#its like every day when i wake up i have to claw my way back to feeling fine and it always takes the whole day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanon-elio · 1 month ago

Text

.-*Patience*-.

Summary: After you had helped Lycaon babysitt his clients toddler, he started having Baby fever, and before he realized it he was up to his neck in his rut.

Tag: Red Letter (Nsfw)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x Fem!Reader

Minors DNI!

Warnings: Pregnancy kink, creampie, rut, size kink, biting, mentions of blood, masturbation, Oral recieving, Established relationship.

(Please remind me if I have forgotten any warnings)

My friend came up with the idea when we were on call, and its been stuck in my head for a while now. So I decieded to write it, and finally get it out of my head.

Also because I've watched Smile 2 and desperately need to get my mind off this movie as always, constructive criticism is always appreciated. (Also enjoy me trying out animation for the first time)

Lycaon was a patient man, its something he prided himself with. No matter how tedious the task at hand may appear, it was never something he couldn't handle.

But it seems even his patience had its limits. He had come to that realization when he took on the task of watching after one of his clients toddlers, a task that normally would fall into Rina's forte but unfortunately she was already occupied with another job.

A sigh escaped Lycaon as he whiped the remnants of Baby food out of his face, the toddlers weapon of choice to fend off the wolfish butler.

Once again, Lycaon was a patient man. But when his client reached out to him, asking to extend the time of his services, he found himself in a spot where he couldn't refuse. And the deeper the circles under his eye got, the more regularely he found himself counting the days until the week was finally over and he could go back to doing his regular paper work which, miraculously, he found preferable at the moment.

Then there was you, his beautiful, headstrong and reliable partner, admittedly even more patient than himself. You had noticed your significant other's trouble, graciously offering your help which he declined at first. But not short after he found himself giving into your request and assistance after the toddler had started throwing tantrum after tantrum, and he worried it might sully his, and his clients reputation.

So the very next day you stood in the door, equipped with a bag that contained everything you might need, ready to support him where it was possible. Another sigh escaped Lycaon, this time one of relieve as he watched you easily get the toddler under control, carefully holding it and humming a soothing lullaby while it slept in your arms.

It was a sight that captivated him in a way he couldn't explain. You looked so beautiful, so loving and so maternal. He couldn't help but wonder how your children would look like if you had any, and it stirred something deep within him. A feeling that he had ignored for a long time, and the longer he dwelled on the thought another more familiar feeling slowly clawed its way into his body and mind, much to Lycaon's dissmay.

Lycaon had no idea if he'd make a good father, the concept of fathering children seeming a bit intimidating to him despite how badly he wanted a family of his own. But the fantasy of you holding his child in your arms gave him hope. You'd be a great mother, with you by his side everything would work out perfectly, he was sure of it. And in that moment a thought invaded him which would haunt his every waking moment for the entire next week to come, not even his dreams were spared.

He wanted to get you pregnant.

So he found himself awakened in the middle of the night once again, lying in the bed of his clients guest room, his hard member throbbing uncomfortably in his trousers.

He sighed, realizing that it was that time of the year again before he reached for his bag, fishing in it for his suppressants to hopefully stop the heat bubbling in his stomache.

But much to his horror, all he finds is an empty blister.

The week comes to and end, his client having thanked him for his hard work, completely unaware of your assistance with the little one. While you are unaware of the trouble he, and to an extend you as well, were in now.

•°•°•°•°•°•

The clock hits 9pm, Lycaon himself once again sitting in his office as he worked himself through the stack of papers on his desk that had accumilated over the past week. He glanced at the clock, pinching the bridge of his snout and sighing tiredly before he dedicated himself to the document in front of him once again.

Admittedly, he had stared at the same document for almost one and a half hours now, his progress had been slow and painful, almost as painful as the hard erection throbbing in his trousers that effectively robbed him of any shred of concentration.

With his rut now having taken a full grasp on him, he cursed himself for forgetting to fill out his suppressants perscription in time as he glances at the piece of paper still lying on his desk, just as abandoned as a week prior. He had been too mentally occupied with his commission, and now he was left hot, bothered, and suffering the consequences as he internally fought not to palm himself through his pants.

'Life waits for no one, and these Documents need to be finished'

he told himself, which he had done so for the last one and a half hours without making any progress whatsoever.

He wanted to ask you for help, you are his partner after all, and besides, you two have had Sex before.

But not like this.

In all the time you two where together, he never had to deal with his rut, luckily always quick enough to fill out his perscription, all to spare you of having to put up with him while he was nothing more than a hormone controlled animal.

Well, so much for that...

He grabed his crotch, having lost the inner battle with his needs as he lets his mind wander to you. Surely you wouldn't mind fucking with him while he was like this right?

He slowly moved to unbuckle his belt, freeing his cock from its confines.

Would you let him cum in you if he asked? He rubbed over his weeping tip, your name falling from his lips which he didn't even seem to realize.

As of now he had never came inside you, always pulling out or using a condom instead.

But god he wanted to breed you so badly, to feel you clench down on him while he pumped load after load into you.

There was a knock at the door which he didn't register in his lust drunken haze.

He'd take such good care of you throughout these 9 strenous months, he'd give you everything you needed and more. Only the mere fantasy of you bearing his child made him even harder than he already was.

"I'm coming in now" your voice rang out from the other side of the door as it ripped him out of his fantasy.

He cringed as he tried to slide his trousers over his still aching cock, opting to pushed himself towards his desk as a way to hide his terribly obvious bulge from sight. He took the pen he had abandoned earlier, and shifted his gaze to the document again while you quietly stepped into the room.

"Is something the matter my love?" He asked you, scribbling away at the paper "I heared you calling for me" you told him, leaning on his desk.

He looked up at you, noting that you wore one of his shirts. He loved it when you wore his clothes, and the way your scent intermingled with his. He found it difficult to focus, much less say something as the intoxicating smell wafted around his nose "have I? I don't recall having called you?" He says, an air of nervousness around him that only seems to grow thicker as you move around to his side of the desk.

His heart was pounding in his chest, dispite the intense need clawing at his guts like a starving beast. It seems he was still capable of feeling embarrassed as you took the spot next to him, and he hoped you wouldn't notice his awkwardness, surely you'd think he's a pervert for basically sitting dick out at his desk.

You reach for his forehead, checking his temperatur "are you feeling unwell? You're burning up" you exclaim while he sneaks a glance at your cleavage "I'm fine don't worry, it's just a long day" he half lies.

Sighing, you lean his head against your chest, slowly rubbing soothing circles behind his ear "I know last week had been awfully stressful for you, even though you had been phenomenal in my opinion. But maybe its best if you take a break for now" you boop his nose "especially if you are feeling unwell, and don't tell me you don't because I know you better than anyone else" for some time he just looks at you, the spot behind his ear still tingling a bit from your touch. Secretly aching for you to touch him somewhere else. "You thought I did well with the little one?" He asks jokingly, even though a part of him ached for you to reassure him. "Yes you have! You have a hand with children" you look over your shoulder and meet his gaze for a moment

"you'd be a great father"

Your words reached straight into his heart, and he's sure that in this very moment, he had just fallen even deeper in love with you. "I'll be getting ready for bed, please don't stay up for too long ok?" You raised your eyebrows in an assertive manner, and he chuckles "Understood" he replies.

'You were the one'

If it hadn't been obvious to him before, then it definetly was now. He knew you two could manage a family together.

So as he watched you turn around to leave, he calls out to you again. Wanting to ask you the question that's been on his mind for the entire last week

"say y/n..." he starts and you once again turn your head to look at him before he continues "...have you ever considered... wanting Kids?" A short silence settled inbetween both of you.

Lycaon's heartbeat echoed so loud in his ears, he fears he won't understand your answer if you should give him one. But instead you beamed at him with a smile so bright it almost made him dizzy "of course love! An entire litter full" your words made his heart stumble with pure excitement, as his rationality was slowly being devoured by the growing fire in his gut.

He stood up in a flash, his mechanical feet making quiet thuds against the carpet, and before you can step through the door he snakes an arm around your waist pulling you against his chest while his other hand closes the door shut.

"Is everything alright?" You ask him, his sudden change of attitude spooking you a bit. His hold on you tightens a bit, not in a constraining- but rather in a gentle, and needing manner.

"I want to get you pregnant"

...he admitts and you blush violently as you feel him grinding against you. "Huh? What brought this on?" You asked him with a little nervousness in your tone "Apologies. It's just that every since last week, when I saw you with the little in your arms, I couldn't seem to think about nothing else" he burries his head in the crook of your neck, giving you a small peck before he continues

"I'm going insane with the thought of your belly all swollen with my child, with our child. Please tell me you want the same"

he confesses to you, his hand softly perching on your stomach. To say that you were speechless was an understatement. Your wolfish lover had never acted this way, and the more you thought about it, the more you began to connect the dots in your mind.

Right, Lycaon was a Wolf thiren. Does that mean he also...

"Lycaon, are you in rut?" You ask him carefully, taking the way his movement halted for a moment as confirmation.

Bull's eye.

"Yes, I'am" he admits, seeming embarassed by the fact "I failed to fill out my suppressant perscription last week and ran out of medication" you turn around to look him in the eye, returning his hug.

