes, your heart swells with a happiness that makes every fall worth it.

Later, after drying off, you treat yourselves to ice cream, savoring the sweet, cold treat as you sit on the beach, wrapped in your warm jackets. The air is crisp, but the warmth between you is enough to keep the chill at bay. You walk hand in hand back to the caravan, the soft crunch of sand beneath your boots, noticing how many other caravans dot the campground. It’s a bustling scene, alive with the laughter of children running and playing, their joy infectious.

As you watch them, your heart warms, and you can’t help but wonder what it will be like when you have kids of your own. The thought lingers, sweet and tender, like the promise of more beautiful moments to come.

“My feet are so sore, Yoon,” you lament, the weight of the day heavy in each step as you both drag your tired bodies back to the warmth of the caravan.

“Mine too,” he admits with a playful lilt in his voice. “How about we give each other a massage?” The suggestion, though innocent in words, carries a hint of something more, and you feel the familiar embers of desire flicker to life within you.

“Yes, please,” you breathe, your words a soft cloud in the crisp night air. The thought of your hands on him, of his hands on you, sends a thrill through your weary body. You can’t wait to get inside, to feel his touch, to see where this simple act of care will lead.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes with a sigh of relief, the warmth of the caravan wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. You share a quick bite, the soft glow of Yoongi’s phone casting shadows across your faces as something plays in the background, though neither of you pays much attention. It’s just a quiet moment, a pause before the real focus begins.

Settling onto the bed, you both sit up, peeling off your socks with a mix of anticipation and fatigue. The first touch of his hands on your feet makes you release a needy sound, the soreness easing under his skilled fingers. Yoongi lets out a similar groan as you knead the tension from his feet, and the shared intimacy sends a wave of warmth straight to your core.

“This has been a wonderful honeymoon, Yoon,” you murmur, your breath a little unsteady as your fingers dig into the arch of his foot.

He hums in response, pleased and content, his eyes closing briefly before he looks at you, love shining in his gaze. “I’m so happy to hear that. You thought we were going someplace exotic, didn’t you?” He chuckles, pulling his foot back for a moment, ticklish under your touch, but then quickly offers it again, craving the comfort of your hands.

“Yeah, I really did,” you admit, smiling at him. “But this has been so lovely. Thank you.” There’s a softness in your voice, a gratitude that comes from the heart.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out easily, a simple truth between you.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice filled with warmth as he grabs your other foot. The touch of his calloused fingers on your tender skin draws a moan from your lips, your body responding instinctively to his care.

The atmosphere shifts, the once innocent massage now tinged with an undercurrent of desire. Your bodies are tired, but the need simmering between you is undeniable. His eyes darken with hunger as he watches you, and the heat in your core intensifies. Letting go of his foot, you crawl toward him, your lips seeking his in a deep, hungry kiss. Your tongues meet in a dance of passion, and your hands move with urgency, tugging at his clothes, helping him shed his shirt, his warmth pressing against you.

You make quick work of his pants, and he follows suit with yours, leaving you both in nothing but your underwear. The kiss deepens, your lips trailing down his body, tasting the salt of his skin. His hands move over you, and you tremble as he pulls your panties off, the cool air brushing against your wetness, sending shivers down your spine. 

Yoongi discards his boxers, his arousal evident, and your body quivers with the need to feel him inside you. He pulls you close, removing your bra with practiced ease, your breasts spilling free. His gaze lingers, filled with lust and love, before he leans down, his lips closing around a nipple. The warmth of his mouth, the swirl of his tongue, sends a jolt of pleasure through you, making your back arch off the bed.

“Yoongi,” you pant, your voice thick with desire as he tends to your other breast, his hand teasing and pulling at your nipple, sending sparks of heat to your pussy.

Your chest heaves with each breath, your body alive under his touch, every nerve ending ignited. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and you tug at his hair, urging him closer, deeper.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you cry out, the pleasure building to a fever pitch as he alternates between your breasts, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to push you over the edge. You could come just from this, and it wouldn’t be the first time. There’s no embarrassment, just raw desire.

“I’m—,” you moan as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, arching your back into his face as you come undone. Your back arches, your body trembling as you come undone beneath him, his name a breathless whisper on your lips as the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in the aftermath of bliss.

A sudden knock on the door steals the breath from your lungs, and you freeze, eyes wide with shock. The intimacy of the moment shatters like fragile glass, and Yoongi, just as startled, pulls away. Instinctively, you reach for him, not wanting the spell to break, your heart pounding like a wild drum in your chest.

But Yoongi, ever the calm in your storm, quickly grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist. The distance between you feels like a chasm as he opens the door, while you remain on the bed, flushed and breathless, your chest heaving, still glistening with the remnants of his kiss.

“Hi,” comes the low murmur of a man’s voice, intruding into your world as Yoongi runs a hand through his tousled hair, trying to steady his breath.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” the man continues, his tone polite yet firm, “but could you keep it down? My kids are trying to sleep, and it’s getting a bit loud.”

Each word lands like a stone, sinking into the pit of your stomach as mortification blooms within you. The realization that your passion had spilled beyond the walls of your private sanctuary makes you wish the earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit. We’re so sorry,” Yoongi replies, his voice steady and apologetic as he bows slightly, the English words rolling off his tongue with ease. “We’ll be quieter. Sorry again.” With that, he closes the door, and the world narrows back down to just the two of you. For a moment, you just stare at each other, and the air feels thick with unspoken tension and embarrassment. Your breathing is still quick and you feel like you want to disappear, but Yoongi’s eyes ground you, and his soft smile lets you know it’s okay. The silence is stretching on, until Yoongi bursts out laughing, showing his perfect gums, which in turn makes you laugh too. Suddenly, you don’t feel so embarrassed, the laughter making way for the absurdity of the situation to dissipate a bit, and you just giggle, the atmosphere contagious.

He crosses the short distance to the bed, a smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you, eyes glinting with mischief. “I’d suggest stuffing your mouth with my cock to keep you quiet,” he says, voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. You barely catch your breath as he adds, “But if you want to get pregnant this cycle, it needs to be in your vagina.”

His words set your heart racing anew, desire pooling hot and urgent within you. You stare at him, feeling the wetness between your thighs grow, your body responding to his every word.

“You’re ovulating, right?” he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s a serious edge to his gaze.

You blink, the realization dawning like a slow sunrise. The ache in your stomach—it all makes sense. “I think I am, yeah,” you murmur, your voice trembling with anticipation. 

A devilish smile spreads across his face. “Well,” he clicks his tongue, his eyes darkening with intent, “then I’m going to fuck you, but you’ll have to be silent. There are people sleeping.”

You nod, breath hitching as the room seems to shrink around the two of you. 

With a practiced ease, Yoongi discards the towel and returns to the bed, his presence overwhelming as he hovers over you, still hard and ready. He takes himself in hand, giving a few slow pumps before his fingers find your wetness. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his voice thick with approval. “Bet I’ll slide right in.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a moan, knowing he’s right.

He aligns himself with your entrance, and with a smooth, unhurried thrust, he’s inside you, filling you completely. The pleasure is instant and intense, but you remember the man’s words, biting into Yoongi’s discarded shirt to stifle your cries.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Yoongi rasps, his voice strained with the effort of keeping quiet as he begins to move, his pace steady and deep. The sound of your bodies meeting, slick and needy, fills the small caravan, mingling with the quiet grunts and whispered breaths.

With strong hands, he grips your thighs, spreading them wide and lifting them onto his shoulders. His thrusts quicken, each one bringing you closer to the edge, his breath coming in harsh pants as he fights to keep his own volume down.

“This pussy,” he whispers, his voice reverent as he pulls one leg down to reach between your bodies. His fingers find your clit, already swollen and sensitive, and he circles it with expert precision. “It’s mine, and it’s so gorgeous.”

Your vision blurs, your body trembling as a new wave of pleasure builds deep inside. You mumble incoherently into the shirt, but it doesn’t matter—Yoongi knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your walls clench around him.

He keeps his rhythm steady, his fingers teasing your clit while his cock hits that perfect spot inside you. The tension coils tighter and tighter until, with a final, whispered plea of his name, you unravel completely, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body spasms, and you push the shirt out of your mouth, gasping for air as you whisper his name, the sound broken and desperate.

“Fuck, babe,” Yoongi groans, his pace faltering as he chases his own release. The way your body grips him, the way you moan his name—it’s too much. With a low growl, he thrusts deep one last time, his cock throbbing as he spills into you, warmth flooding your walls as he pants your name.

The world narrows to the feeling of him, the heat of his body pressed against yours as he collapses on top of you, both of you breathless and sated. You don’t mind the weight of him, your arms wrapping around his back as you press a tender kiss to his temple.

“I can’t wait to have a baby with you,” he whispers against your skin, his voice soft and filled with love.

“I can’t wait either,” you reply, your voice equally tender as you kiss him again, pouring all the love and gratitude you feel into that simple, sweet gesture.

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts@constancelayon@wobblewobble822@ktownshizzle@moonchild1 @ultimatefangirl0 @baechugff @jimintaemin @parapiop7 @fckkntired @iluvfndms @citypop-princess @tarahardcore @bergandysam @massivelyfullenthusiast @tatyhend @gimeow @jeonsbabygirlsworld

*I don't know why the fuck the taglist doesn't want to work anymore T_T I hope you all find it anyway!

Author’s note(2): I really hope you liked it! I have two more extras planned for this series and they’re coming soon! Please let me know in a comment, reblog or ask what you liked 💜 And please, remember it’s just fiction.

[supernaturalgirl20]

ok ok i have a joel x reader request. maybe after settling down in jackson, reader has some guys approaching her and flirting which makes joel feel insecure and like reader would be better off without him? she has to reassure him that he’s the one for her. maybe some smut but just very soft and loving perhaps

Love this request 🥰 thanks nonnie, hope you enjoy 😊

A Fool for You

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, slight age gap, insecure Joel, self doubt, flirting, slight jealousy, smidge of angst,cursing, fluff.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Joel waited patiently at the gates for the morning patrol party to return, more specifically, you. He hated when you did patrols without him, but Tommy had insisted you help out with the new crew that had arrived last month.

He’d grumbled about it, but you’d assured him you’d be fine. Joel knew you could handle yourself. That wasn’t the issue. He didn’t trust the new guys, not one bit. It didn’t help that they seemed enamoured with you. Always watching you with their lust-filled eyes. 

“They’re not back yet?” Ellie asked as she sidled up beside him. His gaze turned towards her, and he shook his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“She’ll be ok, ya know? She can handle herself just fine.” Ellie was trying her best to reassure him, but he couldn’t shake the anxiety that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Ellie’s laugh startled him from his thoughts and when he met her gaze again, she was bowled over with laughter. 

“You’ve got it bad man.” She smacked his arm as she continued to laugh causing a scowl to form on his face. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout”, he grumbled as he huffed out a breath, his gaze fixed firmly in the gate. 

“Sure ya don’t. You should just tell her how you really feel and then you can finally give her that ring you’ve been squirrelling away.” Ellie looked at him then with her eyebrows raised, a silent challenge for him to correct her but he didn't. 

How the hell did she find out about the ring? He thinks to himself as tries to steal his expression, not wanting to prove her right. Of course, Ellie would know how he truly felt. There wasn’t much he was able to keep hidden from her, she could read him like a book. 

“She loves you too, ya know? In case you were wondering. You two are about as subtle as a sledgehammer.” The sound of the gate opening captured her attention and she missed the way Joel’s face lit up. 

Did you really love him? He loves you. There’s no doubt in his mind about how he feels about you; he just doesn’t know if you feel the same. The relationship you both had was undefined, but you lived together, you slept in the same bed and took pleasure from each other’s bodies and to everyone in Jackson, you were Joel’s girl. 

Could you truly love him? 

Hope began to bloom deep inside him and when he saw you enter through the gate, he couldn’t help the smile that edged its way onto his face. 

“See I told you, she’s just fine,” Ellie’s voice sounded from beside him, startling him. He’d forgotten she was standing there and when he looked down at her she tilted her head in your direction. “Go on then. Go get her.”

“Ain’t, you supposed to be at school?” He asked, his eyebrow raised in question. She simply shrugs her shoulders before winking at him and turning to leave. He smirks after her, silently wondering how he got lucky enough to get a second chance at a normal life. 

“Hey, are you waiting here long? One of the new girls had a meltdown out there. It's what took so long to get back.” Joel’s eyes take you in, searching for any signs that you might have been hurt and when he finds none, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Not long. Just glad you’re ok. Ain’t lettin Tommy make this a regular thing though. I ain’t been able to sit still all mornin’.” 

You smile up at him as his gaze drifts to the others filing into the town behind you. He clenches his fists as he spots some of the new guys ogling you. The fuck they looking at?

He feels a rage begin to simmer beneath the surface of his skin and without thinking much about it he wraps his arms around you and crashes his lips to yours. You gasp at first, shocked by his sudden display of affection, something he never does but it quickly turns into a soft moan as he licks along your bottom lip and his hands grab your ass. 

What’s gotten into him? You think to yourself as you wind your hand around his neck. Just as it starts to get a little heated, he pulls away and glares over your shoulder. You follow his line of sight and suddenly it all makes sense. 

He’s jealous. 

Jake and Dillon are both glancing in your direction and his hands grip your hips a little tighter causing the smile on your face to widen. 

“You ain’t gotta worry about them Miller. I’m all yours.” You tease and he quickly glances at you before grumbling under his breath. You take his hand in yours and lead him away from the crowd gathered at the gate towards your shared home. 

“Come on, I’m starving. Let’s go home.”

***

Joel made sure after that - having threatened Tommy enough - that you were always on the same patrol. It always made him uneasy when you went out of Jackson without him. 

Everyone knew you were his lady. It didn’t have to be announced, it was just the way it was.

Apparently though, the new guys didn’t seem to get the message and with each patrol they began to flirt more with you, and it did nothing to help with his ever growing insecurities. 

He’d always felt like you were too good for him. Since way back in the Boston QZ and he ignored his feelings for you by hooking up with Tess. She knew of course, nothin slipped past that woman. 

You were smart, beautiful and a little bit younger and as time passed by and you became more settled into this new life, he began to question if you were better off without him. 

“Hey,” your voice startled him from his thoughts and as he looked up at you, leaning against the door to your shared room, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Hey darlin’, everythin alright?” You nodded your head as you pushed away from the door frame. 

“Yep, just wanted to see if you wanted to come to the Tipsy Bison, the patrol crew are all meeting for a well-deserved drink.” You made your way towards him, settling yourself between his open legs and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Gotta head over to the stables and fix up the fence, but you head on over, as soon as I’m done, I’ll join ya.” He lifted his hand to brush some hair off your face, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“M’okay.” His hand drifts behind your neck and pulls you close. His lips meet yours in a soft kiss before he pulls away and pats your ass. “Go on now, or we’ll both be late.”

You smile down at him as you peck his lips once more and turn to leave. Joel let out a sigh as the sound of the door closing echoed through the house. He needed to stop thinkin like that. 

***

Your laughter is the first thing he hears as he pushes open the door to the Tipsy Bison. It’s a sound he’s grown to love over the years you’ve been together, and it always brings a smile to his face. 

The smile quickly turns to a scowl though as he stands at the entrance, the door swishing behind him. His stomach twists into knots and his heart thunders within his chest when he sees you standing at the bar with Dillon. 

He’s clearly said something funny which explains your laughter but that’s not what bothers Joel. It’s the way he’s standing too close, his hand gently touching your arm. It’s the way his eyes keep drifting to your lips. 

Those doubts and insecurities simmer to the surface, and he panics. What if you want someone more like Dillon? Someone stronger. Someone younger. Joel can’t take it anymore and before you can spot him, he turns and leaves, making his way home. 

He bursts into the house, the front door slamming behind him echoing through the air as he rushes past the kitchen and up the stairs. 

“Hey, everything alright?” Ellie’s voice shouts after him but he doesn’t answer. “Okay then,” she mutters as she continues to fill her bag. 

***

The laughter dies in your throat the minute Dillon’s hand touches your arm. He was sweet and very funny, but you didn’t have any interest in him like that. Not when you were madly in love with Joel. 

As if your mind had conjured him, you see him in the doorway of the bar, his back to you as he makes a hasty exit. Was he not going to join you?

You're not sure what Dillon is talking about now that your mind is on Joel. With a wry smile you turn back towards him. “I’m gonna head out, ok?”

You down the rest of your whiskey and turn to leave but Dillon’s hand on your wrist stops you. 

“I thought we were having a good time,” he says, his tone a little clipped. Your eyes drift to where he’s touching you and you quickly pull your hand away. “Look, you’re a nice guy but I’m not interested. I love Joel. I’m his.”

“That old sack of shit,” he jeers, and you can feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface of your skin. 

“What did you say?” He laughs again and you clench your fist tight. “I said he’s an old sack of shi…”

“Fuck! You bitch.” He cries as you punch him squarely in the face. He holds his nose as blood flows freely from it, trickling down over his hand. 

“You better watch what you say about my man. Cause I ever hear you say shit like that again,” you lean in close, your breath tickling the skin of his neck. “I’ll rip your cock off. Got it?” 

He nods his head frantically before rushing out the door. The bar is silent now and you can feel Tommy behind you before he says anything. 

“Jesus, you and Joel are perfect for each other. I reckon he won’t bother ya again now. Hell, I reckon no man is gonna bother ya now.” His hand rests on your shoulder squeezing gently. 

“Good. Cause I’m already takin.” Tommy pats you on the back as he turns back towards the bar. You let out a sigh as you walk out of the bar and make your way home. You know that’s where he’s gone. 

“Hey, something happen with Joel? He stormed up the stairs like a moody teenager.” Ellie asks as you make your way into the kitchen.

“Not really sure but I’m gonna head up and see if he’s ok.” You furrow your brow when Ellie throws her backpack on. “Are you off somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m heading over to Dina’s. I’m staying the night so don’t worry about me.” She gives you a tight hug before heading for the door and leaving. 

You close your eyes and take in a deep breath before ascending the stairs two at a time. Your hand hovers over the door handle of your shared room and you hope that he doesn’t shut you out this time. 

The door creaks as you push it open and you find Joel suiting on the bed facing the window. His shoulders are tense and you decide to crawl across the bed and wrap yourself around him. He tenses more when he feels your arms slip around his back towards his chest. 

“What are ya doin?” His voice is low, and you can feel the rumble of it as your head presses against his back. 

“What’s wrong? You’ve been a little off since I did that patrol on my own a couple of weeks back.” 

He sighs, leaning forward and placing his hands on his face. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong.”

“Ok, yeah, I don’t believe that for a second, baby. You can tell me anything, you know that right?”

“I don’t think this is gonna work out,” he mutters quickly through his hands. Your heart cracks just a little. Where the hell is this coming from?

“Joel,” you whisper as you pull away from his back and move to straddle him. He reluctantly moves his hands away from his face to grip your hips, making sure you don’t fall. 

His gaze settles on the window behind you but you're not having any of it. Reaching out to him, you gently place your hand on his cheek, and he closes his eyes at the feeling of you touching him. 

“Look at me please.” Your voice is soft, and you run your thumb along the stubble of his cheek. He takes a deep breath before slowly opening his eyes and meeting your gaze. 

“What’s going on, Joel? Are you really breaking up with me?” He swallows loudly, his eyes tracing the curve of your face before letting his eyes drift away. 

“No! Look at me and say it. Say you want this to end. That you don’t want me anymore.” It comes out a little harsher than you wanted but you need him to talk to you about what’s running through his head. 

“I ain’t good enough for ya, darlin’.” It’s almost a whisper but you heard him loud and clear. “You could have anyone you wanted. I’m just holdin ya back baby.”

“Now hold on a minute, where are you getting this from. Joel, baby.” You grab his face with both hands and force him to look at you. “You are not holding me back. You make me better, in every way and I couldn’t live without you. So please don’t make me.”

“You should be with someone closer in age. Someone like Dillon.” That’s when it clicks. 

“I don’t want him. I don’t want anyone that isn’t you. Never have, never will. Joel, you're stuck with me. Besides, you ain’t that much older than me, baby. I love you.”

His breath hitches. You love him. His eyes glaze over with unshed tears and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You-you love me?” 

“Afraid so. You, Joel Miller, are the love of my life. You ain’t too old for me. You may be a little bit grumpy but, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.” 

He grabs your ass and pulls you close, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in savouring the feel of you in his arms. His heart beats wildly as he utters those words back. 

“I love you too, darlin’.” You run your fingers through his hair, and he hums contentedly. “You are sure I’m what you want?” He asks as he pulls back to look at you. 

“Let me show you how much I want you.” He gulps as you remove your jacket and top, tossing them onto the floor behind you. His eyes widen, transfixed by your form as you make quick work of removing your bra.

You slip off his lap and remove your trousers, taking your underwear off with them. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whisper as his eyes trail the length of your naked body. 

You bend, pulling off his boots and socks before running your hands up along his jean clad thighs. Undoing his belt, you reach for his zipper and he lifts his hips as you pull his jeans off. 

His breathing is ragged as you straddle his waist again, hands running up his chest reverently. His arousal is hard against you and he closes his eyes and groans when you run your slick along it.

With delicate fingers, you slowly undo the buttons of his shirt, rolling it off his shoulders. You giggle at the sight of the grey t-shirt he has underneath. 

“Why do you always have to wear so many layers?” He smiles at you and shrugs his shoulders. “Think it’s cause I’m….”

You place your finger against his lips, “if you say you’re old, i'm gonna slap you baby.” He chuckles, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. 

“M’okay. I won’t say it so.” His eyes are focused on your lips, and you lean in and capture his in a searing kiss. You swallow the moan he lets out as you slowly grind against him. 

“Wanna take care of you, baby,” you whisper against his lips. He doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s too damn horny. 

You push at his chest, forcing him onto his back and the way he’s looking up at you sends a shiver down your spine. 

You don’t speak. You don’t want to ruin the moment with words, so you grab his length in your hand and pump him twice before you line him up and sink down on him. He whimpers, his hands gripping your hips tight as he keeps his gaze focused on where he disappears inside you. 

It’s slow, sensual as you roll your hips above him. You’re focused on him, on his pleasure as you try to reassure him with your body that he’s it for you. 

You can feel your pleasure build and as your orgasm washes over you, Joel makes a strangled noise below you. His eyes are wide open, glazed over with lust as he focuses on the way your breasts bounce slightly. He moves his hand from your hip to squeeze your breast, pinching your pebbled nipple between his fingers and you moan softly as you clench around him. 

His breathing becomes more ragged, and you know he’s close. You ride him a little harder and he trembles as he nears his release. He groans out your name as his body jerks, spurting hot ropes of cum inside you. You both pant loudly, his grip on your hips loosening as he pulls you down towards him. He doesn’t pull out, wanting to stay connected to you for a little longer. 

“So, have I convinced you you’re it for me?” You whisper into his chest. Joel smiles, lifting your chin towards him and he connects his lips with yours. “Don’t know darlin’. Might need a little more convincin’.” 

You smack his chest, and he chuckles, pulling you close. “Hey,” he says as he grabs your hand. “Why is your hand bruisin’?” You shrug your shoulders and nuzzle back into his chest. “Let’s just say, you aint gotta worry about Dillon no more.” His eyebrows arch and his chest expands with pride. You really are his lady.

He knows that you love him. That he loves you and that you are all he needs. You and Ellie. His gaze drifts towards his bedside locker where the ring he found a couple of months back lays sitting in a black box. 

A smile plays across his face. He’s gonna have to ask you now. Ask you to be his wife. Maybe then - when you’re wearing his ring on your finger, sharing his name - the men of Jackson will think twice about flirting with what’s his. 

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan25 @angstismydrug @everythingfan @pedrosbum @ryangoslingstanktop

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Autumn Symbolism OC Questions.

A little list of OC questions based on Autumn Symbolism in North West European Heraldry. Obviously many of these things have different symbolic meanings in different cultures and have had different associations at different points in history - this list is intended more for diversion than serious historical analysis.

Apples - Liberality, Felicity, Peace and Salvation.

What is your OC's happiest memory? Does remembering it still make them smile? Or is there a wistful melancholy when they recall it?

Is your OC open to new ideas and ways of doing things? Or do they treat such suggestions with great suspicion and prefer to stick to tried and tested approaches and values?

Does your OC find it easy to express themselves in words? Or do they sometimes struggle to find the appropriate word or phrase? Are they eloquent in one language, but less practiced in another?

Is your OC happiest when things are peaceful and harmonious? Or do they secretly (or not so secretly) relish more drama or excitement?

How far would your OC go to protect others from harm? Have they ever accepted injury or suffering in order to keep others safe? Would they do so again?

Acorns - Independence and Ambition.

Does your OC find it easy to make their own decisions and come up with their own plans? Or would they prefer to ask for advice or guidance from others? Perhaps they might even wish that another could take major decisions out of their hands sometimes?

How much freedom would your OC willingly give up for the sake of a relationship or family commitment? How much would they give up grudgingly?

What is your OC's greatest aspiration? Is there an ultimate outcome towards which they are constantly striving? Is this something they keep secret from those around them?

Does your OC believe power is best held by those with the will to seize it? Or are they deeply suspicious of those with grand ambitions to hold authority over others?

Does your OC enjoy teaching others and nurturing their skills to the point they are masters in their own right? Or would they prefer to hoard certain strategies or wisdom in order to guarantee their own pre-eminence?

Squirrels - Thrift, Caution and Conception.

Does your OC carefully consider all possible outcomes before embarking upon a course of action? Or are they more inclined to launch themselves head-first into whatever they decide is the best plan at the time?

Is your OC frugal with their money? Carefully budgeting and saving against unexpected eventualities? Or are they more likely to spend money when they have it and not worry about it until it runs out?

Is your OC someone to whom others come for advice or help with planning? Or would their companions or associates laugh at such a notion?

What does your OC most fear happening should their plans go awry or their intended aim be thwarted? Humiliation? Loss of status? Or something more dangerous still?

What is something that your OC would never spend money on for themselves, but would be delighted to receive as a gift from another?

Oak Leaves - Faith and Endurance.

Does your OC adhere to any particular religious faith? To what degree do they follow the tenets of that faith? Are they a believer in name only? Or are they zealous in their convictions?

Has your OC ever had their beliefs significantly challenged? Have they perhaps seen things that made them doubt their faith? Or encountered opposing arguments they found it hard to refute?

How does your OC cope with hardship? Are they stoic and uncomplaining? Or do they whine and grumble? Is their response to hardship an accurate indication of their actual character or degree of resilience?

Do others have faith in your OC? Is this due to their past accomplishments? Or are they just exceptionally charismatic and easily able to inspire belief in others?

What has been the most challenging obstacle or hazard your OC has needed to overcome? How did they manage this? Was it through grit and determination? Guile and cunning? Or simply dumb luck?

Hedgehogs - Thoughtfulness and Provision.

Is your OC prone to introspection and reflection? Or do they not have much of an inner life in that regard? Do they ever find themselves ruminating upon things they would sooner forget? Or do others despair of them ever learning from their mistakes?

Does your OC like to hoard items and treasures? Or do they prefer to have few possessions? How do they feel about those with a different approach to such things?

How good is your OC at remembering small details about other people, such as their favourite foods or their date of birth? Do they find it easier to remember details about people they find attractive or potentially useful?

Does your OC always ensure they have sufficient material supplies or food stores to last through lean or difficult times? Or are they more inclined to rely (or assume they can rely) upon the generosity of others should they run low on resources?

What gift or reward is your OC most proud of having bestowed upon another person? What makes them proud about it? The expense or rarity? The time or effort expended in obtaining it? Or how clever or insightful they were in deciding upon it?

Wheat Sheaves - Plenty and Commendable Hospitality.

Is your OC prone to excessive consumption? If so, then are they eager for food in general? Or are there specific treats upon which they are inclined to gorge themselves? Or are they more focused upon the consumption of drink, illicit substances or engagement in darker vices still?

Does your OC enjoy playing the perfect host or hostess? Are they skilled at courtesy and making guests feel welcome? Or do they suffer others in their personal space most unwillingly?

If your OC could ensure a limitless supply of one particular thing then what would that be? An endless fountain of wine? A bottomless sack of food to distribute amongst the masses? An infinite library of every book ever written? Or perhaps something even more esoteric?

What makes your OC feel most welcome when visiting somewhere for the first time? Do they have specific cultural beliefs about how guests should be treated? Have they ever travelled somewhere with different social practices? How did they respond to this?

How does your OC feel about striking disparities in wealth or access to essential resources? Do they feel such things should be distributed more (or even totally) equitably? Or are they disinclined to interfere with the current ordering of society? Do they believe in paternalism and charity as an effectives mean of sharing the wealth of the rich with those less fortunate? Or are they cynical about this approach?

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Celebrity Next Door: Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Neighborhood

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader (Written in first person, but with Y/N)

Series Summary: Y/N's life takes an unexpected turn when she moves next door to Jensen Ackles, a famous actor navigating life post-divorce. Their initial awkward encounter over a broken window leads to a budding friendship, navigating the challenges of celebrity life and forging meaningful connections in their neighborhood.

Chapter Summary: Y/N, a New Yorker adjusting to life in Los Angeles, finds herself entangled with her neighbor Jensen Ackles and his daughter Katie after a baseball mishap leads to unexpected connections and new beginnings in their shared neighborhood.

A/N: Okay, so it may be weird but I'm writing this in first person POV, but the name will be changed to Y/N. Might be annoying, but it's easier for the story. Thank you!

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

The sun beamed through the bay window of my living room, filling the air with the chirping of birds and scurrying of squirrels. It was a surprisingly joyful sound that welcomed me on my first real day in Los Angeles—a city I had dreaded joining.

Maybe my initial judgments were coloured by my New York roots; after all, I was unquestionably a city girl. I've always found comfort in the sounds of the city; cars honking, people scattered everywhere living their lives-that was the life I was used to. As much as I was excited about the new chapter of my life, there were qualities of LA that would take some getting used to, things that puzzled me.

Like why was it always so damn bright here? The sky, the buildings, the houses-all of it seemed to glow with an intensity that demanded sunglasses just to step outside. And why were the houses so enormous? It seemed ridiculous. I only need a bed, a bathroom and a kitchen yet here I was in what they called a condo, but felt more like a mansion with its space.

But despite my initial objection to LA’s charms, I couldn’t deny the peacefulness of the palm-tree-lined streets and the birdsong that greeted me each morning in a way New York never could.

I rolled onto my side, glanced at my phone, and sighed. 10:00 am already. There was still so much unpacking to do, and no one to help.

These first days were going to be busy. Pushing myself off the less-than-comfortable bed, I shuffled to the kitchen where the only thing I had set up so far was my Keurig machine. Leaning on the counter, I patiently awaited that first magical cup of morning coffee. Glancing outside, I squinted at the brilliant sunlight that threatened to overwhelm me. Seriously, why was it so damn bright here?

The coffee machine groaned, signaling it was ready. I turned to grab my mug when a sudden crash shattered the quiet. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground.

Peeking slowly over the counter, I discovered the cause—a baseball sitting right there on my kitchen floor, glass scattered everywhere around it.

I chuckled softly and shook my head. One thing I wouldn’t miss about New York: the reflex to duck for cover at every unexpected noise.

Moments later, the doorbell rang, nearly sending me into cardiac arrest. I approached guardedly, peeking through the side windows. A little girl stood on my porch, her expression guilt-ridden.

I opened the door, looked around for a parent nearby before crouching down to her eye level. “Hi there. Can I help you?”

Her small hands fidgeted with her zipper nervously. “I… I accidentally hit your window with my baseball. It’s inside your house.”

I smiled warmly. “It’s okay. What’s your name sweetie?”

Her eyes glanced up slightly, a light sniffle coming from her nose. “Katie."

“Well, Katie, I’m Y/N. Let’s go get your ball, alright? Are your parents around?”

She looked around and shook her head. “My daddy’s inside. Mommy’s not here.”

I nodded, retrieving the ball and returning to find Katie waiting patiently on the porch. I couldn’t help but giggle at her adorableness. Despite the broken window, I looked forward to having children around, filling the street with laughter and play.

Carefully navigating the scattered glass, I handed Katie her ball. She beamed up at me as I closed and locked the door behind us. “Where’s your house? I’ll take you back to your dad.”

Katie pointed to a massive white house next to mine, surrounded by a high fence and perfectly kept lawn which only peaked my curiosity.

Following Katie to her gate, I watched her disappear inside the house quickly, calling for her dad to come to the door. I waited patiently and suddenly anxiety filled my chest at the concept of meeting my new neighbour in this way.

It took a few minutes, but finally the little girl returned with a larger figure I could barely see from where I was standing. He approached the door and with every step he took towards the light, the more my breath got caught in my throat.

I knew him—or at least recognized him from somewhere. His piercing green eyes met mine, and suddenly it clicked: Jensen Ackles. I struggled to maintain composure, reminding myself he was just a person like me, despite my heart threatening to burst from my chest.

“Can I help you?” His voice was direct, cutting through my nerves.

I managed a polite smile, trying to gather my thoughts. “Hi... I just moved in next door. Your daughter accidentally threw a baseball into my kitchen window, and she came over to...”

“Katie!” His sharp voice interrupted, causing me to jump. He turned to his daughter, arms crossed. “What did I tell you about throwing the baseball around? This is the third time this month!”

Katie’s eyes dropped, on the verge of tears. I wanted to comfort her or maybe scold Jensen, but I knew nothing about parenting. Still, seeing him yell at her harshly made my anxiety rise.

The worst part of this whole situation though, was the way he was glaring into my soul, arms still crossed, a deep frown on his face. It felt like the very essence of my being was completely ruining his day.

He sighed, leaning against the doorway with a hint of apology in his eyes. “Is that all, or is there something else?”

I faltered, sensing his impatience. “Uh, no, that’s it, I guess.”

“Okay. Thanks, bye.” With that, the door closed, leaving me staring at the wooden texture of my first celebrity encounter.