"So that's why you were unwell? Why didn't you tell me?" You ask him "I can help you" you reach your hand under his shirt, slowly caressing his soft back. "Mating with a thiren during their rut is... different. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable" he spoke, his words stumbled a bit due to the sensation of your hand on his back.

He sighs heavily, both in reliefe of having told you the truth, and in a strange sense of frustration "but I can barely take it anymore" he leans down, ghosting his lips over yours "please help me out" he asks before closing the distance, capturing your lips in a passionate, and hungry kiss. You reach a hand down, giving his bulge a squeeze which makes him groan into the kiss.

He gently moves you towards his desk, breaking the kiss to sit you ontop of it before finding your lips once again. You unbutton his shirt, running your hands over his muscled torso while he kissed down your neck.

He always loved that you only ever wore one of his shirts and a pair of panties to bed, but today he loved it even more so. Quickly he discarded the few items of clothing you were wearing before he got on his knees and spread your legs, his mouth watering at the sight of your drenched pussy.

Before you could brace yourself, Lycaon had already began his assault, licking long striped over your cunt before plunging his tongue inside. Normally he took his time when he went to town on you, but tonight his actions held a certain sense of ferocity as he sloppily ate you out. Still seeming to greatly enjoy it judging by the groans coming from him, the vibrations of which sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Lycaon was a patient man, but right in this moment he was everything else but patient as he whined against your cunt, feeling desperate to finally ram his hard length into you.

And you, ever the beautiful, reliable and patient partner that you were, understood immediately. So after he discarded his last pieces of clothing, now standing fully bare infront of you, you pulled him into a kiss while you grabbed his cock and lined him up with your entrance. Slowly he pushed his cock into you, the familiar stretch of his sheer size never failing to make you see stars.

Lycaon released a satisfied groan as he finally bottomed out inside of you, loving the way how you were still so tight dispite all the times he's already fucked you. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in with unfamiliar force, making your titts bounce, and the desk creak in response.

But dispite that his pace remained moderate, and you couldn't help but notice the almost pained expression on his face "stop holding back" you spoke out to him, and he met your gaze, pondering if he should give into your request, clearly out of worry for you "I can take it, I promise" you reached out and placed your hand on his chest. You felt the way his heart was pounding against his rib cage, like a beast knawing at the bars of its enclosure.

"Fuck me like you need it big guy."

As soon as your words left your mouth, he felt his restrain snap cleanly in two as he grabbed your legs and brought them up to your chest before starting to pound into you with such vigor and ferocity, the desk creaked painfully in response.

You tried to muffle your screams as his cock hit your cervix with every powerfull thrust, but he grabbed your hand and laced your fingers with his "I want to hear you" he told you, his pace never faltering once "what about t-the neighbors" you manage to say before he picked up his pace even more "to hell with the neighbors."

The sound of your screams together with the squelching sounds of your cunt filled the room, and it sounded like a symphony to Lycaon.

Every Single thought in his mind had been replaced with you.

You, you and only you.

He bent down, his canines ghosting over your shoulder as a silent way of asking for permission. You cooked your head to the side in response to give him more access before he dug his teeth into your shoulder. Immense satisfaction washed over him as he did so, like a primal need that was finally being satiated as he tasted the tinge of iron on his tongue.

Lycaon's thrusts grew sloppier, his teeth bared in a silent snarl "I'm close" he panted "where do you want it?" He asked, internally begging you to let him fill your pretty pussy with his cum.

And it was as if you had read his mind before you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you

"Inside! Please fuck a Baby into me!"

You said inbetween moans and screams as he ecstatically picked up his pace, ready to give you that child both of you wanted.

A few strong thrusts later, he pressed his cock as deep inside you as he could before drowining your womb with his seed, your own orgasm following short as you clamped down on his throbbing cock, milking him for all he's worth.

Lycaons eyes rolled back into his skull at the mind blowing orgasm he was experiencing, easily the most pleassurable experience he has ever had. Stars danced across his Vision as his hand slit down to your stomache, feeling the bulge his cock created there. It captivated him not only by how erotic it was, but also because it excited him.

But, It wasn't enough.

One load surely wasn't enough to knock you up, he needed to empty his balls in your pussy over and over again to make sure you were pregnant by tomorrow.

He once again started moving as you clung to him for dear life "Ly- caon.." you hickuped his name, but he shushed you with a tender and loving kiss "shhh, we have to make sure it takes" he tells you before picking up the pace, his still hard cock squelching through the load already inside you, which surely wouldn't be the last.

His hand never left your stomach, still feeling the bulge that formed with every thrust of his big cock all the while praising you how well you were taking what he gave you.

The more he fucked you, the more the hours melted away as you slowly drifted off into unconciousness, exhaustion from the sheer amount of orgasms he gave you having taken quite the toll on you.

The next day you awake when Lycaon carried you to the bathroom to wash you. Secretly admiring the bite mark on your shoulder, as well as the few purple marks on your body after last nights escapade.

It excited him all over again, but not as much as the pregnancy test that came out positive a day later. He held you close, his hand rubbing gentle cricles on your belly while his tail wagged at a speed you have never seen it wag before.

Now all he had to do was stay patient.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thank you for reading. I hope it was to your liking.

To my bestie who had the idea... *sips Holy water out of whine glass* ...I hope I did your vision justice.

Also, I booked therapy for us next week ♡♡♡

-Elio

#lycaon x reader #von lycaon #von lycaon x reader #zzz von lycaon #zzz x reader #zzz x you #x reader #furry #smut #werewolf x you #fluff

255 notes · View notes

slu7formen · 8 months ago

Note

I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up”

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her like this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan blurb #pjo series #pjo #luke castellan x you #luke x reader #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #pjo x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x female reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan imagines

708 notes · View notes

joelsrose · 2 months ago

Text

Guns and Roses: Chapter 4

my fave chapter so farrr

TW: emotional abuse/emotionally abusive relationship, swearing, gaslighting, body image/insecurity, mean not fun words

masterlist

Summary: As the warmth of spring sets in, a day at the lake offers a rare moment of vulnerability between the two. Guards are lowered, emotions come to the surface, and it feels like a turning point—until something happens testing the fragile connection, leaving more hurt in their wake than before.

The first time Joel saw you, it felt like the air around him thickened, freezing him in place. It wasn’t the snow falling gently outside, blanketing the ground in quiet softness—it was the sight of you, standing there with your back to him. Your brown hair caught the dim light, and for one devastating moment, he thought of Tess. That same brown, the same fall of hair down your back, made his heart stutter. He swallowed hard, chest tightening. It had only been a day since he’d arrived in Jackson, and he was still adjusting. His eyes locked on you, memories rushing in, ones he fought every day to bury.

But then you turned. It wasn’t her. Of course, it wasn’t her. It was you. And for some reason, that realization hit him even harder. You were beautiful in a way that made something inside Joel lurch and crack. He tore his gaze away, barely listening as Tommy droned on about the layout of the dining hall, each word just a dull hum against the storm inside Joel’s mind. That beauty—the kind he couldn’t allow himself to feel anything for—had him gripping the reins of his self-control with white-knuckled fists. He could feel his heart drumming in his chest, and he was disturbed at how much your sheer presence had unraveled him. It was dangerous to feel this way, especially here, especially now, and he hated how his control was slipping, the tension in his jaw betraying just how affected he was.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

“I need some air,” he muttered, voice hoarse, cutting off Tommy mid-sentence. Without waiting for a response, Joel pushed through the back door into the cold.

The snow fell in slow, lazy swirls, the air biting into his skin. He stood there, hands braced against the rough wood of a post, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. It wasn’t the cold making him shiver—it was the flood of memories crashing down on him, images of Tess tearing through his mind with relentless force. Her voice, her face, her eyes the last day they’d spent together… and that bite. That awful, rotting wound on her neck, raw and swollen. The edges of the bite were ragged, torn where the infection had begun its merciless spread. The skin around it was discolored, veins darkened and creeping like tendrils of sickness, the center festering with oozing blood. It had been a gruesome, final mark—a sight that made Joel’s stomach lurch, knowing it was the end. That memory clawed at him now, cutting deeper than the cold ever could.

“I never asked you to feel the things I felt.”

Tess’s words echoed through his mind like a curse. He had tried to shake them off back then, tried to bury the guilt and pain deep down where he wouldn’t have to face it. But no matter how hard he tried, it clung to him, a weight that refused to let go. His fingers dug deeper into the rough wood of the post, as if somehow it could anchor him, provide the stability he so desperately craved.

But it didn’t.

The turmoil inside him raged on, unstoppable. She had loved him—he knew that now, too late—and he had felt something for her too. What that feeling was, he couldn’t quite name. But it had scared him, terrified him enough to push her away when she’d needed him most.

Now you stood there, inside the dim lighting of the dining hall, a stranger who didn’t even know him yet, whose eyes hadn’t met his, whose name hadn’t passed his lips. And that terrified him. You were an unknown, someone untouched by the weight of his past, and somehow that made it worse.

His chest tightened further, his hand coming up to rest against his heart.

He felt like he was dying.

His mind spun back to Tess—her trembling hands, her last look, that fierce determination as she made him leave. The fear in her eyes— a type of fear he had never seen from her before—haunted him. He had failed her. And he couldn’t survive failing someone again.