As I walked back to my house, I couldn't stop the sadness that crept in. It was my first day, and it had already started roughly. I wondered if I would ever warm up to this place.

An hour later, most of my boxes were unpacked, clothes neatly put away away, and a single family photo hung in the hallway that was taken at a family reunion over a year ago. Our family wasn't the photo taking type, and that's one thing I vowed to change, because as I stared at the empty wall with the lone photograph, I felt sad.

But when I looked around my spacious new home, I felt a sense of relief. The morning’s drama and anxiety had faded away.

I grabbed my coffee and stepped onto the front porch, sinking into the swing that came with the house. Examining the neighborhood, I noticed kids playing—biking, rollerblading, and drawing with chalk.

My gaze landed on Jensen’s front yard. Katie was there, playing with a little boy who looked just like him. Jensen was noticeably absent, which didn’t surprise me.

I headed out to collect my mail, when I heard a familiar voice calling my name. My heart warmed as Katie waved at me from her yard. Returning her wave with a smile, I realized maybe I wouldn’t hate this place after all.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[bluestar22x]

Maze Find

Summary: When your dog runs into a corn maze, you run into Frankie Morales

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: General

Word Count: 900(ish)

Warnings: None, pure Hallmarky fluff

Author’s Note: This is my submission for jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge ( @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno ) - I picked Morales Mocha with corn maze mishap (more like meet cute).

xxx

"Biscuit, where are you?" you called out, eyes scanning your surroundings, trying not to panic.

There wasn't much to see beyond corn stalks, given you were in a corn maze, but you had to try.

Your new dog Biscuit, a rescue from the local animal shelter, had managed to wiggle his way out of, you could admit, his too loose collar to chase after a squirrel during your afternoon walk.

The last you'd seen of him, about three minutes ago, was his wire haired sandy colored body slipping into the corn field, which was unusually busy due to the time of year.

The owner was hosting a corn maze, open to anyone, for a small price. A price the farmer had waivered for you when you explained why you needed access to his field.

You hadn't seen the dog since his initial escape, and you were starting to worry that he was no longer even in the area. Hounds were well known for running off far.

You were nearing the end of the maze when you turned a corner and sagged with relief, finding Biscuit sitting in front of a tall man with a well trimmed beard and a Standard Heating Oil cap perched on top of his head. A nearly fully eaten ice cream cone was in his right hand, a paper shopping bag in the other.

"This wanderer yours?" he asked when he saw you appear, an amused expression on his face.

"Sorry, he got off the leash," you explained, "Saw a squirrel and it was too hard to resist."

He chuckled and you smiled at him as you approached and slipped Biscuit's collar back around his neck, tightening it in the process. You liked the sound of the stranger's laughter. It was warm, hearty. "Thanks for distracting him while I caught up."

"It was purely by accident," he told you, shrugging. "He was interested in what I'm eating."

You nodded. "Ice cream is a weakness of his."

The man's lips curved up. "Mine too."

"So what are you doing in the maze?" you inquired. "Got a lost dog of your own?"

He had to be either a farm hand or a parent, but you were curious. He was very easy on the eyes, and you were pretty sure you'd never seen him around before. The town wasn't so small that not knowing him was impossible, but still.

"No, just a lost kid," he said, "Except not actually lost. I can see from here where he's hiding." He glanced over your shoulder. "Nic come on out. It's time to head home."

A young boy, maybe four, shot out from between the stalks to your left. "Aww...already?"

"Yes, already," the man said in a tone you immediately recognized as fatherly stern. "Your mom will kill me if we're late."

You cocked an eyebrow at him and he laughed. "She won't actually kill me, but Nic's mother is planning to take him to see a movie tonight and she doesn't like being late to anything."

"Ah, Nic's mother," you repeated. That didn't sound like they were still together. You shouldn't care, but you did. Because he was handsome, especially in the green plaid shirt he was wearing, and seemed nice.

"Yeah, we divorced three years ago. On good terms. But she likes her schedules."

"Can I pet your dog?" Nic interrupted.

You grinned at his politeness, most kids didn't ask, even though they should with strange dogs. "Of course, Biscuit would love it."

Nic kneeled down and started petting him under the chin and the dog flipped over to expose his belly, making everyone laugh.

"Looks like you've made a new friend," you declared, grinning.

"He's so silly," Nic said, "What kind of dog is he?"

"A Basset Fauve de Bretagne," you answered.

The young boy blinked at you, confused. "A Basset what?"

You chuckled. "It's a French breed. You know France?"

The boy nodded. "Mrs. Bran is teaching us how to read maps."

"Oh...interesting."

"It's...okay."

You laughed again at his honesty. "Well, I promise the country is more interesting than its map."

Nic's father gave him a few moments more to stroke Biscuit then repeated that they had to go.

The boy pouted but did as told, heading out for their car at the end of the maze.

"Thanks again..." you trailed and the man took the hint.

"Frankie. Most people call me Frankie."

"Thanks again, Frankie."

"I didn't do much, but I'm glad to have helped..."

You gave him your name and smiled again. "Help is help."

You rummaged through your purse after and pulled out a pen and notepad.

"Those still exist?" Frankie joked as you put ink to the lined yellow paper. His dark eyes were curious as you jotted down something on it - your phone number.

You weren't usually so bold, but if he wasn't interested he just wouldn't call right? No big deal. But you'd regret not making an attempt at a date. You'd been single for far too long.

You passed him the note. "I'd like to thank you over coffee or something. My treat. Just call me when you're not busy sometime?"

He smiled and folded the paper up nicely. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Let me drop off Nic, his mother's house isn't far, then I'll call."

"Sounds good."

You shared warm smiles and parted with your boys.

As promised, Frankie called a few hours later.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[holdmytesseract]

Drabble request Daryl x fem!reader: i don't want to watch the world end with someone else 🫶🏽 don't know if that's kinda challenging or easy going, I'm excited 🤭

Life and Death

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warning: the usual Walking Dead stuff? walkers, weapons, fluff

Word Count: drabble

a/n: I can't describe how much I enjoyed writing this. Gods, I missed writing for Daryl. 🥹 Thank you SO much for this, friend! 🧡

You were driving down the muddy forest path on your motorbike; crossbow slung over your back. Being the girlfriend of a certain archer had it's perks. Especially in a apocalypse.

The air smelled fresh and clean. Slightly cold, but not freezing. It had just rained; causing the scent of water and earth to fill your nose. Waterdrops fell from the trees which lined the path; hitting the skin of your face from time to time. Closing your eyes for just a moment, you relished in the scent and feel of the nature around you. It was beautiful. And dangerous. But that was nothing new.

The neigh of horses from some distance, ripped you out of your thoughts. You focused; seeing a carriage quite a few yards ahead. You immediately had a guess who it could be and slowed down, carefully approaching. But you could already tell that it was a friend and not an enemy.

When the carriage stopped and you beside it, you knew you were right.

With a bright smile you got off your motorbike and went to hug your friend. "Hey, Maggie. Long time no see. How are you? And Hershel? And Hilltop?" The brown haired woman wrapped you in her arms tightly. "Way too long, Y/N," she started. You could hear the smile in her voice. "'M good, thanks and so's Hershel. Hilltop as well. How are you?" "Never been better, thank ya."

She stepped back from the embrace with her signature smile. "Already the second archer I met today." Your eyes shone bright. "You saw Daryl?" Maggie nodded. "Indeed. Was off huntin'." "I know, yeah. I wanted to look for him and help. Been busy this morning; training some kids in fighting off walkers, but now I've got time. Do you know where he went?"

"He didn't tell me, but I'd say he went south-east," she answered; pointed into the direction. "Thanks."

You actually wanted to talk longer to your dear friend - bound together by the end of the world, but Jesus's words about a small herd of walkers approaching through Maggie's walkie-talkie unfortunately brought an early end to the reunion. Of course, neither you nor Maggie wanted to end up in a herd of walkers. Small or not.

Therefore, you quickly bid your goodbyes and moved on. Maggie back towards Hilltop and you (hopefully) into Daryl's direction.

Luckily, your boyfriend had taught you well over the years and so you were able to make out his wheel tracks in the muddy earth and could track him down.

You found him near a quite big cliff on the edge of the forest; standing near the edge. His motorcycle was parked a few meters behind him; a handful of dead rabbits and squirrels draped over the saddle. Daryl's crossbow was slung over his shoulders as he was gazing into the far distance; on the valley to his feet.

You had turned off the engine of your motorcycle already a while ago and had been wheeling it instead; unable to drive over the uneven and steep forest ground.

You clapped down the pedestal of your vehicle and parked it beside Daryl's, before you sneaked your way over to Daryl; a mischievous smirk on your lips. Perhaps you could catch him off- "Ya might wanna work on yer sneaking up technique."

You hadn't even made three steps when those words left his lips. Damn it. You pouted and slumped up to stand beside him. "Oh come on, was I this obvious?" The archer looked over to you, a soft smile on his face. "Nah, but I recognised yer steps." You blinked in disbelief. "My steps?" "Yeah. Should know that by now after all those years 'n nights ya creepin' around the places we called home, eh?"

"Well... I suppose you're right." He gave you another soft smile and redirected his gaze.

"What you're looking- Oh my gosh..." Your eyes almost popped out of your head as you followed your boyfriend's gaze. The valley below the hills surrounding it was flooded with walkers. Hundreds. Thousands. Maybe even more.

Your jaw dropped in shock and... You couldn't even describe it. It was a picture of horror in an almost idyllic piece of land. Decay and rotting; flourishing nature and rebirth. Life and death. Light and darkness. Old life and new life. It was the definition of this world and all that happened to it all those years ago in one frame. It was unbelievable and rather difficult to grasp.

"Kinda frightening, right?" Daryl's voice urged to your ears. You swallowed; nodding. "Yeah, but also... I don't know..." You needed a moment to find the right words. "A blessing and a curse. A blessing for the earth. The recovery of nature and all its aspects. A curse for all human beings. Sad to see what became of the people - of the world we used to know." Daryl nodded in agreement. "Couldn't have put it better." He had never been a man of many words, but you could tell that he understood. He felt the same.

Like automatically, you reached for his hand and slipped your fingers through his; needing his comforting touch. Daryl's head shortly turned to look at your now intertwined hands. He squeezed your smaller hand and gently pulled you closer, until your shoulder was brushing his; the both of you still staring down on the horrific scenes below you in silence.

The only reassuring thing about it was the fact that they were very far from the place you called home.

"Daryl?" You spoke up again; voice merely above a whisper. "Yeah?" "I'm happy you're here. With me. In this. I'm grateful I found you. I couldn't imagine this world - neither my life without you. I wouldn't want to watch this world end with somebody that isn't you. Or our friends."

Again, Daryl wasn't a master of words, so instead of answering something, he let go of your hand in order to wrap you up in a tight hug - and you gladly let him.

Nevertheless found four little words their way into your ear. "I love ya, Y/N."

Tags: @suniloli @stitchintimefan @in-this-minute @loz-3 @fictive-sl0th @fuseburner @mandywholock1980 @lou12346789 @mischief-dream @km-ffluv @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @salvinaa @javagirl328 @sweetz1919

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Blood Moon Rising" pt 6

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: shrinkyclinks, prison au, werewolf au, omega Steve, Alpha Bucky, dub-con, non-con, werewolf sex, knotting, oral (m!rec), hand jobs, held hostage, age gap (40/26), forced mating, violence, bonding, Dom/sub elements

Summary: Steve gets a lot more than he bargained for when a prison riot breaks out and he becomes the captive of an Alpha werewolf.

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Fic Masterlist

Part 6 - "In Shades of Purple"

After learning so much new information in the Yurt, Steve needed to get some air. He needed time to process, and maybe think of a last minute escape plan (though none was forthcoming). 

He went for a walk along the outskirts of the camp, trying to clear his head. At first he thought he was alone, but then he noticed a rustling from the nearby woods. He looked over, thinking that it was probably a squirrel, and was surprised to see a wolf peeking at him through a bush. With all of Steve’s varied escape attempts thus far, by now he knew that werewolves were more than capable of treading silently in the forest and pouncing without ever being noticed by their prey. If Steve had heard this one’s approach, it was because the wolf wanted him to. 

The wolf stepped closer, revealing itself from around the foliage, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed. There were only a couple of pack members whom he recognized by sight in their shifted forms. Most of them tended to be a combination of dull grey and brown, black and white, but Wanda’s fur was almost the same color as her actual hair. “Oh,” Steve said as the wolf walked over. “Oh. Hi Wanda.” He felt so weird speaking normally to her, but he’d been told that the wolves could understand speech just fine in their animal forms, so … “Erm, how’s it going?”

The wolf stepped up close and nudged Steve’s hand with her snoot in a silent greeting.

“I was just taking a walk.” He indicated the treeline he’d been following. “To clear my head. Try and figure out what I’m gonna do about … about tonight.” 

Wanda chuffed and shot him what could only be interpreted as a look of judgemental incredulity, making Steve feel stupid. 

“Yeah,” he agreed glumly, because what could he really do? Run away again? Commit suicide? Kill Bucky? He had zero interest in any of those options. Running away would only mean getting his slippery ass caught in record time (humiliating), offing himself was cowardice and too dramatic for the circumstances besides (lame), and killing Bucky was, well …

Steve bit his lip. Killing Bucky would just be setting himself up for attack from the rest of the pack. It was beyond dangerous. And even if it weren’t, even if he could somehow magically stab Bucky in the neck and not have to worry about 200+ other werewolves coming after him, he still wouldn’t want to do it. 

Of course he’d thought about murdering Bucky—numerous times, usually envisioning some scenario involving killing the alpha while he slept. Unfortunately, Steve couldn’t seriously contemplate such things for more than a minute or two before he’d begin to feel awful and discard the idea. Bucky might be a lot of things, but he hadn’t been cruel to Steve. Not once. Not since the Blowjob From Hell, back at the prison, leastways. Even back then, Bucky had only been doing what he felt he had to, in order to protect Steve from the other alphas in the pack.

And sharing a cabin and a bed with someone and letting them jerk you off night after night, week after week sure as shit didn’t make the idea of murder any more palatable. Bucky wasn’t a monster. He hadn’t treated Steve poorly (other than, ya know, kidnapping and holding him hostage), and he’d clearly ordered the other alphas in the pack to leave Steve alone, as nobody had since bothered Steve beyond scooping him up from his various escape attempts and depositing him back at Bucky’s doorstep. Even the men who’d been the scariest, most aggressive, and most challenging of Bucky’s leadership back at the prison—Drax, Batroc, Killmonger—had respected Bucky’s wishes regarding Steve. And Steve was under no delusion that, if it weren’t for the pack Lupului having laid down the law on who was allowed to touch Steve, then a lot more people would’ve been, by now.

Bucky was undeniably dangerous. He could be ruthless and brutal, taciturn and grumpy, and he was hella rough around the edges. But that didn’t mean he was bad. Now Steve had seen him as a provider, a protector, and a leader; and along with his shredded body and his handsome fucking face, all that together was a damned tempting package. 

Yes, Steve was attracted to him. And yeah, his body reacted to the alpha in a powerful, instinctual way. He could admit that now, even though he’d been scared shitless of the guy in the beginning. His whole life, Steve had always been a real believe-in-the-system, do-the-right-thing sort of guy; somebody who would’ve never considered getting involved with an ex-felon, or aiding and abetting a bunch of escapees from a federal prison. And yet here he was, fully not intending to alert the authorities even if by some miracle he did escape. 

Here he was, considering just how upset he was over the fact that he was about to be forcefully mated to one. The answer was: not as upset as he should be.

He groaned in frustration and looked down at Wanda, who was still walking right by his side. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Wanda blinked her big, wolfy eyes at him and tilted her head curiously.

“It makes no sense that I like him. Or that I’m not trying harder to run away right now.” Steve smacked at a branch of underbrush as they edged along the woods. “He’s awful. It’s awful that I’m even here at all. I don’t belong here.”

Wanda whined and bumped her body into his leg as they walked, and somehow Steve knew what that meant: She was reminding him of all the good times he’d had with the pack since his arrival.

“Well you didn’t see how he treated me at the prison,” Steve defended. “And he hasn’t exactly been invested in obtaining my consent for most things.” He bit his tongue as he thought about how Bucky had never once asked for permission to touch him … but also how Steve himself had almost never said ‘no’ to those advances when they happened. Was it really inevitable that it’d ended up this way? Or had he just not tried hard enough?

Having someone who looked like Bucky and smelled like Bucky and acted like Bucky around him for so long, pressuring him into a relationship, telling him without words that he wanted him as his mate and mother to his pups … well that kind of stuff built up over time. Even the act of running away had been getting harder each time Steve attempted it—not because he didn’t think he deserved to get out of there, but because he hated the hurt that would flash across Bucky’s face each time he was dragged back and dumped in front of him. 

Steve smacked another branch, and that was when Wanda became animated, nudging Steve’s leg with her nose. He took it as a cue to give her scritches behind her ears, but she only shook him off and started grabbing at his hand lightly with her teeth. “Hey!” Steve laughed, pulling his hand back. “What’re you doing?” 

She nudged up behind his legs, urging him into the woods, and Steve got the picture that she was trying to lead him somewhere. So he started following. “Where are we going?” he asked her, amused, following along for a few minutes until they reached a dense thicket in a part of the woods Steve had never seen before. Wanda yapped at him once, ducking her head as if to say “Are you paying attention?” Then she went to her belly and began to crawl through a small pass at the base of the thicket. 

Steve scoffed. “I’m not going in there.”

Wanda whined and kept crawling, so Steve rolled his eyes and got to his elbows and knees and began crawling in her wake. “This better be good,” he huffed as he pushed past a few thorned branches that caught against his hair and his shirt. “Jeez.”

On the other side of the pass, there was a small grassy area, no bigger than one of the cells back at the prison. It was chock full of a tall, purple flowered plant.

Steve stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his pants. “What? We’re going flower picking for the big event?” he looked at Wanda peevishly. “No thanks. I’m not a blushing bride. I don’t need a bouquet.” 

Wanda chuffed and shook her head in a decidedly un-wolflike way, and Steve paused with a frown. “Well what then?”

She padded to the edge of where the tall flowers grew and pawed at the leafy bases of the plants. She nudged her head at them as if to say, “Here, stupid.” 

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.” He walked over and touched the flowers. They were pretty: purple and bell-shaped. “What is this?” he murmured, reaching out to touch one of the blooms. “Foxglove?” It had that look about it.

But Wanda growled and shook her head again, and she closed her mouth on one of the plants and pulled, tearing the flower stalk off. She immediately dropped it and moved her tongue in her mouth like a dog with peanut butter stuck in its gums, her pointy little front teeth showing as she sneezed in displeasure. 

Steve briefly snickered, before he paused as a crazy thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute. Is that …?” He stepped forward and bent to pick up the stalk that Wanda had pulled. He held it up to his face with a frown. There was only one flower in the world he’d ever heard of in reference to werewolves. “Wanda, is this … this isn’t wolfsbane?” he whispered. “Is it?”

Wanda immediately barked and stomped her front feet in enthusiasm, and Steve looked at her in astonishment. 

“The fuck? You want me to kill him?” 

Again, Wanda huffed and shook her head no. 

Steve looked between her and the patch of flowers, and back to her again. “Well what then?” 

Once more, Wanda growled impatiently and went up to grab another stalk and rip it clean off the plant. She dropped it, sneezed, and repeated the peanut butter tongue thing. Steve didn’t understand what on earth she intended for him to do with it, but she was definitely telling him to pick it, growling and fake-snapping at him to urge him on so that she didn’t have to pull any more of the flowers with her mouth. 

He might not understand the plan, but Steve’s heart leapt as he did realize one thing; and that was that someway, somehow, Wanda was trying to help him escape.

“Are you nuts?” Darcy said, right after she shifted back to skin and Steve’s eyes all but bugged out of his head at seeing his first, full-body werewolf shift. 

“Oh.” He averted his eyes, but it was too late. He’d seen, well, everything.

Darcy stomped back to her bedroom—ostensibly to put on some clothes. Steve hoped. A moment later she returned, dressed in leggings and a tee shirt. She pointed at Wanda and said, “You’re nuts.”

“What? What’d she say?” Steve leaned forward anxiously where he was sitting at the kitchen table, right where they’d dumped the large clump of purple flowered stalks. “I already told her I don’t want to murder anybody!”

Darcy scoffed and came over, sitting down on the opposite side of the table from him. “No. She’s got it in her head that you can drug everybody at the bonfire. Put it in the harvest wine and zonk everybody out long enough for you to make a getaway.”

Steve’s breath stuttered in his chest. “I can?” He looked over at Wanda, who was lying by the woodstove and chewing on the entrails of the squirrel she’d caught for herself on their walk back to Darcy’s cabin. “We can? That’s something we can do?!”

Darcy scowled and rapped her knuckles on the table. “Hello, Earth to Steve. No you can’t do that. How would you even get it in the wine? Everybody’s eyes are gonna be on you tonight. You won’t have a second on your own to—”

At the stove, Wanda whined, and Steve looked over at her. She was staring straight at Darcy with a meaningful look. Steve’s heart leapt as he thought the same thing. “Yeah. Darcy: You could do it!” 

“What? No!” 

“Yes! Yes you can. You have to!” Steve reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “Please? I don’t how much to put in, and like you said: I won’t get the chance. But you could do it when everybody’s distracted by the celebrations!” He looked at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, Darce? This is my only chance. Please help me.”

Darcy complained and angsted over it, but Wanda came over and had a non-verbal conversation with her, which culminated in Darcy’s shoulders dropping and Wanda affectionately head-butting her leg. Darcy huffed in defeat, and Steve’s spirits soared. “So you’ll do it?!” he asked. “You’ll help?”

“Help you drug my entire pack on the night of a blood moon.” Darcy groaned. “Fuck. We’ll be in so much trouble if Alpha Barnes ever figures out who did it.” 

Steve figured that was as good of a ��yes’ as he was going to get, and he slapped the tabletop, unable to contain his excitement. “Thank you!”

Darcy glared at him. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s only one person I know who’s got the access we need to the harvest wine. And he could still turn us in.” 

“Who?”

“Are you serious?” Peter whispered, wide-eyed as Steve took the lid off the basket and showed him the purple flowers they wanted him to lace the wine with. Darcy had just told him their plan, and now Peter would either turn them in, or help them. “Ohmygod you are. You’re actually friggin’ serious!”

Fuck, Steve thought. He’s gonna turn us in.

“Dude, I’m so in. This is crazy!”

Oh, Steve thought. Okay then. That was easy.

By dusk, the plan was underway. Peter had briefly shifted so he could wolf-talk with Wanda, who told him precisely how much wolfsbane to steep in the wine to knock the pack out but not harm them. Then Peter shifted back and got to work, whilst Steve, Wanda, and Darcy went about their business as usual.

Or, well—as usual as they could manage. Steve was excited, but he felt a creeping sense of dread as the day wore on into late afternoon, and then into early evening; as the village became more and more alive with activity and the pack started to gather in the clearing where the bonfire was being held. 

People were bringing out folding chairs and blankets and food like it was the damn fourth of July. Steve would’ve felt more intimidated or embarrassed if he didn’t already know that the excitement wasn’t truly all about him and Bucky. It was a communal sort of excitement, an excitement for the pack Alpha having found his mate, which forebode stability and progress for the pack as a whole. Mating runs were a big deal in this community, warranting late-into-the-night revelry and partying, and with the significance of the blood moon on top of that, the entire village was bound to be out celebrating. Apparently, once Bucky caught Steve and dragged him back (yikes) then the entire pack would shift and run together.

Steve was ushered into the omega yurt, where he was prepared like a lily-white bride on her wedding night. He had to shower with special soaps, then dress in a flimsy white robe that wrapped around and barely reached halfway down his shins. Darcy and Nakia shoved him down into one of the beanbag chairs and rubbed the purple paste all over him. Steve scowled at the robe—a reminder that he was going to have to be naked for this event in front of the entire pack. 

Not for long, he consoled himself. By the time the run was announced and Steve sent off with his head start, everyone in the pack should be well on their way to conking out. Even the alphas. Peter was on strict instructions from Wanda to time the bringing out of the wolfsbane-laced wine exactly thirty minutes before the beginning of the mating run. Luckily for Steve, since this was also the night of the blood moon—a night of great cultural significance—they could count on every adult member of the pack drinking the Harvest wine.

The pups of the pack weren’t anything they had to worry about. Wanda, who had the excuse of abstaining due to being pregnant and gestationally shifted, would look after the kids while the others slept off the drugged stupor. And while she wasn't in on the plan, Darcy had assured Steve that Jane - who was also pregnant and wouldn't be drinking - would help contain the pups once everybody started dropping like flies. Darcy and Peter would wait until the alphas started passing out, and then they too would drink the wine for real, to avoid any suspicion that they’d been involved.

It wouldn’t be easy. There would be a lot of terrain for Steve to cross in bare feet, miles to go before he reached the beginnings of civilization. He’d need to move quickly if he wanted to get down the mountain and to the nearest town before the wolves started to stir again. It was a risky plan, but it was the only plan he had. 

It was a good plan, he kept trying to reassure himself. There was no way it could go wrong. It would work. It would work. It would.

Fuck, he was nervous.

In the yurt where he was being prepared like a damn sacrificial lamb, Nakia noticed his mood, and seemed to interpret it as the normal nerves of a bride-to-be. “Don’t be afraid,” she encouraged him with a smile, as she worked the Wakandan paste into the soles of his feet and in-between his toes. “This is exciting! It will be fun.”

“Yeah,” Darcy agreed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes every time they flicked up to Steve’s face. “Alpha Barnes is a good man. He’ll make an excellent mate.”

Steve nodded along nervously, aware that she had to pretend to be just as on-board with the run as everybody else was. Even though he knew that they had a plan brewing—literally brewing—to help him escape, he still couldn’t calm himself down from his jitters very well. He’d avoided thinking about the run as much as possible ever since he’d first learned about what would happen: chased naked through the woods, with a purely ceremonial head-start, then tackled by a humongous werewolf, who would fuck him and bite him (hopefully having shifted back to human somewhere in the interim, but Steve hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask anybody about that little detail). 

“It’s a big deal when a pack Alpha finds his mate,” Darcy said, where she was sitting beside Steve and rubbing the paste into his palm. “The Lupului of the Haită getting married doesn’t happen often. Once or twice in a generation. Last time was when I was just a pup, when Alpha Batroc came over with his pack from France.”

“Batroc?” Steve frowned. “You mean that asshole who’s always challenging Bucky’s leadership?”

“No, the asshole’s father.” Darcy rolled her eyes and moved around to do his other hand. “Apparently in some European packs, the title of Alpha is passed down hereditarily.”

“But not here,” Steve muttered, because he remembered what little Bucky had told him about being Alpha of this pack. How power was earned; borne of competence, brutality, and natural dominance. “Hard won and hard kept,” he recited, recalling what Bucky had said.

“Yeah.” Darcy met his eyes while Nakia was busying herself down at his feet. “Things weren’t always so nice for us, before Barnes. He challenged for pack Alpha when Batroc Senior died. There were fights, but he won.”

Steve nodded and tried not to worry about what would happen to the pack once they all woke up from being drugged and realized Bucky had lost his omega. Steve hoped it wouldn’t cause conflict, but from what little he knew of wolf nature and pack structure, it very well might. “He’s a good Alpha for you guys?” he asked quietly.

On his hand, Darcy gave a comforting squeeze, and Steve looked up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “But we’ll be fine.”

Steve hoped so. 

“Now you must sit until it dries,” Nakia proclaimed, indicating the purple paste as she finished with Steve’s feet and set his heels down onto the floor. Steve glanced worriedly out the tiny windows of the yurt, where he could see that the daylight had fully waned and evening had drawn in. “H-how long will that take?”

“Oh not long. Ten minutes, maybe.” Nakia nodded brightly as she stood and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. “This will help you,” she said. “It will disguise your scent and give you strength.”

“Sure, sure.” Steve wanted to ask if the purple color of it came from wolfsbane, but figured it was probably a bad idea to say anything about wolfsbane at the moment. “What … what makes the color?” he asked instead.

Nakia’s smile turned sly. “Special Wakandan herb,” she said, and would say no more. 

Just a plant, then, Steve thought. Just an old superstition from Africa. He thanked her anyway, since it was the polite thing to do. Nakia had spread the paste in lines across his cheeks and down his neck as well, taking extra care to rub it into his bonding glands. Steve hated to think what the people in the nearest town would think of him when they got a look at him running down the street in nothing but the strange markings and his birthday suit. Hopefully someone would recognize that he needed help, and he wouldn’t just be straight up arrested for public indecency or hauled off to the nearest loony bin. 

“Good luck, Steve!” Nakia bid him goodbye, Darcy trailing out after her somewhat reluctantly. 

“It’ll be okay,” she said back to him at the door.

“Wait!” Steve pleaded at the last second. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Darcy just gave him a sympathetic wince and left the yurt without another word, and Steve sat there wondering how the heck he was supposed to know when to go out there. 

A few minutes passed, and he started to angst that he’d missed some cue, and that this might mess up the timing of the Harvest wine. Wanda had warned that the wolfsbane would only work for an hour or two, at most. With the distance he had to travel out of the mountains, Steve wouldn’t have any time to waste. He looked down at his purple hands and feet, feeling lame and worried. Then the door opened and Steve blinked at the man who walked in. “... Doctor Banner?”

“Steve, Hi.” Banner came in and walked over to where Steve was sitting, hands in his pockets. He looked somewhat sheepish to be there. "I've seen you around but we've never been introduced. I’m Bruce.”

"I'm ... drying." Steve shifted awkwardly in place and indicated his purple hands and feet. “Not supposed to move for ten minutes."

Banner smiled and sank down into the beanbag across from Steve's. “They sent me in to talk to you.” 

“Why?”

“It’s traditional. Before the mating run.”

Steve fought not to blush at the term. To him, "mating run" sounded like it might as well be called "naked werewolf sex chase"—because that's what it was. It was still weird to hear people talk about it so openly, and Steve shifted in discomfort. “Um, no offense or anything, but why’d they send you? You’re not omega.”

Banner’s mouth twitched. “No. No I’m not. But it’s usually someone who can impart a bit of wisdom relevant to your situation.” 

“Oh.” Steve waited, unsure what the heck Doctor Banner had to impart. “Um, so …?”

“I wasn’t born into the pack, either.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he leant forward slightly. “I didn’t know that. You weren’t born a werewolf?”

“Mm mn.”

“What happened?”

Banner looked down with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m a doctor. One night a patient came into the E.R. in pretty bad shape. I was a mandatory reporter back then, so when his bloodwork came back saying he was infected. I had to alert the authorities.”

“You turned him in?”

He nodded regretfully. “I did. The patient heard about it, and the next blood draw I did, he grabbed the needle. Stuck me. Told me ‘welcome to his world’.” 

Steve’s lips parted in shock. “On purpose?!”

“Well yeah. I’d ruined his life. He wanted to ruin mine.”

Steve had heard of cases of healthcare workers being infected on the job, but it was always discussed with an air of tragedy about it—like the AIDS crisis had been, back in the eighties. Banner was sitting there talking about it like it was no big deal, and Steve couldn’t decide whether an “I’m sorry” would be appropriate or offensive, at the moment. He licked his lips and instead asked, “Well, what happened then?”

Banner shrugged. “Lost my job. You can’t practice medicine if you’re infected with lycanthropy. Can’t do a lot of things, as it turns out.”

“No, that’s not true.” Steve shook his head. “There are … anti-discrimination laws. It’s illegal to fire or not hire someone based on infection status.” The quiet snicker he received for that told Steve he was being very naïve, and he squared his shoulders defensively. “Outside of medical jobs, I mean.”

“Yeah, there are laws.” Banner’s flat affect told him just how little that mattered in the real world, and Steve felt his face heat with indignity on the other man’s behalf. Banner continued, “I couldn’t find work, after. Being in the registry and all. Got a taste of my own medicine, so to speak. Karma. I felt so awful for all the years I’d ‘done my duty’ and reported infected patients to the health department. Got to see what the world was really like for people living with lycanthropy.” He shrugged. “That was when I started trying to find others.”

“Oh.” Steve had never once considered what he’d do if he ever contracted it. It’d always seemed like such a far away problem, something that could never touch him. Something for other people to deal with. Embarrassed over his own ignorance, he looked down at his hands. “I guess … I just always thought everybody was born into a pack, for the most part.” Werewolf communities were some of the most disorganized and dysfunctional in the country. Noone liked them because they were trouble: poor, crime-ridden, drug-addicted, violent. Steve had never stopped to wonder why that might be. “You don’t hear of hospital infections much anymore,” he mumbled.

Banner nodded. “Yeah. With safety precautions these days it’s rare. And when it happens, you’re kind of screwed. The packs’ve been marginalized for so long that they’re very insular now. Protective. Most of them won’t just take in strays. There’re too many traditions, rules, suspicions. But then I found this pack, and because of Barnes, they’re different. A lot of physicians won’t treat were patients, you know? Infected or congenital. So the pack needed a doctor. Barnes accepted me in. Gave me home, a family, purpose.” He looked at Steve meaningfully from over the rims of his glasses. “I owe them everything.”

Steve’s heart sank. “You’re trying to tell me I should be glad to be here. Is that it? That I shouldn’t be afraid of getting infected?”

“No.”

He crossed his arms, remembering the purple paste only belatedly and looking down at himself. Luckily, the paste seemed to have dried and hadn’t smeared on the robe. He looked back up at Banner with narrowed eyes. “Well I’m not here by choice. They kidnapped me. I’ve been trying to run away, and they keep dragging me back. So I don’t know what Bucky told you to come in here and say to try and butter me up, but don’t bother.”

Banner’s face pinched sadly. “He didn’t tell me what to say. He thought you might have questions. About what it’s like, what’s gonna happen. He asked me to come talk to you.”