It took him longer than he would have liked to pull himself together, but eventually, the deep breaths began to work. He opened his eyes, the world coming back into focus, and straightened. Tess’s ghost would always linger, but he couldn’t let her memory break him.

When he stepped back inside, the warmth hit him, though it did nothing to ease the tension coiling in his chest. His eyes immediately found you, your soft smile catching him off guard. The kind that could ruin him if he let it.

“Joel, this is—” Tommy’s voice faded into the background again as you stepped forward, extending a hand. You introduced yourself, but the sound of your name barely registered. All he could feel was the warmth of your hand in his, so soft against the roughness of his own.

It was then he made a decision—a choice he knew he couldn’t take back.

He would keep you at arm’s length. No matter how kind or good you seemed, no matter how much the softness in your eyes tempted him to care, he couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t let you in. Because if you got close—if you really got close—you could leave. You could break his heart, make him feel things he swore he’d never let himself feel again.

Or worse, he would disappoint you.

He’d prove to himself, and to you, that the darkest, deepest parts of his mind were right—that he was a failure of a man.

So, right then and there, as he let go of your hand and forced himself to step back, Joel decided he would do whatever it took to keep you far, far away. He’d be cold, distant, and harsh. He’d make sure you knew your place, even if it wasn’t the truth. Letting you in would mean risking everything he’d built to keep himself together.

And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen again.

•••

You were asleep, but it didn’t feel like sleep. Your dream state and reality blurred together, hazy and disorienting. Your body felt heavy, the sheets twisted around you as the familiar dread settled in—a feeling you knew too well. In your mind, you were back in that kitchen, the light dim, the air thick.

You stood in the kitchen, hands trembling as you clutched the edges of the countertop. It was a small thing—a forgotten grocery item. You’d said you were sure you mentioned needing more milk, but he stared at you with that cold, detached look he always got when things weren’t going his way.

“I don’t know why you always do this,” he said, his voice low but edged with accusation. “You never said anything about milk.”

“I did… I swear I did,” you murmured, your voice faltering as doubt crept in. Did you forget? No, you were sure. Weren’t you?

He shook his head, letting out a condescending laugh. “You always make up these things to make me feel like I’m the one who’s wrong. It’s like you enjoy confusing me.”

Your stomach knotted, the familiar fog of guilt settling over you. “I’m not trying to confuse you. I just thought—”

“You’re always thinking the wrong things, aren’t you?” His voice softened, but it wasn’t comforting. It was dismissive, like you were too simple to even get something this basic right. “Maybe if you paid attention once in a while, we wouldn’t have these problems.”

You felt your throat tighten, the words sticking like thorns. The argument wasn’t about the milk anymore—it was about how you were always the problem, always the one messing things up. No matter what you said, you couldn’t win. He made you question your memory, your intentions, even your sanity.

And then he’d turn it around. He’d wrap an arm around you, his voice shifting to that soothing, fake-sweet tone. “I just want you to be better, that’s all. For us. I’m only saying this because I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of your temple, the gesture so tender, yet it made your skin crawl. The warmth of his lips felt wrong, like a tainted affection that only deepened the pit in your stomach.

But it didn’t feel like love. It felt like you were sinking.

You jolted awake, heart racing, chest tight, the sheets beneath you damp with sweat. The dream had felt so real, like you were right there again, trapped in that endless loop of doubt and guilt. The remnants of his voice still clung to your mind, refusing to fade, making it hard to breathe. It was only when your eyes drifted to the clock hanging on the wall, its hands pointing to 8:02, that you were pulled back into reality.

But even reality offered little relief. The dream had only stirred up Joel's words—the ones that cut just as deeply as your ex’s had. Except Joel had been more direct, more confrontational, less insidious, but still brutal in a way that made you question everything. It had been two long, restless weeks since that conversation in the stables—two weeks of replaying every word, every glance, every breath. And now, all you could think was, why? Why had Joel bothered? Why hadn’t he just kept hating you like before? You’d grown accustomed to the cold indifference, to the distance he had maintained so carefully, like a wall between you both. But now, there was something unsettling in the space between you, something confusing and raw.

His biting words echoed alongside the voices from your past—the same ones that had always made you doubt yourself, made you question if you could ever truly trust someone who could hurt you so deeply, only to turn around and apologize as if it could erase the pain. No matter how many logs he stacked or doors he repaired, you weren’t sure you could move past it.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself out of bed, hoping the morning routine might dull the weight of the dream. It wasn’t until you were brushing your hair that Maria’s invitation to the lake came back to you. The lake, an hour or so outside of Jackson, had been patrolled recently—no signs of infected, no danger, just the promise of calm waters and a quiet escape. The idea of cooling off in the lake’s embrace felt like a lifeline, especially with the oppressive spring heat pressing down, making the air feel thick and suffocating. You could feel the humidity clinging to your skin, beads of sweat gathering at the nape of your neck as the relentless sun bore down, almost punishing. The lake sounded like a reprieve, a chance to cool off and, maybe, push the heavy thoughts aside for a little while.

But when Maria mentioned Joel, you hesitated. Your heart gave a traitorous flutter, and she noticed it instantly—the way your smile faltered just slightly, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. You could feel her gaze lingering on you, sharp and perceptive.

“I can ask Tommy not to invite Joel and Ellie?” Maria offered gently, though there was something in her gaze—an unspoken understanding, as if she could sense the hesitation you tried so hard to hide.

You forced a smile, shaking your head as if the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. “No, it’s fine. Really.”

Was it fine? You weren’t sure. After everything, after weeks of coldness followed by... whatever this was? You didn’t know if you could handle that yet. The tension, the confusion that gnawed at you whenever you were near him, had only grown worse since that day.

Maria placed a hand on your arm, her expression soft but with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she teased, grinning. “We’ll leave him out there if he says anything outta line.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. A small laugh escaped you, the tension easing slightly. After all, why should Joel’s presence stop you from enjoying yourself? You’d been through enough—why let him take this from you, too? This was your chance to unwind, to escape the weight of your thoughts, even if just for a day.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen, if only a little.

But now that knot was back, tightening in your stomach as you stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the bikini Maria had brought over. It was beautiful, crafted from leftover fabric she’d skillfully pieced together, but it hugged your curves tighter than you were used to. The way it fit made you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Memories flooded in, unwanted but persistent—your ex’s voice creeping into your mind. “You should stop wearing stuff like that. It’s too revealing,” he’d said more than once, his tone always sharp, always judgmental. And then the comments about your body, the ones that stung more than you’d ever let him know. “Maybe if you went to the gym more, you’d feel better about yourself.”

The echo of his words made your throat tighten, the familiar shame creeping up. You tugged at the straps, trying to adjust them, but it didn’t help. With a sigh, you slipped on a pair of shorts and a loose tank top, hoping the extra layers might ease the discomfort. The reflection staring back at you felt foreign, as if you were seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes—his eyes.

You took one last glance in the mirror, forcing yourself to turn away before you second-guessed everything again. If you didn’t walk out now, you knew you’d never make it out the door.

But as you walked over to the stables, where you’d all agreed to meet, the thought of seeing Joel tightened something in your chest. You didn’t know where the two of you stood after his apology—whether his words had truly changed anything. You weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. You weren’t even sure if you could forgive him. And that was the worst part of it—the not knowing. The uncertainty gnawed at you, leaving you caught in the uneasy space between anger and hurt.

•••

When you arrived, Tommy and Maria were already waiting, gently petting the horses in front of them. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them, their chemistry unmistakable. They knew each other like the back of their hands—Maria could keep Tommy in check with just a glance, and Tommy always found a way to make her laugh, even in the quietest moments. It was hard not to admire how natural it seemed, the effortless ease between them.

“Hey, sunshine,” Tommy called out, his grin wide and familiar, that teasing nickname he always had for you wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you teased back, walking over, feeling a little lighter in their presence.

“You excited for today?” Tommy asked, leaning against the stable post with his arms casually crossed, that easygoing smirk never leaving his face.

“Yeah,” you laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension from your shoulders. “The heat’s been killing me, so a day by the lake sounds like heaven right now.”

Maria chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. “You and me both. It’s about time we all get a break.”

For a brief moment, the lightness of their company made you forget the weight pressing on your chest. The easy banter, the smiles, the sense of normalcy—it almost felt like you could relax. But then, as the conversation flowed around you, your eyes instinctively scanned the stables, your heart bracing for it. You knew he would be there. You could feel it in your bones, that unsettling awareness growing stronger.

And just like that, the moment you were dreading arrived.

Joel.

He appeared behind Ellie, who greeted everyone with her usual energy, but his presence weighed heavier. You felt it instantly. Your eyes met his for just a fleeting second, but it was enough to send your pulse racing, doubt creeping in—suddenly, this felt like a bad idea.

“Alright, let’s get these horses sorted,” Tommy said, clapping his hands with a grin, either oblivious to—or purposely ignoring—the tension crackling between you and Joel. “Looks like we’re gonna have to do some sharing.” His grin faded into an exaggerated frown as if he were considering the situation seriously, but it was obvious what he was up to.