Steve scoffed, unwilling to believe that. Bucky wasn’t trying to be nice, he was trying to be manipulative.  He thought sending in a former human outsider to sing his praises would change things, would somehow make Steve happy or ease his fears. Well Steve had news for him: it didn’t. He wished so badly that Bucky was there himself. He’d rip the alpha a new one if he was—

“So do you?” 

Steve looked up. Banner was watching him expectantly. “Do I what?”

“Have any questions?”

“Of course I do!” he snapped, frustrated. When the other man just sat there looking regretful and kind, Steve felt bad for having raised his voice. He pursed his lips and looked down. “I dunno,” he said. “I guess I’m still hoping to get away. I guess you think that’s pretty stupid.”

“Naw,” Banner assured. “I went on a cleanse after I got infected—some made up junk I found on the internet. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I spent a thousand bucks to have some purge juice mailed to my house anyway.” Steve shot him a ‘really?’ look, and Banner nodded with a wince. “Yeah. Trust me, nothing sounds stupid when you’re desperate. I'd know.” He inhaled deeply and pushed the bridge of his glasses back up his nose. “But, I guess if you don’t have any questions …” He started to get up, standing from the bean bag chair and heading for the door. “It was nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Wait!” Steve blurted, fearful of being left in the dark on something he’d long wondered. “... What’s it like?”

Banner turned back and blinked at him. “Which part?”

Steve swallowed thickly before he worked up the nerve to ask, “The first time. The … shifting. What’s it like? Does it ... ya know, hurt?”

Banner looked like he’d expected the question. “Well, it is painful, but probably not like you’re imagining.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s intense. Overwhelming. Really weird. But it hurts in a way that almost feels good. Satisfying.”

Steve scowled. “That makes no sense.”

Banner shrugged apologetically. “It's its own thing. There's nothing like it. No that I've experienced. The only thing I can compare it to is ... maybe a bit like having a knot or a kink worked out? You know: like a good massage; stretching sore muscles, or popping your knuckles; that prickling feeling you get when you come in out of the cold and your skin starts to warm up. It’s a relief feeling. Does that make sense?”

Steve sighed. “Not really. Kinda. I dunno.”

“Hey.” From the doorway, Bruce sent him a fortifying look. “You’ll be okay, kid. It’s really just a day or two of fever, and then you feel right as rain until the moon comes. That’s when you’ll shift with the whole pack.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, thinking about the particular shade of the purple-blue flower petals that'd probably already been strained out of the giant vat of wine by now. “... shift with the whole pack.”

He’d certainly do something with the whole pack, if this plan didn’t pan out. Like get ripped apart by them.

Bruce seemed to take his silent worry for concern over becoming a werewolf, so he added, “And you feel stronger and swifter after, even in your human form. You can smell better, all your senses are enhanced and you feel more in tune with yourself. Especially during and right after a shift. It’s exhilarating.”

Steve nodded, avoiding meeting the other man’s eyes out of the guilt he felt. Soon the entire pack would be drugged up and knocked out because of him—even Banner would be. “Thanks,” he said morosely. “For telling me, I guess.”

“Of course. I’ll tell them you’re ready. Someone will come and get you.”

“Great."

The door to the yurt closed behind Banner, and Steve was left alone again, sitting in silence except for the near-distant sounds of two hundred people kicking off a bonfire party.

He turned his hands over in his lap and stared down at his purple palms. “Great,” he repeated, this time in little more than a whisper. He wasn’t ready for this at all. He was scared, and anxious, and guilty, and not at all sure that he was doing the right thing.

Darcy had explained that everyone would recover, but it certainly wasn’t healthy for them to be ingesting wolfsbane. Steve was low grade poisoning an entire village of people just so that he could get away from Bucky. It made him feel crummy, made him think of the pale rings of scar tissue all the alphas had from the silver collars poisoning their skin, back at the prison. Steve cringed when he thought of how mad Bucky was going to be, once he realized what Steve had done. Darcy had said people might throw up once they regained consciousness, and Steve hated to think of hurting everybody like that. He felt no better than the prison guards, using the wolves' weaknesses against them.

But it was too late to back out now. The plan was already in motion. Outside, people were probably already being served the laced wine in red solo cups (or whatever kinds of cups hillbilly werewolves drank their booze from). And Wanda and Peter had stuck their necks out for Steve, in helping. All he could do now was soldier on with the plan.

Soon he’d be free of this place, and all the wolves would be right as rain, having recovered from the sneaky poisoning of their harvest wine. They'd go back to their lives as usual, minus one pesky human, and so would Steve. And it would be fine.

It would be fine.

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!

This has been a fill for @steverogersbingo, card SB3088 "stark contrast," square B5: omega Steve

[tyxoxo]

Cherry Waves - teaser.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader teaser, find full fic here

genre: thriller, kidnapper/stalker jeno au, potential ‘00 dream + mark inserts

words: loading…

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, murder, blood, knives, eventual cnc smut, oral, fingering, choking/breath play, spitting, rough body play, degrading, voyeurism, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome

a/n: like with anything i write, i refrain from using “y/n” inserts. but this fic might actually test me. i guess i’ll take on the challenge >.<

playlist:

deftones - cherry waves • rosemary

clams casino - blast

“i’m kind of scared. do you think it’ll bite?”

“noo, don’t worry baby. it won’t. squirrels are always welcome to food.” your boyfriend reassured you, chuckling in the presence of your endearing timidness.

the two of you were currently exploring a nature park, choosing to celebrate your 5 year anniversary in the outdoors, away from the bustling city life.

“here, just take the almond and approach them slowly, and they’ll come.” he said as he handed you one to start, out of the bag that read Blue Diamond Almonds.

“how about you go first?”

the two of you shared a laugh, your partner nonetheless agreeing to demonstrate.

just like you expected, he took one almond in his hand and began to tread softly over to a family of kits, and a mother. the four were eagerly awaiting the treat, using their noses to scour over to him. one baby squirrel was more brave than the others as the rest halted once your boyfriend began to kneel down.

in one sniff and a switch of its tail, the squirrel grabbed the almond and hurried back to his family.

“see! not that hard! your turn.” he rose up in the process, standing close by in case you opted out.

“alright, here i gooo.” you geared up the courage, doing exactly as he did, approaching softly towards the group of squirrels.

you cocked your head to the side in curiosity at the fact they all ran away in unison, back into the green shrubs that they called home. and with not enough time to save you, you heard the scuffing of shoes against pavement and a loud crack sound to follow.

as you turned your head towards the deafening sound, your boyfriend collapsed onto the floor, his head making contact with the concrete in just as strong of a crash that you heard mere seconds before.

you weren’t sure if a scream managed to escape, as the hooded figure armed with the hammer made sure that you weren’t conscious to tell the tale.

—

the constant motion of your head banging against a hard surface is what woke you. your eyelids were heavy, not just from the forced slumber, but from the blood that managed to seep down from your scalp and cake onto your skin. the familiar smell of iron flooded your senses, reminding you of current state.

somehow you were moving, not on your own accord. you couldn’t have been…your hands and feet were bound with what felt like rope, based on the friction as it dug in your skin.

you were moving inside a van, laying down in a fetal position, with your boyfriend across from you doing the same, though he didn’t seem to be conscious.

it was hard to tell if he was breathing, due to the jounce of the van driving over rough terrain.

the vehicle wasn’t average by any means, all of the backseats were gone, not even folded down into a compartment. it felt industrial, with what seemed like new steel framework covering the entire interior.

you lacked the energy to produce any sound, let alone turn to the direction of the driver's seat to see who was transporting you. the salt from your tears was the last thing you could recall before falling back into a deep sleep.

—

to say you reanimated back in the comfort of your own home, with your partner by your side would be the highlight of your life. to say that what all happened was merely a dream.

yet, your harsh reality was thrust upon you once you awoke again. all of your limbs were still bound, with the only appropriate action being observing where you were now.

you were placed on a cold, grey concrete floor, plastic tarp covering the walls and ceiling, with a single LED work light standing in the corner offering plenty of illumination. a single workbench was positioned against the left wall, with an abundance of mechanical tools to satisfy any technician.

you knew you were still covered in your own blood, but the smell wasn’t there anymore. instead the nauseating odor of overused bleach coming from a nearby bathroom overtook your senses this time.

your vision finally began to focus on your boyfriend lying directly across from you.

you weren’t sure if your attacker merely forgot to tape your mouths shut in a haste or simply didn’t care. either way, you used what freedom you had left to call out, your scream resonating enough to wake him up.

[to be continued…]

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hello, I'm trying to get in the Halloween spirit! Do you know of any good Halloween fics?? Thanks bunches!

I found 89 on my AO3 search , there are more shared in our Halloween tag, and here are plenty of great stories for your reading pleasure. Enjoy! 🎃 ~Lynne

High Spirits by Twitchy Squirrel  [PDF]  [EPUB]

Halloween is fast approaching, and it’s time for some ghoulish fun.

Twelve years ago, Blaine cheated on his boyfriend, Kurt.  Despite everything he tried, nothing he could do would make Kurt trust him again.  Fortunately, a meddling ghost has a plan to fix what should never have been broken.  

~~~~~

Trick or Treat by @grlnxtdr30

Kurt Hummel HATES Halloween, for good reason. But he allows Brittany to talk him into going to a Halloween Party with New Directions and The Cheerios. After the jocks play a cruel trick on him, he drives off in tears, and nearly runs over a mysterious boy in the road. Is this another Trick?

~~~~~

Night Work by @honeysucklepink

This was written for the KBL Reversebang Hiatus Challenge. I got a photo of a dog with a pumpkin and three items/things to include in my story: “Pharmacy,” “Sweats (clothing),” and “Stars.” And then on top of that I got awesome art from Jen (homemadedarkmark)! Thanks Jen! Also thanks to kurtswish for the beta. This is a simple “meet-cute,” hope you enjoy (in spite of it being Halloween-themed while way past Halloween)!

~~~~~

Burt Hummel to the Rescue by @lady-divine-writes

Blaine and Tracy come home, excited to get started carving pumpkins for Halloween … until they see the pumpkins Kurt bought.

Note: part of a series of one-shots of Daddies Klaine

~~~~~

Spellbound by ItsNotEasyBeingQueen

The new music professor in town may just be the one to bring a magical spark back to the lonely bookshop owner.

Note: Part 1 of Spellbound Verse

~~~~~

A Story That Writes Itself by plumeswritesthings [PDF]  [EPUB]

Blaine Anderson is a writer who loves his daughter more than anything in the world, but when she asks him about her Halloween costume, he finds himself in a slightly problematic situation. In comes Kurt Hummel, the owner of a small fabric store who kindly offers to help him out.

~~~~~

The Great Costume Debate by @caramelcoffeeaddict

Kurt and Blaine try to agree upon a couples costume to wear to an upcoming Halloween party.

[fanfaire]

　　 ——— ARIA OF ABLUTION ! ———

　　　　　　❝　FAREWELL, happy dreams of the past 　　　　　　the rosiness in my cheeks has already gone pale 　　　　　　the joys, the sorrows soon will end, 　　　　　　the tomb confines all mortals! 　　　　　　do not cry or place flowers at my grave, 　　　　　　do not place a cross with my name to cover these bones! 　　　　　　ah, the misguided desire to smile; 　　　　　　god pardon and accept me.

　　　　　　　　　　　 ♕

lights, camera, curtain! furina has arrived at the liyue harbor lantern festival.

please read below for more information on the details of her being here; i've taken some creative liberty to work her into the occasion as more than just her attending a festival out of curiosity, to provide more potential avenues for interaction!

ENTRER EN SCENE : furina de fontaine.

— it wouldn't be furina if we didn't start with the look. due to her reason for being here, she had a custom tailor, working together with liyuean fashion consultants, put together an attire in which she'll be seen in all public capacities at lantern rite. it's a marriage between liyuean and fontainean designs, and, as furina has heard that it is considered the year of the dragon, has many dragon patterns and motifs inked and embroidered throughout. she also has her hair done up ( its in its long pneuma look ) in a french bun with a few curled loose locks in front, and a gold hairpiece also in the shape of a dragon

— speaking of the reason she's here: furina is preparing for a new production that's made its way through fontaine's social buzz. it's a well-known liyuean opera that's reached international popularity due to a recent manhwa adaptation that took bookstores across teyvat by storm, titled grove of wild boars. fontaine is putting together their own stage adaptation, and furina is serving as a consultant to the director, who, while talented, is still young and inexperienced with the industry. she's here with most of the production crew mostly on research, and the timing just happened to line up with lantern rite. so why not enjoy both!

— though furina will also be busy with production research, she enjoys social and lively atmospheres, and will rarely say no to being approached or introduced to a new experience. she'll most likely be found: around the opera houses and venues; around the nearby areas both urban and wilderness with the production crew; any stand selling sweets; ( occasionally ) squirreled away somewhere quiet and remote to have a moment to decompress

inbox :　open for interactions! dont gotta ask just yeet em in i want to emphasize i'm going to be doing all event interactions as minis with a 250 wc challenge to keep things manageable for myself below are also some specific plot ideas i'm tossing out if you'd like to do something more unique and plotted! please leave a comment with the symbol if you're interested in grabbing a specific plot and i'll get back to you ( it also helps if you leave ur discord if ur comfortable. if not, i'll tumblr dm you )

🍨 after sampling xinyue kiosk's dessert stand, she has to experience the full dining experience at the restaurant herself, especially after learning about its gourmet, luxury service and ambiance! but for a once-archon, for whom attending lavish banquets was once bread and butter, furina finds herself . . . unable to justify the cost of it now, even without chevalmarin's scolding. but she looks so forlorn out there, eyeing the menu. won't you take pity on her?

🐦‍ plenty in the team had told léandre it wouldn't be a good idea to bring his umbrella finches on the trip, but the director-slash-bird-enthusiast simply couldn't bear the thought of leaving his beloved pets behind. and in an unexpected accident, the completely-expected happened — startled by the wild popping of liyue's firecrackers, the birds escaped their cage! all five of them. and you, for one reason or another, have been pulled into helping retrieve them.

💎 while on a walk on some quieter rural roads outside the city, the jade pendant furina had bought earlier in the day suddenly shatters around her wrist. isn't it supposed to be indestructible? —what furina doesn't realize is that jade is meant to ward away evil. only, the evil now fast approaching was far too strong for one measly jade piece to handle.

🕯️ the adepti are such a core part of liyue's cultural shaping and belief system that furina felt the need to visit one of the shrines and pay her respects. only, she can't help but feel that something doesn't sit right about a fake ex-archon offering prayers to a divine being. you catch her in such a rare state of conflict and hesitation, otherwise alone. ( a ruminative, melancholy angled prompt )

🎭 the production crew has secured vip seating for a showing of auspicious dragon and phoenix, performed by the celebrated yun-han opera troupe at heyu tea house: a hard to come by opportunity particularly during lantern rite season when just viewing the traditional masterpiece is said to bring good fortune. only one snag: they need just one more member in their party to qualify for large group price discounts, which they could sorely use given their allotted funds. who'd pass up the chance, right? come attend an opera with furina!

[warcats-cat]

Thoughts of a Fox

A/n: hey friends! Long time no see. This is a little original fiction, written as my half of an art trade for my wonderful Cherry Blossom Friend: @kwiatekfretka 💜💜💜 (Check out her ADORABLE art of my OC here!!) I had a lot of fun writing this one; it's very different from what I usually write, and it was a nice challenge for me ☺️. And my wonderful Cherry Blossom Friend also didn't mind me slipping an homage to an IRL friend of mine who passed away a few weeks ago; a friend I was close with but far away from, and I miss very much. I hope that her spirit is where she wanted to be, and I know she will be in my heart for many years to come. 💜 So please enjoy my little piece!

---

The other humans told Dana she could not bring her “pet” to the new place, and they took her away from our home. Her brother's children did not understand that she had me to care for her, she did not need other humans watching her like the hawks at the edge of the neighborhood watched small squirrels in winter. They did not understand that without me she would whither faster, her great age and wisdom chipped away by the mundanity of the unknowing humans around her.

They did not understand that I am not a pet; I am the other half of her soul.

I have missed her, several months now. She is not gone yet, but fading fast. She is where I can no longer reach her, and I must mourn her on my own. I visit the old places we used to go, but they feel hollow without her presence. Her magic is fading.

She asked me, before she was taken away, that I watch her only niece, and see if the Pup has any magic in her. I tried first to go to her home, in this form, but they rejected me as a wild animal.

Although I saw the Pup, watching me from the window; curious to look at me. I wondered if she knew me, recognized me as Dana would have. It would take time to find her again, but I had promised my Witch I would, and it was a promise I would not forsake.

~~~

It took many moons to find a way to speak to her; many more than I would like, certainly, and many frustrations along the way. The humans see me as a pest, and kick and yell like barbarians when they see me. To fulfill my promise, I would have to take on another form, and find other ways to approach the city, away from the familiarity of the woods.

But I am not human, and I know that a clever human would notice. I don't look right when seen up close.

My hair is dark with shadows pressed over the red of my fur; sometimes the light shows my true colors, but it is rare. My eyes are green, but perhaps a shade too bright, and dappled like the leaves of the home I have left behind. I know that my smile is sly and crooked, but that can't be helped; my magic comes from a human witch, and their legends of Foxes being Tricksters does bleed over a bit into my nature. My teeth are just a touch too sharp when I grin.

The first time I approached the Pup, she did not seem surprised to see me, and her eager, determined eyes reminded me of Dana’s when she would succeed with difficult spells. We sat a long while and spoke of her aunt, and I finally learned the Pup’s name - Melanie.

She named herself after the goddess Melinoe; an excellent choice, and one I was sure her aunt would have approved of.

We watched the rain patter to the ground awhile, the droplets swirling and sliding along the edges of leaves and off delicate flower petals. She asked me if my approaching her meant she was truly a Woman, and I asked her why she would have any doubts of who she is. I was saddened to learn that humans would be so stubborn and narrow-minded about the infinite complexities of life, and bother themselves on something so trivial as another person's gender.

We are misfits, she and I; but that is fitting.

I had to watch awhile from afar; even I know that a stranger appearing on your doorstep would be startling for any human. I could not follow her to school, either, for much the same reason. It took many weeks of us looking at one-another through windows and doorways, cautious and hesitant to communicate. Finally, she left a message in green chalk on the paving stones of a local park - the address for a cafe she had taken a job in for after school.

And now we meet each day in that cafe; a warm, glowing little shop run by another Witch who perhaps doesn't really know she is one. One who channels crystals and incense into the atmosphere of the little shop and creates just enough magic that I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.

As a human, my senses are not quite as sharp, but I have noticed the world is much more interesting in spite of that. There are books to read and drinks to taste, and I have found that I don't miss the woods as much as I first thought. I sit in a small corner in the back, close to the counter that Melanie toils at making coffees and teas and many things in between, and I guide her as she works.

Not in making the drinks; I know nothing of that, but in her intentions. In her manners, in controlling her impulses. I remind her not to stir a bad luck charm into the iced tea of the man who made rude comments to her, no matter how badly I want to cast a spell of my own. I whisper the words of a comfort spell to her, which she gently swirls and foams into a young girl’s hot chocolate, when the poor child comes in crying after being “stood up” from a date. Melanie is talented enough that she could do these things without realizing, and perhaps had been for a while before we met; but I know having guidance on the matters will make the intended spells more powerful, and the unintended less chaotic.

In return, she pours warm, thick chocolate drinks for me, heady with cinnamon and allspice; things that I couldn't have even wet my muzzle in as a fox, but now drink with an almost defiant (and certainly decadent) glee in this form. The shop keeper sits with me sometimes, and reads my fortunes from tarot cards and carefully carved runes. She is good, and I do my best to encourage her practice, even if it is in mediums I am not necessarily connected to. I read through books of astrology and realization of the self; Dana and I were connected through the magic of the Earth and Nature, and the magicks of the sky and stars are so interesting to me.

I never imagined myself a teacher of pups, even as Dana had aged.

I miss my Witch dearly, but I do not visit when Melanie offers. It would hurt us both too much; Dana’s heart would recognize me where her mind would not, and it would only bring frustration and grief. But Melanie visits, and on occasion brings me small drawings that Dana has made.

My Witch had a beautiful hand for art and sketching, and though her hands shake now, I am glad to know she still draws. Melanie tells me that she speaks of dreams about a little red fox stumbling around a warm kitchen, and getting it's head stuck in more than one pot of honey. I tell Melanie it is impolite to laugh at the misfortunes of others, even though I smile at the memories as I say it. My own puphood was so full of curiosity and stumbling, and the memories are warm and vibrant as the taste of honey on my tongue.

I keep the little cards with wavy sketches of my fox-face in a booklet that Melanie has gifted me, with notes of different human things that I have learned.

~~~

From my nook in the back corner of the room, I watch my Pup dance around the tables, cleaning them and singing to herself. Today she is happy, wearing a badge with stripes in bright pink and blue and white, and many of the humans who visit today wish her happiness and pride; well-wishes that she returns eagerly. The air around her sings, the cookies baking in the little oven behind the counter become vibrant and sweet, certain to lift the spirits of any who taste them. Humans in many rainbows of color pass in and out of the doors of the shop, drinking their coffees and living their lives.

She hands me a little pin, which I clumsily attach to my sweater. Her face is alight with joy when I do so, and I thank her for the gift. It's a simple circle, black, gray, white, and green. I do not understand it, but it makes her happy, and that, in turn, makes me happy.

The more days that pass, the less I miss wandering the woods on my own. Hiding in the dark, cold places between the shadows of the trees. Yes, much of the time I had lived with Dana, but even then, it was my nature to follow the form I had taken. Now, in a human form, I can enjoy all the warmth and soft glowing lights that I had always watched from afar.

Melanie and I sit together on her breaks and discuss all manner of things; she tells me of schoolwork from the hours before she comes to work at the shop. She tells me of Dana’s family, how some of them are “making an effort”, as she says, to learn about her and the humans like her. She tells me of a little gecko that has been making a home in her garden, and I wonder if the beginning of a connection between Familiar and Witch might be blooming there. Her Familiar could take any shape, and could appear any day now with all of the knowledge I have given her.

I have given her everything I can, she will need to form a bond of her own someday. But it will come when she is ready.

We sit at the back of the shop while it is quiet; midday with no customers in sight. And I drink hot chocolate with cinnamon and allspice, and reflect upon how happy I am now; to have a Pup to protect and care for, and a warm place to stay, and all of the humans’ knowledge at my (admittedly dull) fingertips, and I cannot help but think this was all planned.

And I feel, in that moment, the leaves rustle in the woods outside the window, the wind softly singing to me, as Dana leaves the earth, and her soul returns to its home in the warm summer woods.

And I know that all I have now was one last gift from my Witch.

[talonslockau]

Fire and Ice - Chapter 31

Chapter 30 || Index || Chapter 32

The days that followed Dewpaw's ceremony were even busier than before. With Patchpelt's retirement, and the gray molly no longer training to be a warrior, there were fewer paws than ever to get everything done around camp. Not that Firepaw could blame either of them; they were both certainly deserving of their new posts.

Even despite the constant pressures of their duties to the Clan, they still had to make time for training. As Firepaw, Graypaw, Pepperpaw and Cinderpaw neared their fourth moon as apprentices, their mentors had decided to hold a series of assessments to ensure that they were progressing satisfactorily as warriors. That morning had been a series of tree-climbing races that Cinderpaw had predictably won; after sunhigh, while the two mollies were on patrol, the rest of the mentors had decided upon testing the remaining three apprentices on their hunting skills.

Graypaw had been sent off to hunt around the Owltree, while Firepaw was given Tallpines to hunt for the Shadowclan elders. He hadn't heard where Ravenpaw had been assigned, taking off as soon as he got his own assignment, but he assumed it was probably the Great Sycamore, as the last most logical hunting area.

He couldn't help but feel his pelt prickle as he stalked down the silent, eerie rows of pines, his paws slipping into the grooves left long ago by the giant Monsters that prowled this forest. This place was unnatural, and most of the prey knew it too. Very few chose to make their home here, aside from birds and the occasional squirrel.

Despite the challenge, he had done well so far. He had caught a few finches, a single sparrow, and a couple of chickadees so far. It was a decent haul, but they were all small birds that were barely a few mouthfuls. If he wanted to impress Tinyfrost and the elders, he would have to do better.

He paused as a rapid tapping sound filled the air. It could only be a woodpecker. He waited a few moments to pinpoint the source of the sound before stalking forward swiftly, eager to reach it before it flew away.

His heart beat quicker as the tapping stilled for several moments. Then it resumed, the tom breathing a sigh of relief as he spotted the red head of the bird blasting away at the side of one of the older trees in the area.

Catching it would not be easy. He couldn't climb the trunk for it, as it would just fly away at his approach. Nor could he catch it from another tree, as the pine branches were too far apart and too small to support him. No, he would have to reach it in a single, well timed leap. But if he did, Tinyfrost would surely be impressed with his skills…

He was patient in his approach, timing his paw steps to the rhythm of the bird's attacks on the bark in front of it. Thankfully, his pelt was in his favor for once, blending in well with the dry pine needles below him. He froze whenever the bird stopped, not even daring to look at it until it started again.

His methodical approach was rewarded as he made his way to the base of the tree, gazing up at the bird above him. It was impossibly loud now, enough that he had to flatten his ears to try and block out the noise. And still, it remained blissfully ignorant of what lurked below.

He tested the ground below him twice, making sure that it was sturdy enough to support his leap. It was. His heart pounded in time with the pecking. And then, when everything was right…

He leaped.

His outstretched paw slammed into the bird's back, his claws digging in to pull it with him back to earth. The woodpecker struggled, but it stood no chance against a predator, succumbing in a matter of heartbeats to his killing bite.

He knew better than to look around for Tinyfrost, but he hoped his mentor had seen his catch. Hunting woodpeckers was difficult enough in a normal forest, but in the Twoleg-made forests such as these, it was a task he was sure even the best hunters in the Clans would struggle with. Pride surging through him, he began dragging his kill back to the temporary nest that held the Shadowclan elders.

His mentor was already waiting for him when he arrived. "Good work." He commented simply as his apprentice approached. "Why don't you give that to Archtail and Crowtalon? Then we can head back for the hollow. The other apprentices should be finishing up now."

Firepaw nodded, brushing past him to enter the den. Inside, the elders were enjoying the spoils of his hunt, sharing tongues with each other. They stopped as they caught sight of him, watching as he crossed the den to lay his offering at Archtail and Crowtalon's paws.

"It's been ages since I had a good woodpecker." Archtail commented to his mate, sinking his teeth in almost as soon as the bird had landed. "Fresh, too. It's shtill warm." He nudged it towards the other elder for her to try as he savored it himself.

The dark molly took her own bite. "I shupposh it's adequate." She mumbled through the mouthful of feathers and meat.

This was high praise coming from the two of them, even if neither would admit it. "Have a good night." He dipped his head respectfully to the both of them before backing out. He knew better than to wait around, hunting for compliments he wouldn't receive.

Tinyfrost was already waiting at the border of Tallpines when he emerged. Together, they slipped through the broken section of fence, making a straight line towards the training hollow. "You did well today." The black warrior commented as they traveled.

Firepaw's fur grew hot at the praise. "Thank you, Tinyfrost." He replied quickly, not daring to meet his eyes as they traveled through the undergrowth.

For a moment, he thought the little warrior might say something else, but instead he remained quiet. They spent the rest of their journey traveling in silence, and it wasn't long until they reached the edge of the training hollow.

Graypaw and Lionheart were already waiting for them there. "Firepaw!" The gray tom called to him, bounding across the sand to nose him in greeting. "You'll never guess what I caught today!"

"Oh yeah?" Firepaw grinned back at him. "Well, I bet you'll never guess what I managed to catch today!"

Graypaw studied him for a moment. "An owl?" He finally guessed.

Firepaw blinked in surprise and shook his head. "No, not quite that big. Why, did you catch an owl?" He had been near the Owltree, after all…

Graypaw pouted and shook his head. "No, but that's the only thing more impressive than what I got." He replied, licking his chest self-consciously for a moment. "But I did catch a huge crow! Almost as big as a raven!" He finally burst out, no longer able to keep it to himself.

"Really? How'd you manage that?" Firepaw asked, impressed. He glanced at Lionheart, wondering if maybe his friend was exaggerating, but to his surprise the golden warrior dipped his head in an approving nod.

"Well, it was pretty old." Graypaw admitted. "But it was enough for Rosetail, Halftail, and Patchpelt combined! None of the elders could find fault with it."

"I'll bet." Firepaw purred. "Well, I caught a woodpecker from the ground! It was pretty big, too. Archtail and Crowtalon were sharing it when I left."

"That's great!" Graypaw chuffed admirably. "Maybe it'll impress Bluestar enough that we'll get to go to the next Gathering?" 

Firepaw shrugged. With how the previous Gathering had gone, she hadn't allowed any of the apprentices to go to the Gathering a few nights ago. Cinderpaw had been upset, but he couldn't find fault with the leader's decision; now that Shadowclan knew where their camp was, any such occasion could be a trap. The night had been thankfully quiet, but the risk always remained.

"Where's Ravenpaw, do you think?" The other apprentice asked, looking around. "Darkstripe usually likes to be the first cat back."

"Probably still returning from the Great Sycamore, if I had to guess." Firepaw flicked his tail in the direction of the tallest tree in the forest. "I wonder if he caught anything interesting?"

Just as he finished speaking, the two dark toms in question bounded through the trees, Ravenpaw struggling to keep up behind his mentor. The ginger tom couldn't help but gasp as he saw what was dangling from the apprentice's mouth; two long, fat snakes that threatened to entangle his paws.

"Ravenpaw! What in Starclan's name are those?" Graypaw bristled in shock beside him. Firepaw had to feel much the same way. Even though they were obviously dead, the mere look of the venomous creatures struck fear into his heart. "They didn't get you, did they?" 

"Nope!" The skinny tom replied proudly. "I was too quick for them!"

"Can you eat them, do you think?" The large gray apprentice poked one with a paw curiously, as though afraid it would somehow come back to life and spring at them.

"Trust you to think of your stomach!" Firepaw chuffed at his friend's question. "How'd you catch them anyhow? Did you hunt as far as Snakerocks?"

Ravenpaw stared at him. "Of course I did. That's where I was supposed to hunt." He responded, almost puzzled at the other apprentice's question.

"But that's so dangerous!" The ruddy tom gasped. "What if you'd been bit?"

"He wasn't." All three of them flinched at Darkstripe's growl behind them. "You three should get back to camp. I still need to go collect the rest of my apprentice's catch." With that, the dark tabby disappeared back into the forest, flicking black tail tip the last thing they saw.

"I wonder why he's so upset?" Lionheart wondered to Tinyfrost beside him as they all set off on the path back to camp. "His apprentice did well today."

Firepaw couldn't help but feel a chill at the thought. Maybe Darkstripe had been intending for his apprentice to get bitten by an adder? Had he been acting on Tigerclaw's orders? He couldn't ask the others about it for fear the two mentors might overhear, but his paws had never felt heavier as he returned to camp.

Camp was buzzing with activity when they returned. "Did something happen?" Firepaw asked the nearest cat, which happened to be Rosetail.

"Goldenflower has had her kits!" The multi-colored tabby purred from where she was sitting with the other elders. "Five in total, according to Speckleflight."

"That's fantastic news!" Lionheart rumbled from behind him. "I should go bring her something. I'm sure she's exhausted." With that, the giant warrior bounded towards the freshkill pile to select something for the queen.

"I must go report to Quickflash about your progress." Tinyfrost spoke as softly as ever as the apprentices turned to him. "Firepaw, why don't you bring something to the healers? Spottedleaf always works hard during kittings, I'm sure she could use it." With that, he trotted across camp to where the deputy was talking with his mate.

"What do you think I should do with these?" Ravenpaw asked as he dropped the dead adders at his feet. "I'm not sure I want to add them to the freshkill pile…"

Graypaw nudged one with his paw. "You should put them on the tree stump by our den! We can use them to spook the pelt off Cinderpaw." He grinned conspiratorially at the other apprentice, who shared a small smile in response. "I'm gonna help Firepaw with the healers. I doubt there's anything in the freshkill pile that's big enough for all three of them!"

"That's true." The ginger tom admitted, waving goodbye to the older apprentice with his tail as he and the gray apprentice departed. "What's Spottedleaf's favorite, do you think? I know Yellowfang loves a good vole."

"She's always been partial to squirrels, or so Dewpaw says." The two apprentices picked through the freshkill pile, looking for anything appealing. There were no voles, but Firepaw gently collected a couple of mice by their tails instead. "I remember catching this one myself. I'm sure she'll love it."

Burdened with their offerings, the two apprentices carefully entered the healer's den, where Spottedleaf was teaching Dewpaw herbs. "Now, we'll give her some borage, so she'll have enough milk for all of them. We'll be using that to replace the usual herbs now that she's nursing. Raspberry leaves as well, since-" She broke off as she spotted the two apprentices. "Oh, perfect! Are those for Goldenflower?" She asked, taking the mice from Firepaw before he could answer.

"They're actually for you and Yellowfang." He responded quickly as she cut open a mouse's belly. "Lionheart already took something to Goldenflower."

Spottedleaf huffed, pausing just before inserting a few herbs into the cavity she'd created. "I was going to wait to treat her!" She pushed the mouse towards Dewpaw. "Nevermind, I suppose. She'll just have to take them raw."

"We could add a little blood and nectar, to help with the taste?" The little molly spoke up, nodding to Firepaw. She looked truly comfortable now, a far cry from the introverted apprentice he had met on his first day. "Thanks for bringing these, you guys. We haven't eaten yet today, not since Frostfur called for us this morning."

"Anytime." The ginger tom replied smoothly. "Where's Yellowfang? Still in the nursery?" He asked curiously, glancing around as though she might be lurking in some hidden crevice.

"Yes, she's just making sure they're all good and healthy. Did you hear? She had five! Spottedleaf told me that the largest litter she'd seen in her time as healer was ours." She flicked her tail towards her brother. "I'm already learning so much, and I've only been a healer's apprentice for six days. It's wonderful!"