“Tommy—” Maria started, narrowing her eyes at him, already suspicious. But he cut her off, making a big show of inspecting one of the horses.

“Yeah, uh, one of the horses has a bad leg,” Tommy said, his tone overly casual, waving his hand toward the stable like he was some expert in equine care. “So me, Maria, and Ellie can take one horse, and…” He let the words hang, his eyes flicking between you and Joel with barely contained mischief. “You two will share the other.”

The second those words left his mouth, you and Joel both jumped to object.

“No, I can—”

“Hold on—” Joel started, his voice rough and low, clearly as unhappy with the arrangement as you were.

But Tommy raised his hand, already prepared for the protest. “Now, now, I know what you’re both thinking—‘Tommy, we don’t need to share.’ But look, it’s a real delicate situation with that horse. Can’t risk it limping all the way out there.” He gestured vaguely toward the stable, where the perfectly fine horse stood, as if its imaginary injury were a life-or-death matter. “Besides,” he added, eyes gleaming with mischief, “Maria and I never get to hang out with Ellie.”

Which was a flat-out lie.

Maria groaned, rubbing her temples, while Ellie snickered from behind her hand, thoroughly enjoying the scene.

Tommy’s grin was shameless, and despite every excuse you and Joel tried to form, you both knew there was no talking your way out of this one. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was fine. You were both adults. A short horse ride wasn’t the end of the world. It was only an hour, after all—60 minutes, 3,600 seconds. How bad could that be?

Right?

Joel cleared his throat, his expression unreadable, but his body language gave him away—his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched. It was painfully obvious this was the last thing he wanted. But there was no backing out now—not without making things even more awkward.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice rough as he extended a hand to help you onto the horse. You hesitated for a moment, the thought crossing your mind—I can get on a horse by myself—but you kept quiet. Instead, you took his hand. Your fingers barely grazed his before he pulled away quickly, almost as if the touch had burned him. He couldn’t even meet your eyes. Was he that disgusted by you?

You tried to push the thought away, focusing instead on moving back in the saddle as Joel climbed up in front of you with a groan. The scent of leather and earth clung to him, familiar and unsettling all at once. The space between you felt impossibly small, too intimate, as your knees brushed against his sides. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some distance, but no matter how you moved, it was never enough. You were close—too close—and there was no escaping it now.

•••

The ride was quiet. Too quiet. The distant voices of Ellie and the others ahead were little more than murmurs now, their laughter and chatter fading as you and Joel lagged behind. You kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap, determined not to touch him more than absolutely necessary.

But the steady rhythm of the horse’s gait made that resolve harder to keep. With each sway, you felt yourself slipping, your balance faltering as the horse moved beneath you. No matter how hard you tried to steady yourself, your body would tilt forward with every step, brushing against Joel again. The warmth radiating from him, the solidness of his frame, was impossible to ignore, and it only quickened your pulse.

You gritted your teeth, concentrating on staying upright. It was taking everything—your core muscles burning from the effort of holding yourself steady, your thighs clamping down on the horse’s sides to keep yourself in place. The heat wasn’t helping either; the oppressive sun bore down, and sweat beaded along your brow. The combination of the heat and the constant motion made your body ache with effort.

“Would you just—” Joel’s voice cut through the thick silence, low and laced with frustration. He turned to glance at you briefly, his eyes narrowed with irritation, and even in that fleeting look, you could see the tension in his shoulders. “You’re gonna fall off the damn horse if you don’t hold on.”

His words were sharper than necessary, rough and unyielding, but there was something beneath the surface. It wasn’t just annoyance—it was something else. Like he hated that he had to care, that he couldn’t just let it go.

What did it matter to him if you fell off the horse? Why did he care at all?

You hesitated, hovering for a moment before finally giving in, wrapping your arms around his waist. The heat of his body was immediate, the solid weight of him grounding you in a way that took you by surprise. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and your heart pounded in rhythm with the horse’s steady steps. Neither of you spoke, the silence thick, broken only by the rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Finally, the lake came into view, its waters shimmering under the midday sun, a sight that should have been a relief. As you loosened your grip on Joel, you felt a strange mix of emotions—relief tinged with something else, something more difficult to name. Something stirred beneath the surface—something visceral, raw, that you hadn’t even realized was there until now.

•••

You waited for Joel to dismount first, watching as he landed with that quiet, grounded grace he always seemed to have. Just as you were about to slide off the horse on your own, you noticed him turn back toward you, his hand extended. Your eyebrows shot up involuntarily, the gesture catching you off guard. Joel offering help wasn’t something you were used to.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, but before you could overthink it, Joel stepped closer, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he guided you down. The contact was steady, his grip firm but not rough, and the unexpected warmth of his touch sent a ripple through you. You barely had time to react before your feet hit the ground.

“Thanks,” you mumbled softly, your voice more sheepish than you’d intended. The touch was brief, but enough to linger, your heart beating a little faster than it should.

You quickly stepped back, letting go of his hand and focusing on steadying yourself while Joel moved to tie up the horse. From a distance, Maria caught your eye, raising her eyebrows in a silent question—You okay? You nodded quickly, offering her a small, reassuring smile before turning your gaze to the shimmering lake, hoping it would calm the whirlwind of feelings stirring inside you.

The water sparkled under the midday sun, the surface glistening like a thousand diamonds scattered across the blue expanse. It was beautiful—peaceful in a way that made you momentarily forget the awkwardness and tension lingering around you. A soft smile spread across your face as you took in the sight, the warmth of the day finally settling into your bones.

Ellie, unsurprisingly, was the first to dive in, her energetic somersault sending a splash echoing across the quiet landscape, jolting you from your thoughts. You laughed, shaking your head as she resurfaced with a triumphant grin, water dripping from her hair and eyes shining with pride.

“Show-off,” you called out, a smile tugging at your lips as Ellie splashed around, her carefree spirit contagious.

"She’s something, ain’t she?" you said to Maria as she came up beside you.

Maria chuckled softly. "Yeah, she keeps us all on our toes, that’s for sure," she replied with a grin, peeling off her outer layers to reveal the swimsuit underneath.

"You coming?" she asked, glancing over at you as she adjusted her straps.

“In a second,” you responded with a smile, watching as made her way to the lake.

"Don't take too long!" Maria called back with a grin as she entered the water, instantly enveloped by Tommy’s arms, their playful splashes and laughter ringing through the air. There was a carefree joy in their movements, a natural ease that spoke of years spent together, of shared moments and quiet understanding.

For a moment, a familiar pang of loneliness settled deep in your chest. You’d always been good at hiding it, masking it behind independence and keeping yourself busy. But being around couples like Tommy and Maria—watching the effortless way they moved together, the love they shared so openly—reminded you of something you had long buried, or at least tried to. The ache of wanting that kind of closeness, of sharing your life with someone who truly knew you, hit harder than you expected, leaving you feeling more exposed than the summer heat could explain. But with the promise of love came the risk of vulnerability—the fear of being too much or not enough. The idea of opening yourself up like that, of letting someone in, carried a weight you weren’t sure you were ready to bear.

Shaking off the feeling, you bent down to unlace your boots, slipping out of your shorts and tank top. Your swimwear hugged your body a little too tightly, making you feel self-conscious under the sun’s glaring light. It had been years since you’d felt truly confident in your body—before the words that had forever changed the way you saw yourself, leaving invisible scars behind.

You assumed Joel was still occupied with tying up the horses, his back turned to the group. But as you straightened up, you could feel his gaze on you, the weight of it unmistakable. His presence, always so quiet and watchful, sent the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

You turned slightly, catching Joel’s eyes trailing over your body before he quickly averted his gaze. But not quickly enough. That brief look—just a flicker of something in his eyes—sent a rush of heat through you. Suddenly, you felt shy, arms wrapping around yourself instinctively, as if you could shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. You had never expected to feel exposed around him, never thought his glance would affect you like this. Yet here you were, standing at the edge of the lake, completely thrown off by the raw intensity of the moment.

Joel cleared his throat, the sound breaking the thick silence between you. His hand remained on the horse’s reins, gripping them tightly as though he needed something solid to ground himself. His face gave nothing away, but the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly, betrayed him. It felt like he was holding something back—something unspoken.

You thought you heard him murmur something under his breath, too quiet to catch. Whatever it was, it sent a ripple of tension through the air, making you even more aware of the shift between you. He didn’t meet your eyes again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever he had whispered was meant to stay unsaid. The moment hung between you, heavy and uncertain, leaving you more unsettled than before.

You took a step toward the lake, needing something—anything—to pull you away from the weight of that moment, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes still lingering on you. Even as you walked, his gaze felt like a tangible presence, and it took all your effort not to glance back.

You stepped into the cool water, the sharp contrast against the heat of the day sending a shiver through your body. The chill was refreshing, grounding you as it enveloped your skin. Ellie, of course, was quick to start splashing you, her laughter echoing across the lake, wild and infectious. She spun through the water with boundless energy, her joy impossible to resist.

Tommy and Maria soon joined in, their playful banter filling the air, and for a brief moment, you let yourself be swept up in it. You laughed, dodging Ellie’s relentless splashes, the cool water against your skin making you feel lighter. For those few minutes, the tension eased, and all that mattered was the simple joy of being in the water, laughing alongside them.

But from the shore, Joel watched—quiet, steady, and distant, his eyes following your every move, even if he tried to hide it.

Joel’s POV:

He couldn’t stop himself from looking. Couldn’t stop himself from noticing every little thing about you—the way your small hands had clung to him on the horse, the heat of your grip still lingering on his skin. And now, there you stood, at the edge of the lake, exposed under the bright sun, bare in a way that made it hard to breathe. His eyes traced your form, and before he could stop himself, he muttered under his breath, “Fucking hell.”

The way your gaze had held him, the way you moved—it was undoing him. Every ounce of distance he had fought tooth and nail to keep, every wall he had meticulously constructed, crumbled in an instant. Months of hard-earned control, months of convincing himself that he didn’t care, that you didn’t matter, shattered with just one look. He had thought he was safe, thought keeping you at arm’s length would protect him, would be enough to keep you away. He thought if he could just say the right things, those cruel, cutting words—the ones that slashed through you, calling you a burden—it would be enough to drive you away for good.

And it had worked. He saw the way your face crumpled when he said it, the way your heart seemed to break right in front of him. That moment had haunted him ever since, the memory clawing at him in the dead of night. If he had truly wanted to keep you away, he should’ve stopped there. He shouldn’t have fixed your door. He shouldn’t have apologized. Hell, he shouldn’t have come here today, where every glance at you was undoing him in ways he couldn’t stop.

But here he was, watching you, and realizing it had never been enough.

You had wormed your way into him, past every defense he’d spent years perfecting, twisting something deep inside him—something he thought he’d buried so far down it couldn’t ever resurface. But you’d found it. You slipped through cracks he didn’t even know existed, without even meaning to, and now, watching you, he felt everything unravel. The walls, the distance, the control—it was all crumbling around him, and the worst part was, he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t know if he even wanted to anymore.

Then, you stepped into the lake, and it stopped him cold. The sun caught your hair, turning it to gold as you waded through the cool water, the surface rippling around you like silk. Your cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink from the sun, your skin smooth as it peeked through the water’s surface, glistening in the light. Your laughter—light and unburdened—floated across the air, so carefree, it felt like a melody he didn’t deserve to hear. You were radiant, glowing with a joy he hadn’t seen in you before—not around him, anyway. A small, unbidden smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slipping through the cracks of the guard he kept so carefully in place.

It wasn’t just this moment that cut through him; it was the memories. Seeing you around Jackson, time and time again, he tried to keep you from occupying his thoughts—and failed every single time. From the very beginning, from the first time he saw you in the dining hall, your presence had unsettled him, and it hadn’t gotten easier since. He remembered the first patrol you’d taken together—how he had to force himself not to look at you for too long. How he silently berated himself for letting that raider get so close to you. He thought of the time he’d cut his hand open, and how you’d carefully stitched him up. He would’ve rather let the hand fall off than have you that close, because it did something to him, something he couldn’t afford to feel.

He would catch glimpses of you at the stables, in the market, moving through town with that same smile you wore so easily. You were kind, always kind—and he had been nothing but cruel to you.

And that’s when it hit him—guilt, sharp and brutal. Seeing you like this, so free, so happy, twisted something deep inside him, because he knew. He knew that, more often than not, his presence had cast a shadow over you. You were better without him. Lighter. And damn if that didn’t burn more than anything else.

"Joel!" Tommy’s voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. "You gonna stand by that damn horse all day or join us?"

Joel blinked, realizing Tommy and Maria were both staring at him, grins on their faces. Ellie floated nearby, splashing water aimlessly. He narrowed his eyes at Tommy, his usual scowl slipping into place, but Tommy just raised an eyebrow in challenge, undeterred.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, pushing off the tree where the horse was tied. His feet felt heavy as he walked toward the edge of the lake, the tightness in his chest growing with each step he took toward the water—and toward you.

You were there, just a little ways from the others, your back turned to him as you floated peacefully, completely unaware of the way his gaze lingered. The sun glistened off the surface of the water, highlighting the smooth curve of your shoulders, the way your hair clung to your neck. His chest tightened further.

Without a word, Joel reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. For a moment, everything seemed to slow—the air felt thick, like even the wind was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.

Just as he pulled the shirt off, you glanced over your shoulder, and for a heartbeat, your eyes locked. The lake, the people, the sounds of laughter all faded into the background as that unspoken tension settled between you again, thick and palpable.

He hesitated, shirt in hand, the water lapping at the edges of his boots. And you were looking at him—not with annoyance or indifference, but with something that made his chest tighten. Something he hadn’t expected to see in your eyes.

Joel finally pulled his shirt off, and your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you were frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from him. The way his body moved, the sheer strength in his broad shoulders and muscular arms, was hard to ignore. His skin was tanned and weathered, a testament to years of hard labor and survival. Scars traced across his chest—some faded, others fresher—each one a silent story of the battles he’d fought, and won. They crisscrossed over his skin like a map of pain and endurance.

Despite the roughness, he looked good—better than you had ever let yourself imagine. His body was broad, solid, and the soft swell of his abdomen triggered a heat between your legs. His skin gleamed under the sunlight, the muscles in his back shifting as he tossed the shirt aside, his jaw clenched in that familiar, determined way.

And then you realized what you were doing—biting your lip as your gaze lingered too long on the way the sun kissed his skin, how his body moved. Heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment creeping in as you quickly turned away, but not before he caught you looking.

He stepped into the water the cool lake seemed to welcome him as he waded in, the ripples spreading around his legs, the water shimmering against his tanned skin. You couldn’t stop watching—how could you?—as he drew closer, the water now lapping at his waist, glistening droplets clinging to the lines of his body.

You forced yourself to tear your gaze away, swallowing the heat that had suddenly risen in your chest. Turning back to Ellie, you splashed her playfully, hoping the cool water would distract you from the sudden tightness in your throat, the strange warmth creeping across your skin.

But it was hard to ignore the feeling that the temperature had gotten hotter—not from the sun, but from something else entirely.

•••

You had been in the lake for what felt like hours, the cool water a soothing contrast against your warm skin, your fingers slowly pruning from the time spent submerged. Your hair floated softly around your shoulders, catching the fading light as the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over everything. The sky had shifted into breathtaking hues of pink and orange, the kind of beauty that made the world feel still for just a moment.

Ellie, Tommy, and Maria had already climbed out of the lake, their laughter echoing as they made their way to dry off. You half-expected Joel to follow them, to leave the water behind, to leave you behind. You braced yourself for the sound of him moving through the water, for the quiet splash that would signal his retreat. But it never came.

Instead, silence stretched between you, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against your skin. The lake suddenly felt smaller, like it was closing in around you both, as if the world had narrowed until it was just the two of you, floating in the stillness.

Then, without warning, you felt it—the gentle current, or perhaps something else, pulling you closer to him. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the space between you shrank until your body drifted into his. The contact was soft at first, barely there—a brush of skin, a collision of warmth in the coolness of the lake.

“Sorry,” you murmured, the word slipping out as your heart pounded in your chest. You moved to pull away, but before you could, his hands found your waist, his touch gentle but firm, grounding you in place. His fingers curled around your hips—not possessive, but steady—like he was anchoring both of you in that fleeting moment.

“S’alright,” Joel said, his voice low and rough, thick with something you couldn’t name. In the quiet, it sounded almost too intimate, the words carrying more weight than they should. As if realizing it himself, he quickly withdrew his hands from your waist, but he didn’t move away. He stayed close, the two of you now facing each other in the water.

The lake swirled around you both, but all you could feel was the heat radiating from his body, the way his touch seemed to linger in the coolness of the water. Your breath hitched, your heart beating in time with the soft ripple of the lake. The silence between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t shake, and the air around you thickened as if waiting for something to happen.

You looked up at him, and in the soft glow of the setting sun, his face was bathed in gold. His eyes—usually so guarded, so hard—were softer now, searching yours with something you had never seen before. There was an intensity in his gaze, but beneath it, a tenderness lingered, like he was silently asking a question he wasn’t ready to voice. The pull between you made your chest tighten with something unnameable, a feeling that left you off balance, dazed and heavy.

You were acutely aware of where his skin brushed against yours—the faint caress of his hands that had barely touched you moments ago, the way your legs accidentally bumped his beneath the water. Despite the closeness, something fragile hung in the air, as if the moment would shatter if either of you moved too suddenly.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting slightly, his eyes breaking away from yours for a split second. “You, uh… you doin’ alright?” His voice was rough, awkward, like he wasn’t used to asking such questions, especially not to you.

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone. He had never been cruel, exactly, but this gentleness? This was new.

“Yeah, I’m… fine,” you stammered, your own voice sounding more breathless than you’d intended. You glanced down, focusing on the water, but the tension still thrummed between you.

“You don’t usually ask how I’m doing,” you added, your lips curling slightly in a nervous smile.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I don’t, do I?” His eyes darted back to yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “I ain’t… I’m not always good at this.”

“This?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You mean… being nice?”