"Ah, to be a young apprentice again." Firepaw turned to see the grizzled molly he'd been asking about enter the den with a flick of her tail. "They're all breathing well and have latched. One of the girls and the red boy are a bit small, we'll have to keep an eye on them." She reported swiftly to Spottedleaf, who nodded as she looked down at her herbs. "And what about you two? Why are you in here?" She asked, frowning down at the two warrior apprentices.

He could feel Graypaw's nervousness beside him, so the ginger tom figured he had to be the one to reply to her. "We were just bringing you a meal, since Tinyfrost thought you might not have had a chance to grab a bite yet." He nodded to the mice the calico had taken from him. "Those are for you, and the squirrel is for Spottedleaf and Dewpaw."

The dark gray healer dragged the discarded mouse over to her with a claw. "A little small, but I suppose it will do."

He rolled his eyes to the other two apprentices at the molly's typical dismissive response. "I thought you'd be perkier with the new additions." The rest of the Clan certainly was; even Patchpelt had been smiling when they entered. "Isn't it good news?"

Yellowfang shrugged at his question. "I've never been good with kits. They're so loud and needy." She was hard to read, even for him; if he didn't know better, he'd think she was annoyed at the kitting. "At least Wetnose stayed quiet most of the time I was treating him. His brother Finchflight threw the biggest fit when he came down with kittencough." 

He watched her take a bite of mouse, frowning at her usual grumpy attitude. "But more kits is good for Thunderclan, is it not? They're our future."

"So what?" The old healer spat at him, swallowing her mouse. "I'm not a Thunderclan cat, remember? I'm only here until I can return to my real home." She glared at the mouse in front of her. "They're not my future."

The two toms glanced at each other uneasily. "I guess that's true." He concurred, not wanting to anger her any further. He glanced at Graypaw uneasily, beginning to back away. "We should get going. Lots to do before the day ends and all."

Neither of the healers responded to him, but Dewpaw waved at them with her tail. "Have a good night, you two!" She called as the apprentices departed hastily.

"That was weird." Graypaw mumbled to him as they crossed camp. "I wonder what that was about?"

"I don't know." Firepaw admitted, feeling disappointed at Yellowfang's words. "I guess I knew she was waiting to return to Shadowclan eventually, but she's been doing so well here. I was kind of hoping she'd stay."

"You'd feel the same way if you were stuck in Shadowclan." The gray tom pointed out as they met back up with Ravenpaw, who was now sitting next to Pepperpaw. "You can't blame her."

"Still." He nodded to the gray tabby molly as he sat down in his usual spot. "I assume everything is quiet on the Riverclan border?" He asked her.

She nodded. "As boring as ever. At least it sounds like everyone else has been having fun while I was out on patrol." She gestured at the snakes Ravenpaw had wrapped carefully on the tree stump. "I can't wait to see Goldenflower's new kits. Did you hear anything about them visiting the healers?"

Firepaw shrugged at her question. "There's five of them, apparently. But everyone in camp seems to know that now." He glanced at the nursery, where Frostfur and Lionheart were proudly sitting guard. "Yellowfang mentioned one of the toms is red and there's at least two girls."

There was wonder in Pepperpaw's eyes as he spoke, her ears perked forward. "I hope I get to meet them soon. They sound adorable."

He wasn't sure how she had gotten that out of what he'd said, but he was hardly going to argue about it. "I guess so." He glanced over his shoulder to see the last apprentice entering camp. "Say, there's Cinderpaw!"

The darkest of the gray siblings bounded across camp, ignoring the hubbub around her as she ran straight for them. "What are those?" She yowled, coming crashing to a halt as she stared at the adders Ravenpaw had caught.

The circle of apprentices purred at her reaction. "Thank Ravenpaw for those." Graypaw said, nudging the tom with his shoulder. "He caught them during his hunting assessment at Snakerocks."

"They're huge!" She gasped as she batted at one with a paw. "I bet the Shadowclan elders would love them." She added with a sly glance to her brother as she continued playing with it.

"I can't believe you're still on about that." The gray tom groaned, rolling his eyes at the rest of them. "If you're so sure they're edible, why don't you eat one?"

Cinderpaw scoffed at him. "Uh, because I'm not a Shadowclanner, duh." She redirected her attention to Ravenpaw in an instant. "Hey can you show me how to catch these? Then I could be…" She crouched down dramatically before leaping into the air, landing solidly on the tree stump and knocking the adders off of it. "Queen of the Snakes!"

One of the adders was flung into Ravenpaw, the long scaly body wrapping around his neck before he had a chance to react. The black tom all but flipped over himself as he sprang away, kicking at the snake in a desperate attempt to get it off. After a few moments it finally flopped into the dust, staring emptily out at nothing.

"Watch it!" He finally spat at Cinderpaw, panting heavily.

"Why, Ravenpaw?" Firepaw asked, crouching and slinking towards him. "Scared you might get bit?" He asked as he sidled up to the other tom, hissing quietly and twitching his tail like a rattlesnake's.

Ravenpaw glared at him for a moment before leaping forward and catching the ginger tom on his back, lightly rolling him onto his side. "Some snake you'd make. You're even easier to catch than these were."

As the group dissolved into purrs, Firepaw couldn't help but look around at each of his friends happily. Things were finally looking up for all of them. The borders were safe, they'd done well in their assessments, and Dewpaw was on her way to becoming a healer herself. This was the sort of thing he'd dreamed of back when he had first met Graypaw, and now it was a reality. If only things could stay like this forever.

[usernoneexistent]

Challenge: Anything's possible by @hp-12monthsofmagic

A/N: Finally was able to push past my burn out and wrote this. Delilah frustrated by the little alchemy she has done at Hogwarts, sets out to achieve the most plausible hardest achievement in alchemy for a sixteen year old.

Warnings: gross ingredients in the name of 'science'

Delilah fidgeted about with her quill, moving it smoothly between her fingers. Her alchemy professor was going over the theory of transforming base metals. Though she knew it already.

She would consume and study everything about alchemy and relate to it over the summer holiday. Delilah could recite every theory, technique, and invention by heart. Coming to Hogwarts, she had hoped to finally put all that knowledge into action. Even though they finally started brewing metals, Delilah still thought it was too basic.

"And that concludes today's lesson." The Professor finished, putting the broken chalk down.

The other students packed their books, tied them up with string, and left the classroom. Delilah approached her alchemy professor.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Sweets. How may I help you?" He wiped away the board with a flick of his wand.

"I was wondering when we shall start brewing harder potions."

"Miss Sweets, are you finding my lectures too dull for your tastes."

"I don't mean that Professor, but rather that I want to be more intellectually stimulating. I want a real challenge." Delilah expressed rather excitedly.

"I see, but as you must know Miss Sweets, an important quality is patience in alchemy. Alchemy needs patience because of precision." The Professor put his hands on his back and emphasized each quality to hit the point. "Alchemy is not one must triffle with without the fundamental basics."

"Yes sir, I am aware of that." Delilah quietly said. It seemed that the Professor would not be on her side.

"Good day then, Miss Sweets."

"Good day to you too, sir."

As Delilah left the classroom, she whistled for her red squirrel, Athena, or as she affectionately called her, Thena. The squirrel climbed down from the gothic-styled arch frames of the door and onto her shoulder.

"Come on Thena, we're going to be brewing something amazing tonight."

At night, she and Athena left the Hufflepuff common room. The pungent smell of the kitchen wafted through the corridor, making her stomach growl despite eating earlier.

She crept through the dark corridors. Her long-time friend, Winona, had shown all the best secret places in trade for her secrets. Delilah required a hidden area to experiment, to practice alchemy like she had one back home. Her family had a multitude of rooms dedicated to experiments. Some consider it messy, but to her, it was home.

In the lower North-East corridors, hidden rooms were mostly unknown of their purpose. Delilah found a purpose in one of them, stashing away ingredients that she had either honestly collected from the forbidden forests or dishonestly stolen from the potions classroom. Mostly, Athena did the stealing so no one would notice the little critter.

Hidden under the floorboard, Delilah had stashed vinegar, salt, sulfur vive, and even dreaded urine there. Though that were some sources, she won't reveal how she obtained them. There was also another thing, a terrible deed she had done. She had snuck into the forbidden section of the school's library. It pained her deeply to take an alchemy book without permission, but Delilah promised that she would return once it had been used.

The book may not look like much though Delilah won't be fooled by the disguise. There was instruction, and the recipe for Panacea, handwritten by Georg am Wald himself.

It was an alchemist's greatest dream to brew a panacea. The cure of all cures and longer life, and Delilah will achieve it. Be the youngest to brew it ever. She had started the process a few days ago and tonight she would complete it.

This wasn't to get her name published in the news articles, but it was personal. If she could do this at sixteen years of age, imagine what she could do in the future.

"Thena, get the salt." She commanded. The squirrel chittered back at her and placed the salt next to her. Delilah put on an apron to ensure that her nightgown would remain clean and piled her thick wavy hair into a haphazard mess barely held in place by pins.

She followed the instruction precisely, melting a few spoons along the way; wooden and metal. The author notes that this may happen, so having several on hand would be better.

The room stunk, but that was to be expected. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, using it only when she needed to stir or float the ingredients into the pot.

The liquid changed color regularly, but it all matched the instruction. However, it was bubbling more than the ambitious young alchemist had liked.

Her feet ached from standing in the same spot. Though Delilah figured that achieving without pain would not yield anything, it was simply the price to pay.

The solution was done.

Delilah poured the thin red liquid into a small glass bottle. This should show the Professor of her evident talents.

"It's done, Thena." Delilah gleaned with delight and pride of her concoction. Athena was clearly tired and napped on her shoulder. She glanced over at her father's old pocket watch. "Merlin's beard. I better get back."

***

"Hmm." The Professor scrutinized the liquid considered to be Panacea. Delilah looked at him, seeking his approval for her ambitious work. "What did you say that you put in?"

"Vinegar." Delilah simply said.

The Professor shook his head and let out a chuckle. "I'm afraid to say, Miss Sweets that you haven't made panacea."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"You have made an effective yet alternative method to cure boils." He quickly cleared his throat but couldn't hide his amusement at the student's mistake.

"How?" Delilah exclaimed. "I followed the recipe exactly, not a gram more nor a gram less than required."

Though the smile didn't vanish from the alchemy professor. "I assume you found the notebook of Georg am Wald."

Delilah hesitantly gave a nod of admittance.

"The notebook actually belonged to George Wald. An easy mistake to make but like you, many ambitious students of before have done the same mistake believing they have found the recipe for Panacea."

The girl was mortified. How could she be so foolish and fall for the lies of a fraud?

Almost seemingly sensing her humiliation, the Professor assured her. "This may not be Panacea but it is the best cure of boils I have ever seen. I hope you continue to bring this level of dedication to your classes, Miss Sweets."

"Thank you, professor." Delilah left, and despite her disappointment in the Panacea, she still has confidence that one day, she will make an actual panacea.

[trashpandafiction]

We Survive (11)

Summary: What happens when the Behavioral Analysis Unit comes across a situation they weren’t trained for? When the dead begin to roam the Earth, it challenges the BAU to something they’ve never dealt with before: the apocalypse. Along their journey for survival, they come across Rick Grimes and his group of survivors. Among the survivors is Jocelynn Russo, who thinks that the new group could be helpful to them. Things seem to go well until an unexpected enemy appears. Will Negan and the Saviors be the one thing to break the groups, or will they be able to defend themselves? All anyone knows is they have one common goal; to survive. Pairings: Rick Grimes/OFC; Aaron Hotchner/OFC Word Count: 2,827 Warnings: None A/N: Dun, dun, DUN. If you’d like to be tagged in future updates, just let me know! Please do not redistribute my work without my permission! Reblogging is fine with credit intact.

Eleven - An Unexpected Arrival

          Jocelynn stood in city hall with Maggie, JJ, Michonne, Rick, and Hotch discussing the run happening that day.

          “You’re sure you three will be okay?” Rick asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

          “It’s because we’re women, isn’t it?” Michonne asked with a quirked brow.

          “No, I would be more scared of you three than anything else I’d face out there. I just know sometimes you need some extra hands.” He answered with a smirk.

          “We’ll be okay, really.” Maggie assured him. “Joce are you sure you wanna sit this one out?” she turned to look at the younger woman.

          “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll find someone to pester.” She joked.

          “Okay. We should be back in a few hours, but we won’t be out past dark.” She said, hugging Rick, Jocelynn, and Hotch. JJ and Michonne hugged the other three next, then headed out with Maggie to go out on their run.

Hotch looked over at Jocelynn and gave her a small smile. “If you’re looking for someone to pester, you could always help Reid and I with inventory today.” He offered.

“Three people on inventory?” Rick asked.

“Yeah, two people doing the work and one to supervise.” Jocelynn replied with a smile.

“Right.” He nodded at her. “Hotch, if she gives you too much trouble, just lock her out.” He teased, standing up so they could all leave the house.

“I’ll be sure to do that.” The other man said with a nod.

They all said their goodbyes before heading off to their different tasks. Jocelynn followed Hotch to the inventory house where they met Reid who was already getting the notebooks together so they could start their counts. When he saw movement, he looked over and smiled when he saw Hotch and Jocelynn approaching.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were on inventory today.” He said.

“I’m not, I’m strictly here to pester and supervise.” Jocelynn said with a wink.

“She opted out of the run today so I said she could come bother us.” Hotch added.

“I don’t think she’s capable of pestering anyone.” Reid said, handing the notebook to Hotch.”

“You flatter me, Spence.” She teased, moving to sit on the table in the corner so she was out of the way.

The two men got to work on counting everything and making some small talk with Jocelynn along the way. They talked about the supplies, different cases, and the weird things they had to eat since the world ended.

“Daryl has eaten squirrel I guess, but he said he did that before the apocalypse, so who knows?” Jocelynn shrugged.

“He seems like the type.” Hotch said with a chuckle.

“Out of everyone we’ve met, I think he’s the likeliest person to be prepared for something like this.” Reid added as he finished up the counts on one of the shelves.

“I think you’re right.” Jocelynn nodded.

“You’d think we would have been more prepared for something like this, but that’s not included in FBI training. Now, if you come across a serial killer or something like that, we’ll be in business.” Hotch joked.

“Well if you guys come across a restaurant that needs waiting, I’ll be in business.” She joked back.

“Is that what you did before this?” He asked.

“Yeah, mostly. I would nanny for a few kids in my neighborhood from time to time too.” She nodded.

“Were you in school?” Reid asked.

“I took some general classes at the community college but couldn’t decide what I wanted my career to be. I guess I should have been quicker to decide so I could have learned something before all of this happened.” She said and smiled some.

“What were you deciding between? For your career.” Hotch asked.

“It depended on the day, I suppose. Some days I was sure that I wanted to go into childcare full-time, other days I was sure that I wanted to own my own restaurant or bar or something, and then for a while I even thought about being a dispatcher for 911.” She said.

“Well, at least you gave yourself options.” He smiled. “If the world gets put back together, I’ll put in a good word at the BAU.” He teased.

 “You’d want to work with me around all the time?” she teased back.

“Technically, the dispatchers work in a separate wing of the building, so we wouldn’t actually see you that often during work hours.” Reid chimed in.

“Did I just get dissed?” she asked with a smirk.

“I think you might have.” Hotch teased.

“Dissed? Oh, no I was just…” Reid started.

“I’m just kidding, don’t worry.” She said with a smile.

“Right.” He nodded and gave her a tight-lipped smile before getting back to work.

Jocelynn continued to chat with the two men until they finished with inventory. When it was time for lunch, they invited her to join them, and they continued their chat through the meal. Once they finished, they headed towards city hall to check in with Rick. There really wasn’t much left to do for the day, so they figured they could just fill in wherever they may have been needed. As they approached the house, the gates opened and the truck pulled in with JJ, Maggie and Michonne in the cabin, and three people in the bed of the truck.

“Is that…” Hotch started, holding his hand up so he could block the sun and see.

Spencer didn’t wait before jogging over to the truck to confirm what he thought he saw.

“They found more people.” Jocelynn said. She looked over at Hotch who was now walking over to the truck after Spencer, so she followed him.

JJ, Michonne, and Maggie all got out of the truck before JJ walked around to the back and opened it up. Derek, Emily, and David all climbed out of the bed of the truck; a bit slower than they intended to. They were a bit banged up, but they were alive.

“We found them holed up in an old trailer. JJ said she knew them.” Maggie explained. “We’re gonna get them to the infirmary to be checked out before anything.”

“You’re alive.” Spencer said, sounding more like a question than a statement.

“You wouldn’t know by looking at us.” David said.

Spencer hugged Emily gently, not wanting to hurt her if she was hurt. Hotch came over and hugged David and Derek, and when Spencer moved to hug Derek and David, Hotch hugged Emily.

“I’ll have them brought over to city hall to meet Rick once they get checked over.” Michonne said, patting Jocelynn on the shoulder.

She nodded and looked at JJ who was taking in the reunion. “The infirmary’s this way, I can take you guys over.” She added.