Joel sighed, the words he wanted to say slipping through his fingers. You could see the struggle in the way his brow furrowed, the unspoken weight of whatever it was he was holding back. His lips parted as if to say something, but nothing came out. He just stood there, a man at war with himself.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you said softly, sensing the awkward tension rising between you. “You don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes flickered with something raw, and for a split second, his brows drew together as if your words had stung. That brief moment of vulnerability caught you off guard—it hurt him. He didn’t like hearing it, didn’t like you thinking that he didn’t care or didn’t want to.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his composure. "I know I don’t," he finally muttered, his voice quieter now, rougher. "But that ain’t the point." His gaze locked on yours, more intense than before. He wanted to say more, wanted to bridge the gap between you, but the words just wouldn’t come.

You stayed there, waist-deep in the water, not knowing what to say next. The silence between you had shifted again, thick with the weight of emotions neither of you were ready to confront. You could feel it—the pull, the undeniable gravity of something deeper growing between you, as if the water itself was holding the tension, making every ripple feel like an unspoken truth pressing in from all sides.

For an instant, you could see the battle in his eyes, as if he was torn between wanting to pull you closer and keeping you at arm's length. It was as if everything he’d ever told himself about you—the distance he tried to maintain—was unraveling, crumbling under the weight of this moment. He wanted you to need him, to see him in a way he had never allowed himself to admit.

Despite everything he’d told himself from the moment you met, now, more than ever, he wanted to be needed by you.

•••

Eventually, you had gotten out of the water, the chill in the air making the warmth of the lakeside feel even more inviting. The group had gathered lazily on the shore, towels draped over your shoulders as the last traces of sunlight kissed the horizon. You sat down, still wrapped in the lingering tension of the moment with Joel, but trying to push it aside as everyone settled into the familiar ease of friendly chatter.

That’s when you noticed Maria, her expression a little more serious than usual as she glanced anxiously at Tommy. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it like she was gathering strength from him, her excitement barely contained beneath the surface.

“We’ve got something to share with y’all,” Maria finally said, her voice soft but brimming with anticipation.

Tommy grinned, the kind of grin that said he’d been dying to spill the news but had managed to hold back—just barely. He gave Maria an encouraging nod, unable to contain his excitement.

“I’m pregnant!” Maria blurted out, her smile lighting up as the words left her.

For a second, the world seemed to pause, and then everything shifted. The air buzzed with the energy of the announcement as it sank in. Ellie was the first to react, her eyes wide before she let out a whoop of pure joy, practically leaping over to hug Maria.

"Holy shit, Maria! That’s amazing!" Ellie laughed, spinning around, her excitement contagious.

“Oh my God, Maria!” you exclaimed, scrambling to your feet. You rushed over to her, wrapping her in a tight hug and kissing her cheek. “Congratulations!” you said, your smile wide and genuine as you turned to Tommy and hugged him too. “This is incredible.”

“Thanks,” Maria said, her eyes shining with happiness.

“How long have you known?” you asked, still buzzing from the news.

“A month or so,” Maria replied, her smile softening as she glanced at Tommy. “We’ve been keeping it quiet until we were sure.”

“I’m so happy for you two,” you said, squeezing her hand.

Joel stood up, moving toward Tommy with a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, murmuring a quiet "congratulations." He extended his hand for a shake but, at the last second, pulled Tommy into a brief, firm hug instead.

Tommy chuckled, clapping Joel on the back. “You ready to teach me a thing or two?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Joel’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he nodded, his voice soft. “You’ll figure it out,” he said. “You always do.”

Teach him? The thought echoed in your mind, lingering. Had Joel… had children before? The idea twisted something inside you. It made sense, the way he spoke with that quiet, heavy knowledge, like someone who had been through something unspeakable. The realization left you feeling unsettled, a sudden wave of sadness washing over you.

Ellie’s voice echoed in your mind from weeks ago: “He’s lost people.” The memory made your chest tighten. There was a quiet ache there, a sense of grief lingering beneath the surface of his rough exterior.

Joel’s gaze flickered toward you for a brief moment, and even in that split second, something passed between you—something unspoken, something heavy. It sent a ripple through the quiet moment, a fleeting connection that only deepened the mystery surrounding him.

And just like that, the celebration continued around you, full of laughter and joy. But as you watched, the pull of Joel’s quiet presence lingered, leaving you with more questions than answers, more curiosity than clarity.

Still, it wasn’t the time for those thoughts right now. Pushing them aside, you flashed a smile and said, "Well, we have to celebrate!" You glanced between Tommy and Maria, your eyes twinkling with excitement, determined to keep the mood light despite the heaviness tugging at the edges of your mind.

Tommy clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, let’s hit the Tipsy Bison and raise a glass, or five, to the new baby Miller.”

•••

It was now well into the night by the time you left the lake, the stars twinkling above as the heat of the day finally gave way to a cool breeze. You found yourself back on Joel’s horse, your arms slipping around his waist with ease this time, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t have to ask you to hold on. You just did, without question, the tension between you from earlier now softened by the gentle sway of the ride and the exhaustion that clung to your limbs after hours in the sun and water.

You watched the broad line of Joel’s back as he rode, the ends of his hair still damp, occasionally catching a glint of moonlight as it dripped slightly. His presence, steady and solid, lulled you into a state of quiet comfort. The rhythm of the horse, the warmth of his body, and the stillness of the night all blended together, creating a cocoon of calm.

Without warning, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the day catching up to you. Before you knew it, your head dipped forward, and you were fast asleep against Joel’s back, your arms slack but still resting around him. You didn’t hear him when he said your name softly, testing to see if you were still awake.

When you didn’t reply, Joel sighed under his breath. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with something between amusement and exasperation. “Gonna be the death of me.”

He adjusted his posture just slightly, careful not to jostle you too much as the horse trotted along the quiet path back to Jackson. The warmth of your body leaning into his back felt different now—less awkward, less loaded with tension, and more like an unspoken understanding. A quiet intimacy that neither of you needed to comment on.

When you arrived back at the stables Joel reined in the horse and glanced over his shoulder at you, still slumped peacefully against him. He shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He reached back, shaking your shoulder gently to wake you. “Hey,” he called softly, “Wake up. We’re here.”

You stirred slowly, blinking as you fought to shake off the drowsiness. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, you were disoriented, the stillness of the night and the gentle sway of the horse making you feel like you were still dreaming.

“Heavy sleeper, aren’t you?” Joel’s voice pulled you from your half-daze. You blinked, disoriented for a second, glancing around the now-empty stables, trying to remember where you were.

“Huh?” you mumbled, still a little confused.

Joel’s eyebrow quirked, and his mouth twitched with amusement. “You still wanna go to the bar, or you want me to take you home?”

You straightened up quickly, rubbing your eyes. “No, no. We’re celebrating one way or another,” you said, trying to shake off the fog. “I just had a quick power nap, that’s all.”

Joel chuckled, a low, warm sound that surprised you. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh at something you’d said, and it caught you off guard. The corners of his mouth lifted in a way that softened his usually guarded expression.

Joel dismounted first, his movements deliberate and slow, turning back to offer you a hand. His hands found your waist again, firm but gentle, steadying you as you slid down from the horse.

“Where did Maria and Tommy go?” you asked, your voice still a bit groggy as your feet hit the ground.

“They headed out a few minutes before us,” Joel replied, his tone calm but with a hint of teasing. “Had to wake you up, remember?”

You blinked, the memory of him gently nudging you awake still a little hazy. “Right… power nap,” you mumbled with a sheepish smile.

Joel’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “Yeah, sure looked like it.” His eyes softened slightly as they met yours, a subtle warmth there that hadn’t been before.

•••

The Tipsy Bison was anything but quiet. The room buzzed with life, a steady hum of voices and laughter filling the air as people gathered after a long day of hard labor. The place was rugged and worn, but comfortable—the wooden floors creaked underfoot, and the scent of old leather and whiskey hung in the air. Dim lanterns cast a warm, amber glow over the tables, where Jackson’s residents shared stories and tried to forget the weight of the world outside, even if just for a few hours.

You stood at the bar with Maria, ordering her an orange juice and three beers for yourself, Joel, and Tommy. Behind you, Tommy and Joel were seated at a table near the corner, their heads leaned in slightly as they murmured to each other.

As you waited for the drinks, you turned to Maria, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Maria, seriously, I’m so happy for you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. You didn’t realize it until you felt the tears brimming in your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Maria laughed, blinking rapidly as she fought back her own tears. “You’re gonna make me cry, and we’ll both be a mess.”

You let out a small laugh, brushing at your eyes. “No, seriously. I can’t wait to meet this baby. I’m going to be the most insufferable aunt ever,” you added with a grin, “and this baby is going to be spoiled rotten.”

Maria’s smile softened, and for a moment, the noise of the bar faded into the background. “I know you will be,” she said quietly, her voice filled with warmth. She reached out and squeezed your hand. “Thank you.”

As she let go, Maria's eyes glinted with mischief, her teasing smile returning. “So… you and Joel, huh? I saw you two at the lake today. Seemed… close.”

Your face instantly flushed, and you fumbled for words, completely caught off guard. “I-I don’t know,” you stammered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “He’s just… been nicer, I guess? Not as grumpy as usual.”

Maria chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as if she wasn’t quite convinced. “Nicer, huh? Sounds like progress to me.”

Just then, the bartender set your drinks down, breaking the moment to your relief. You picked them up, handing Maria her orange juice before heading toward Joel and Tommy, who were still deep in conversation, their heads bent close as they spoke in low voices. As you approached, you could hear the faint murmur of their discussion, though you couldn’t make out the words.

You glanced at Joel, a smile tugging at your lips before you even realized it. The day had gone so much better than you had expected. Joel’s usual gruff exterior had softened into something different, something softer. You hadn’t expected to see this side of him—the man behind the walls he kept so carefully in place.

And in that moment, as you walked toward Joel, you made a choice. The bitterness you’d been holding onto for so long was finally starting to thaw. His small kindnesses today—the way his hand had brushed your waist when he helped you off your horse, the quiet looks he gave you when he thought you weren’t watching—had planted the smallest seed of hope in you. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different between you two. Maybe you could leave the hurt behind, move past the sharp words and the tension that had defined your every interaction.

But then you heard it.

Tommy, with that usual playful smirk, leaned in closer to Joel. “So… you and her, huh?”

You and Maria froze mid-step, still a few meters away, unnoticed.

Joel’s entire body stiffened. Even from behind, you could see the tension ripple through his posture, his grip tightening around his glass, jaw clenched as if trying to hold something back. You couldn’t see his face, but his voice was enough. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” he muttered, low and tight, like he was struggling to keep control.

Tommy chuckled, oblivious to the storm brewing in Joel’s chest. “Come on, man. I saw the way you two were today at the lake. You’ve been spendin’ time with her, helpin’ her out. Thought you couldn’t stand her at first, but now…” He shot Joel a look, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “She’s a good girl, Joel. Real sweet. Pretty too. Can’t say I’d blame you if—”

“Stop,” Joel snapped, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a whip. There was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before—a coldness, an urgency, like he was desperate to shut this conversation down before it went any further.

Tommy blinked, startled by the sudden harshness in his brother’s tone. “Whoa, hey. I’m just sayin’—”

But Joel’s mind was racing. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. He hadn’t expected Tommy to bring this up, hadn’t expected to be confronted with the truth that had been gnawing at him for weeks. You were getting under his skin, and that scared the hell out of him. Today had only confirmed what he’d feared—that he’d let you in too far, let himself care too much. You were the closest anyone had come since Tess, and that terrified him.

He’d had a good day with you today, better than he’d had in a long time with anyone. It had been easy to be nice, to let the tension between you slip away for a few hours. The way you had smiled at him, the way your laugh had filled the space between you both, made it impossible for him not to soften. For a moment, he had allowed himself to forget the walls he had built, to push aside the fear that constantly gnawed at him.

But hearing Tommy mention it—seeing someone else notice the change in him—sent a jolt of panic straight to his core. It was like the spotlight had been turned on, illuminating the truth he’d been trying to bury. Tommy had seen it, the closeness, the way Joel had softened around you. If Tommy could notice it, how long until you did too?

The realization hit him hard. He couldn’t afford to let you get that close. He couldn’t allow himself to feel this way, to care this deeply. The last time he’d let someone in, the cost had been unbearable. Losing Tess had shattered something inside him, and now, the idea of losing you—of letting himself care enough that it could hurt him like that again—was paralyzing.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He pushed you away.

“She’s annoying, Tommy,” Joel said, his voice hard and clipped, each word forced out like a bitter pill. “Doesn’t know what she’s doin’ half the time. Always in the way. Trust me, I could never be with someone like that.”

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy, like a blow that landed right in your gut.

Tommy’s smile faltered, his face falling into disbelief. “Jesus, Joel…” he muttered, shaking his head, the warmth in his voice gone, replaced with quiet disappointment.

But Joel didn’t see you standing there—had no idea you were close enough to hear every cruel word. The cold indifference in his voice cut deeper than any wound. It wasn’t just that he didn’t care—it was that he dismissed you, reduced you to an annoyance, a burden. A burden he barely tolerated.

The sound of glass shattering on the floor yanked both men’s attention back towards you.

You stood there, frozen in place, the beers you had been carrying now in pieces at your feet, amber liquid spreading across the wooden floor. Your heart felt like it had been torn apart, the weight of his words crashing over you, suffocating you. You had heard every single word, each one striking harder than the last, until the fragile hope you had been holding onto crumbled to dust. The air felt heavy, your chest tightening painfully, each breath a struggle as the full force of his rejection washed over you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, the dam breaking before you could stop it. No amount of blinking could hold them back now—they spilled down your cheeks freely, hot and unstoppable.

Maria stood beside you, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, her wide eyes darting between you and Joel, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she had just witnessed.

Joel’s gaze finally met yours, and the look on your face—the hurt, the betrayal—hit him harder than anything he’d ever felt. The coldness in his chest, the wall he had tried to build between himself and his feelings for you, shattered in an instant. His heart twisted painfully, and for a fleeting moment, you saw regret flicker across his face.

But it was too late. The damage had already been done.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, to explain, to fix the mess he had just created, but the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in his throat, useless.

You didn’t wait for him to speak. Without a word, you turned and walked away, the tears streaming down your face, your breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

You had been ready to forgive him. You had been willing to let go of the past, to give him—and the two of you—a chance. But now? Now you weren’t sure if you ever could.

Not after this.

•••

Tag list:

@valkyreally @ccmoonshine @dlwrish @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy @damneddamsy @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @frogjumps-world @dendulinka6 @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @lol-im-done

@somedayheaven @ohdearvalentine @keseqna @kulekehe

@darkheartgatita @ickearmn @spacegirl-3 @mystickittytaco

@sukunnayuuji @jasminedragoon

295 notes · View notes

millenianthemums · 3 months ago

Text

chapter 3 of my fic is up! i actually posted it a week ago, but was too tired to finish the art until now… i might not actually be able to draw for every single chapter, but i still wanna try. we’ll see.

Previous chapter

Next chapter

First chapter

Mabel had become best friends with Tate McGucket’s new dog in under a week. She knew she would eventually, but still, that was record time. And with all the old friends she’d been tirelessly catching up with in her first few days back in Gravity Falls, she was both proud and preemptively exhausted to have added a new friend to the list already.

It helped that Scout Cottonball McGucket was the absolute sweetest puppy she’d ever met (a puppy that was taller than her on two legs was a puppy nonetheless). She was one of those huge fluffy white dogs– a Great Pyranese, Dipper had said– and her heart was just as soft and sweet and cuddly as the rest of her. Hence “Cottonball”, the unauthorized middle name Mabel had secretly given her. The plan was to get it to stick so well that by the time Tate found out about it, it would be impossible to get rid of it.

So when she cycled by the lake and saw Tate out in the rain that afternoon, and managed to wrangle out of him that Scout was missing , of course she was going to help look. Total no-brainer. Her search-and-rescue strategy of biking along the treeline at a snail pace while whistling and calling Scout’s name wasn’t exactly sophisticated, but before long she caught a lucky break. She started hearing a weird noise through the rain, a distant but piercing screech. At first she assumed it was a red fox or maybe a mountain lion screaming its head off somewhere in the woods, and tried to steer clear of it. But then a series of powerful barks joined it– Scout’s beautiful voice!-- and Mabel’s self-preservation fled. No way was some wailing overgrown house cat gonna hurt her new friend on her watch!

She swerved toward the noise, yelling for Scout, and soon a shape barrelled toward her out of the darkness. She was only terrified for a split second, but then she saw its wagging tail and leapt off her bike to give the dog a massive hug. Scout jumped and wagged and danced around joyfully as Mabel scrubbed her hands all through her thick coat. “You’re okay!” she cheered as Scout nuzzled her face. “We were all so worried, young lady… aww, I can’t stay mad at you! Maybe just– oof–” she shoved Scout’s massive paws off her shoulders and tried to wipe the muddy pawprints off her sweater before they soaked into the wool. “Maybe just settle down a little– whoa! Hey! Oh, you’re such a silly–”

“YOU.”

She recognized the voice right away. Part of her brain had never stopped hearing it. Her head turned toward it against her will, and standing there in the woods, staring her down, was exactly what she was most afraid to see.

Bill Cipher. The triangle guy who almost killed the entire world last time she’d been here. The monster who tricked her into helping him almost tear her family apart. The thing that had almost scared her into not coming back this year, into abandoning this place and the people she loved so much, out of fear that she’d somehow mess it all up again. The single worst thing that had ever happened to her. He was standing right in front of her. The streaks of mud and bruising, bloody gashes all over his face (body? surface?) made him look like he’d just clawed his way straight out of Hell, and the look in his eye seemed to say that he’d done it just to tear her apart with his bare hands.

She was dreaming. She had to be dreaming. Please, please let her be dreaming. Let her wake up…

Then he started talking, and she realized something was off.

“YYYOUUU DIDTHIISSSS,” was all she could really make out. He was saying lots more stuff, but the words were blurring together, so clumsy and slurred that it didn’t even sound like language. He started trying to walk toward her– walk , like on the ground , which she’d never seen him do in his triangle form. And he was barely managing it. Every raindrop that hit him seemed to be weighing him down as he approached, oozing blood— weird silver blood with an eye-melting rainbow sheen— from countless gashes on his arms and legs, and even between the brick things on his body/face. The finger gun he was holding out seemed like it was supposed to be aiming at her, but his whole arm was shaking more than the leaves in the summer storm. He trailed off speaking— the only other thing she’d caught was “I WON’T”— and his eye locked on her face. His eye was bloodshot, pink, shiny and sticky, like a wad of chewed gum. It looked horribly painful. Everything about him looked painful.