Maggie joined her and led everyone to the infirmary house. They all filed into the house, catching Olivia off guard. Once they were all introduced, she got to work on checking all three of them and making sure that they were all bite-free.           Besides bumps, bruises, scrapes, and some dehydration, the three were cleared to go meet Rick. Instead of having them all go to city hall, Hotch and Spencer led them to the house to get cleaned up first while JJ and Jocelynn headed to get Rick.

“We went into this trailer to see if there was fuel and there they were.” JJ said, figuring she could stop the questions Jocelynn had before she asked them.

“Lucky find.” She said and walked with her. “I thought you said…” she started.

“I know.” JJ interrupted. “I was pretty sure that they were but…I’ve never been more thrilled to be wrong.”

Jocelynn nodded some and gave a half-smile. It seemed a little strange to her, but she wasn’t going to argue with her. The two women found Rick and gave him the rundown before they got to the BAU house so it wouldn’t be as awkward. Hotch let them all inside, then led them to the living room where everyone had congregated. They figured cleaning up could wait until they had met the leader.

David, Derek, and Emily all sat on the largest couch, and when Rick came over, they started to stand.

“You can stay seated.” Rick said, holding his hand up. “You’ve probably been through the wringer.”

They all sat back again before David spoke up. “We got the Reader’s Digest version of what happened, but we’re willing to answer any questions. I’m David Rossi, this is Emily Prentiss, and that is Derek Morgan.” He said, pointing to his other team members.

“I’m Rick Grimes, and this is Alexandria.” He said, leaning over to shake their hands. “JJ said that Maggie and Michonne gave you our little interview process at the trailer, is that right?”

“They interviewed us, patted us down, the whole nine.” Derek replied. “We understand it’s probably weird to have three extra people here out of nowhere.”

“We’re just glad that you all could be reunited with each other.” He said with a nod.

Before he could ask any other questions, the front door flew open, followed by Penelope’s voice. “Where are they?!”

Derek looked at her and smiled, “Hey baby girl.”

“It is true.” She said and came over to hug the rest of her team, tears in her eyes.

Rick smiled some and stood up. “We’ll let you all get situated and caught up for now and check in on you later.”

“We understand if you’ll need to do another vote.” Hotch said.

“Just worry about spending some time together today, and we’ll talk about a vote later.” He said, patting his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Hotch added.

Rick and Jocelynn headed out of the house and started towards city hall. Now that Hotch, JJ, Spencer, and Penelope had all proven themselves in the group, it was probably going to be easier to convince Alexandria to let the rest of the group stay too. Once they got inside, Rick let out a breath before sitting on the couch.

“Lucky break for them.” Jocelynn said, sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“Really lucky.” He agreed with a nod.

“Are you gonna let them stay?” she asked him.

“If they’re like Hotch and the rest, I have no problem letting them stay. I can get the council together and talk about it.” He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “What do you think about all of this?”

She didn’t want to tell him that she was a little suspicious about JJ’s lucky mistake because she didn’t want to cause problems where there were none. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.” She shrugged.

He nodded and toyed with his watch. “Yeah, they have.”

“They seem nice enough.” She added.

He grunted a response, running his hand over his face. “I’ll get everyone together before dinner and see what they think.”

Once everyone had showered and gotten fed dinner, they all filed into the living room to unwind a little bit and really talk. Penelope was doing her best to keep the mood up, so she talked about what they had been doing in Alexandria while JJ and Hotch stayed quiet. Spencer listened to the conversations, unsure of what to make of the whole situation, but still happy that they were alive. No one really wanted to address the elephant in the room; how were they still alive when JJ had confirmed they were dead?

“So how did you even get out of there?” Spencer finally asked.

“It was probably the closest call we’ve all had, even before all of this happened.” Emily said. “I honestly can’t explain it other than dumb luck.”

“Once they got the door down, we used the ammo we had and then used our knives to get the ones in the doorway. As they piled up, they created a barrier, so we had time to get out of there.” Derek added.

“The ones that were left outside sort of forced us into the creek and once we crossed that, we just kept going until it got quiet.” David said.

“We came back to the cabin after a couple of days, and then every so often we’d come back, but we started to think that maybe you guys had found a different shelter or another group.” Emily said.

“We wanted to look for you, but we weren’t even sure that you made it out of there.” Spencer said.

“I made the call to keep going.” Hotch said, not wanting anyone else to take the blame.

“Aaron, we would have done the same thing. We don’t blame anyone here, we’re just glad that we were able to find you all again.” David said.

The conversations started to die down a little bit and slowly, everyone started heading to beds and couches to sleep. Now that there were three more people, they’d probably need a second house, if they were allowed to stay. After everyone seemed to be asleep, JJ went to the kitchen to get some water. As she came into the dining room, she was surprised to see Hotch sitting at the table.

“Can’t sleep either?” she asked him, sitting in the chair across from him.

“Not just yet.” He answered.

“It’s been a long day, it’s hard to wind down from all of this.” She said and took a sip of her water.

“When you were at the cabin with Reid, did you fully search the cabin?” he asked suddenly.

She was caught off guard by the question, but she figured it would be coming at some point. “When I saw what was in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure that anyone could have survived that.”

“But did you check to confirm their identities?” he asked her.

She looked at her glass of water, trying to figure out what to say next. “Joce found Emily’s necklace in the pile.” She looked up at him.

“Jennifer.” He said, knowing the truth but wanting to hear it from her.

“You said we should assume that they didn’t make it. Hotch, we had this place where we could finally settle down and stop running, and I knew that if we thought there was the slightest chance that they had gotten out of there, we’d never stop looking. I didn’t want it to drive everyone crazy or risk them getting hurt in the process.” She explained.

“I did say that.” He agreed. “And I don’t blame you for trying to protect everyone, but why weren’t you just honest with us? Isn’t it worse to have everyone grieve and then undo all of it?”

“What was I supposed to do? You know if I told Spence that there was no proof that they were dead in there, he’d never stop.” She said.

“You knew they were alive?” Spencer spoke from the doorway of the dining room.

JJ and Hotch turned to look at him and JJ’s heart sank. “Spencer…”

“When we were at the cabin, you said that they were gone, that they were dead in there.” He said, his brows knitted together.

“I made an assumption because of what I saw in there.” She said, standing up.

“No, you chose to lie to us and say that they were dead.” He replied.

“I assumed they were, and I didn’t want you to see what was in there because you were already blaming yourself.” She reasoned.

“Don’t put the blame on me. Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve lied by omission anyway.” He said, his voice dripping with defeat and hurt.

“Spence…” she said, reaching out to take his hand.

“Don’t.” he said and pulled away from her reach. He headed upstairs to his room and went inside, shutting the door and sitting on the makeshift bed he had on the floor.

JJ put a hand over her mouth and sighed. “This wasn’t my intention. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Hotch had stood up and walked over to her, putting his hand on her back. “You were doing what you thought was best. Just give everyone some time to take it all in.”

“He’s right, I’ve done this to him before. I knew about Emily and didn’t tell him.” She said softly.

“You couldn’t tell him, and he came around from that.” He said.

She nodded and wiped a few tears that had fallen down her cheeks. “I’m gonna try and get some sleep.”

Before he could say anything else, she had gone upstairs and into her room. He was torn because he knew where she was coming from, but he also couldn’t blame Spencer for feeling lied to. Truthfully, he felt a little lied to, too. He put the two glasses in the sink and gave Spencer a little time before going upstairs and laying in bed in their room. He was sure everything would blow over, especially if Rick allowed them to stay. At least he hoped it would.

[deveostudio]

The Art of Crafting Stories: Understanding Children's Book Illustration

Children's literature is a magical realm where stories leap off the page and spark imagination in young minds. But what truly brings these tales to life is the artistry of the children's book illustrator. Whether you're an aspiring author or a publisher, finding the right illustrator is a pivotal step in creating an impactful children's book. In this blog, we'll delve into the role of illustrators, how to find them, and what to consider when you hire a children's book illustrator.

Why Illustrations Matter in Children's Books

Illustrations do more than decorate the pages of a book—they communicate the essence of the story. For children, visuals often resonate more powerfully than words. A skilled children’s book illustrator uses colors, shapes, and textures to set the mood, build characters, and evoke emotions that align with the narrative.

Imagine a picture book about a mischievous squirrel. The words might describe its antics, but an illustrator's rendition of the squirrel’s cheeky grin can make the story unforgettable. This unique blend of artistry and storytelling underscores why it’s crucial to hire a book illustrator who understands the medium.

Steps to Find the Perfect Children's Book Illustrator

1. Research and Inspiration

Before you begin your search to find a children's book illustrator, spend time exploring various styles. Children's book illustrations range from whimsical and colorful to minimalistic and modern. Understanding the tone of your story can guide you in choosing the right visual approach.

Platforms like online portfolios, illustrator directories, and social media are excellent starting points. Many illustrators showcase their work on their personal websites, making it easier to find one whose style aligns with your vision.

2. Look Beyond the Surface

A talented children's book illustrator doesn’t just create beautiful images—they understand how to interpret a story visually. Look for illustrators who excel at expressing emotions, building dynamic scenes, and creating characters that children will adore.

When assessing portfolios, pay attention to how illustrators handle visual storytelling. A great illustrator captures the nuances of a story, making even the smallest details part of the narrative fabric.

3. Consider Collaboration

Illustrating a book is a collaborative effort. To hire a children's book illustrator, find someone who communicates well and values teamwork. They should be open to feedback and willing to adapt their approach to bring your vision to life.

How to Have a Children’s Book Illustrator Work With You

Once you’ve found an illustrator who meets your criteria, establishing a collaborative workflow is essential. Clear communication about deadlines, story concepts, and revisions ensures the process runs smoothly.

For example, sharing a storyboard can help the illustrator understand your vision. Discuss the number of illustrations, the level of detail required, and how you envision each page layout. When you hire a book illustrator, this clarity can minimize misunderstandings and result in a cohesive final product.

Why Hiring Professionals Matters

While DIY options might be tempting, investing in a professional children's book illustrator can elevate your project to new heights. Professionals bring experience, technical skills, and an understanding of what captivates young audiences. They can also navigate industry standards, such as formatting for print or digital platforms.

Additionally, experienced illustrators often have insights into how illustrations interact with text. This expertise can make your book more engaging and accessible to readers.

Common Challenges and How to Overcome Them

Finding the Right Fit

It’s not always easy to find a children's book illustrator who aligns perfectly with your vision. To simplify the process, create a detailed brief outlining your story, target audience, and artistic preferences.

Budget Constraints

Quality illustrations come at a cost, but they are a worthwhile investment. When budgeting, remember that illustrators dedicate countless hours to crafting unique visuals. If budget is a concern, consider working with emerging talent.

Maintaining Consistency

Illustrating an entire book requires consistency in style, color palette, and character design. Discuss this upfront with your illustrator and request sample pages to ensure the desired look is achieved.

The Impact of Well-Executed Illustrations

Whether you're self-publishing or working with a traditional publisher, illustrations play a significant role in your book's reception. A well-illustrated book doesn’t just attract young readers—it also leaves a lasting impression on parents, educators, and reviewers.

Consider classic tales like Where the Wild Things Are. Maurice Sendak’s illustrations transformed the story into a timeless masterpiece. By hiring a skilled children’s book illustrator, you can similarly create a work of art that resonates with generations.

Finding the Right Illustrator for Your Project

If you’re still wondering how to have a children's book illustrator work on your project, start by defining your story’s needs. Are you looking for vibrant, playful imagery or something more subdued and detailed? Do you need an illustrator with experience in a specific genre, like fantasy or educational content? Answering these questions will narrow your search.

Once you've identified potential illustrators, don't hesitate to reach out. Share your story idea and ask about their process, timeline, and rates. By approaching the collaboration with clarity and enthusiasm, you’re more likely to find a children's book illustrator who can bring your vision to life.

Conclusion

Illustrations are the heart and soul of children's books, offering young readers a gateway to worlds of wonder. Whether you're searching for a book illustrator for hire or exploring how to have a children's book illustrator collaborate on your story, the right choice can make all the difference.

Take the time to research, connect, and plan, and you'll soon find the perfect illustrator to transform your story into a cherished literary treasure.

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Blog post 10

As I continue to develop my approach as a nature interpreter, I realize that my personal ethic goes beyond simply educating others about ecosystems or wildlife. For me, nature interpretation is about creating an emotional connection to the environment that resonates deeply with people, offering them a sense of peace and purpose, much like I’ve found during my own time spent outdoors. My belief is that nature has the unique power to ground us, and by sharing this perspective, I hope to help others discover the mental and emotional benefits of connecting with the natural world.

From a young age, I’ve felt a deep respect for nature. Through weekly hikes with my family, I learned to appreciate not just the beauty of a landscape but also the complex relationships between animals, plants, and their surroundings. These moments helped me feel grounded and gave me a space to reflect, away from the noise of daily life. Now, as I step into a role where I can introduce others to these experiences, I feel a responsibility to create a welcoming, inclusive environment where people feel encouraged to slow down and immerse themselves in nature’s rhythms. In a world that often feels hurried and disconnected, I want to offer people a chance to breathe, reflect, and experience the simple, healing presence of the natural world.

One of my core beliefs is that animals and ecosystems hold lessons that are as valuable as any that we learn in traditional settings. Observing animal behavior, for example, reveals a blend of instinct, adaptation, and intelligence that can inspire us on a personal level. Each animal, whether it’s a squirrel adapting its foraging strategies to city life or a migratory bird navigating thousands of miles, has a unique way of responding to challenges, and these responses can teach us about resilience, problem-solving, and adaptability. When I observe squirrels foraging, I see a combination of curiosity and caution, a delicate balance that reflects how they assess their environment for both opportunities and risks. This behavior has reminded me to take a balanced approach to my own challenges, weighing risks while staying curious about the possibilities ahead.

In this role, I feel a responsibility to respect and honor the natural behaviors and needs of the animals I introduce to others. Animals aren’t simply “objects of study”; they’re beings with their own instincts, experiences, and survival strategies. As an interpreter, I want to convey this respect by helping people see animals not as resources or subjects but as part of a larger, interdependent community of life. For example, when I discuss the intricate migration routes of hummingbirds, I emphasize their resilience and endurance, painting a picture of the obstacles they face and the ways they overcome them. This perspective helps people see these birds as remarkable, resilient beings, fostering a sense of admiration and responsibility to protect their habitats.

Another aspect of my ethic is ensuring that the experience of nature is accessible to everyone, regardless of their level of familiarity with the outdoors. Not everyone feels comfortable in natural settings or immediately sees the value in spending time in nature. As an interpreter, I strive to create an inclusive atmosphere where each person’s relationship with nature is validated and celebrated. For someone new to hiking or wildlife observation, even the simple act of identifying a bird or noticing a leaf’s unique pattern can be a profound experience. My responsibility is to encourage these small moments of discovery, knowing they can lead to a lifetime of curiosity and respect for the environment.

When it comes to sharing knowledge, I’ve found that the most effective approach is to blend storytelling with science. I enjoy using analogies and relatable examples to make complex ecological processes accessible and engaging. For instance, when I discuss the biosynthetic pathways in plants or the complex interactions within a food web, I often relate these processes to something familiar, like cooking or community roles. This way, people see that nature is not only fascinating but also understandable, and they feel empowered to learn more.

I’ve also realized that interpreting nature is a form of mindfulness practice. Nature has an ability to anchor us in the present moment, drawing our attention to the here and now. When I guide people in observing the behaviors of animals or the textures of plants, I’m inviting them to engage with nature mindfully, noticing details they might otherwise overlook. For example, I might encourage a group to listen to the layered sounds around them the wind in the trees, the rustling of leaves, the calls of distant birds. These sensory experiences help people connect with nature on a deeper, almost meditative level, and they often find that this experience brings a sense of calm and focus.

This mindful engagement with nature often leads to a greater appreciation for conservation. People start to understand that protecting these natural spaces and the animals within them isn’t just about preserving resources; it’s about preserving a source of mental and emotional well-being. When we protect habitats, we’re protecting places where people can come to find peace, inspiration, and a sense of belonging. I aim to convey that conservation is a shared responsibility—one that we undertake not just for the survival of species but for the health and happiness of future generations.

One of my greatest hopes as a nature interpreter is to help people experience the profound interconnectedness of all life. Each animal and plant, no matter how small, has a role to play in the ecosystem, and recognizing this interconnectedness can inspire a more compassionate, ecologically responsible mindset. When I teach people about the role of pollinators, for example, I emphasize not only the vital services these animals provide but also the ripple effect of their work, supporting plants, which in turn support other species, including us. By showing people how even the smallest creatures contribute to the balance of the ecosystem, I hope to instill a sense of gratitude and responsibility.

Ultimately, my ethic as a nature interpreter is grounded in a desire to connect people to something larger than themselves, offering them a sense of peace, purpose, and curiosity. Whether it’s through a story about a squirrel’s foraging choices, a quiet moment listening to bird songs, or a discussion on habitat conservation, my goal is to leave people feeling inspired and connected, not just to nature but to their own inner well-being. Nature has given me a place to reflect, to grow, and to feel a sense of balance, and my greatest hope is to share that gift with others, helping them find their own moments of clarity, calm, and awe in the natural world.