As she stared, his pupil shrank to a tiny point. His eye turned bright red, and the redness spread out into his bricks— scales?— like a fire burning behind drywall. For a second she thought he was about to turn into that giant crimson nightmare pyramid he’d shapeshifted into last year, and she almost turned and ran as he let out a scream and started to run at her…

…and fell on his face.

Mabel and Scout stood there, staring in silence, as Bill Cipher laid face-down and motionless in the mud. The woods were still filled with the low roar of rain, but somehow Mabel felt a heavy silence crushing her lungs.

Once her heart had stopped beating so fast, she risked a step toward him. Scout made a soft rumble of warning, but let her approach. Bill gave absolutely no sign that he knew she was there as she drew closer, until she was standing right beside him, close enough to see the gold scales on his back heaving rhythmically up and down. Slow, labored breathing. Had she ever seen him breathe before? She didn’t think he even did that. At least not normally. But from the looks of it, this was hardly a normal day for him. He really did look awful. One of his arms was a bloody mess, leather skin all ragged and torn. He probably had Scout to thank for that. She gave the dog an affectionate scratch behind her ear.

But the torn-up arm was far from his only injury. And she didn’t know how to tell health from illness in… whatever he was… but she was pretty sure he was usually a much brighter shade of yellow than this. He looked drained of color.

After several seconds of nothing happening, she noticed a big, durable-looking stick lying at the base of a nearby tree. She retrieved it, and after a few deep breaths and a bit of hyping herself up– “if he was gonna jump up and grab you he could have done it by now” -- she held out the stick and gave him a slight but purposeful nudge.

Nothing. He just barely twitched enough to show he was still alive. He was totally out cold.

She was getting concerned. That was a new experience, feeling concern for Bill. He’d done so much terrible stuff, but still… was she watching a man die? Or a triangle, rather? Was she about to see a triangle die?

A voice in the distance cut through the rain. Mabel jumped back and held the stick like a baseball bat on reflex. Then she recognized it, just as Scout’s tail started wagging. It was Tate McGucket’s voice. “Mabel? Scout? Is that you out there?”

“It’s us! Hi!” Mabel chirped, then realized her mistake. Leading Tate toward Bill would almost definitely end with somebody dying. And whoever it ended up being, she just really didn’t want to see that. With a few more quick, anxious nudges, she managed to shove Bill most of the way under a nearby bush just as Tate’s flashlight beam swept through the trees to find them. Scout took off running toward it and Mabel quickly followed, snagging the handlebars of her bike along the way. She arrived in time to see Tate grinning and ruffling Scout’s furry face as she stood with her paws on his chest. He looked up to see Mabel and quickly shoved the dog off him. “I keep tellin’ you not to jump like that, girl!” he said sternly.

“She must’ve run off chasing something,” Mabel offered as casually as possible. “But she ran up as soon as she heard me! She’s a good puppy!”

“Wish she minded me half that well,” he grumbled, patting Scout on the head. “Good on you for findin’ her, Mabel. I really can’t thank you enough–”

“You don’t have to thank me!” Mabel said, shooing the thought away with her hands. “I’m always happy to help out a friend!” Scout gave a quiet, appreciative “boof” as she scratched her ear.

“Let me drive you back home, then,” Tate said. “You shouldn’t be biking in this rain anyway. ‘Specially once it gets dark.”

Mabel shot an involuntary glance at the bushes behind her. If she left now, she might not find this same spot again. And if she lost track of Bill, if she went home not knowing if he was still out there somewhere, or if he might follow her…

“...Well, the others aren’t expecting me back ‘til eight,” she said slowly. That was true; she’d been out cycling well past sunset most nights since she and Dipper arrived. Ever since she’d gotten really into biking in the fall, she’d been eager to try out the trails in Gravity Falls, and now she was getting as much use out of them as she could. The Grunkles were cool with it. They both figured a girl who’d helped fight off a paranormal apocalypse could handle herself in the dark woods for an hour or two. And they were right, she thought proudly. She’d gotten really fast on her bike in the past few months. She could probably outspeed a grizzly bear with ease. Those guys were way too big and bulky to pedal well.

“Plus, I think the rain’s supposed to let up soon,” she continued. “Would it be okay if I just hung around the bait shop for a little bit, and then biked home after?”

“Sure thing,” Tate said, looking grateful for something to offer. “I’ll tell the missus to put some tea on. Scout, heel.” He clicked his fingers, and Scout followed close beside him as he headed back to the house.

Mabel waited until his back was turned. Then she picked up the stick again and drove it hard into the ground, at the base of the bush that hid Bill. Backing up a bit, making sure it would stay upright, she nodded to herself. It would work well enough as a landmark.

“I’ll come back later,” she whispered under her breath as she trailed behind Tate and Scout. “If he’s gone, I’ll run home and tell Dipper and the Grunkles. And if he’s dead, then… problem solved. I think.”

And if this is all a trick? Some cynical part of her brain piped up. If he’s luring you back into some kind of trap, then what? You gonna fall for it like last time?

“No,” she whispered back through gritted teeth. “Not again.”

One hand wandered to the cupholder on her bike that held her grappling hook. Fingers resting on its handle, she followed the others out of the woods.

The sun had fully hidden behind the horizon by the time Mabel left. The rain had lightened to a gentle mist, barely noticeable really, and she hadn’t wanted to stay out too late. So once she’d finished her tea (augmented with all the spare sugar packets Mrs. McGucket had claimed to own), she’d said goodbye to Scout and her humans and set out for home. She sent a quick text to Dipper on the way out, letting him know she’d be a little bit late getting back. Just got sidetracked, sorry, nothing to worry about.

But there was something to worry about. She saw the stick loom out of the darkness as she cycled up. The rain had almost washed it out of the ground, leaving it standing crooked. The sharp, jutting angle reminded her of that picture Dipper showed her once of a nuclear waste dump or something, where they’d put some scary black spikes in a desert to try and scare people away. “This place is best shunned and left uninhabited”.

She shouldn’t be doing this. This was so stupid. It didn’t make any sense to get closer.

But she was already standing over the bush. She wrenched the stick out of the ground and gripped it like a sword. She held it at arm’s length and pushed aside the foliage, reaching back for the grappling hook in her pocket with her other hand.

The dim light glinted off something shiny and yellow. She drew back a step, instinctive, but the shape didn’t jump at her. It didn’t move at all. Bill Cipher was still exactly where she’d left him.

Did he actually die? She felt her chest tighten, which was stupid. It was good if he was dead. He was already supposed to be dead. She should be thrilled to think he might have died under that bush, all his threats left unfulfilled.

Did I just walk away while he was dying?

Her hand was shaking. She tried to draw the stick back, but it bumped against one of his arms as it went.

It twitched. The fist clenched and drew back in toward the body. Mabel almost bit through her tongue from flinching too hard, but there was no further movement.

He was alive. Barely.

Mabel’s chest was so tight, it felt like she couldn’t breathe. This was the worst case scenario. He wasn’t gone somewhere. He didn’t jump up and scare her and at least provide some clue about what was going on. And he wasn’t dead. But he probably would be in a few hours. And there was nobody in the world who would ever possibly help. Nobody who even could, except her.

This was so STUPID. You already helped him once, Mabel. Remember? You helped him almost kill your whole family. You really wanna go another round?

But thinking about just walking away made her feel sick. She’d never just walked away from something that was dying before. How many wasps had she fished out of pools in her life? How many times had her parents scolded her for bringing wounded squirrels and raccoons inside? Those were bad ideas too. “Trash the house and get stung” ideas. But the wasps and squirrels and raccoons all lived. If she hadn’t done that stupid thing, they would have died. Not helping had never even felt like an option.

“He already died once before,” she whispered to the angry voice in her head. “He might come back again, someplace else, and cause a bunch more problems we don’t even know about until it’s too late.” She popped open the little wicker trunk on the back of her bike and pulled out her emergency picnic blanket. “Maybe if I, like, put him somewhere secure. And keep a good close eye on him. And then when he wakes up, I can get some answers here.”

The angry voice wasn’t convinced by her rationalizations. It kept yelling about how stupid she was as she draped the blanket over Bill, then gingerly lifted him, using the blanket like gloves, too scared to touch him directly. He weighed practically nothing; about the same as a large picture frame. The voice kept berating her as she shoved him into the bike’s front basket– no way was she putting him in the trunk and pedaling all the way home with her back to him. The front basket was just big enough that, with the blanket over him, he looked like a misshapen, mostly unsuspicious lump. She biked along the side of the road, eyes flickering back and forth between the basket and the pavement ahead, for the whole ride home. The voice was still at it by the time she leaned her bike against the wall of the Mystery Shack, but the louder and meaner it got, the less inclined she felt to listen to its advice. She knew this was a dumb idea. But she’d come this far, and there were no other good options.

They’d discovered, like, six new secret rooms since Grunkle Ford first made it back home. Some of them even he had forgotten about. There was one in the basement that she and Dipper had taken to calling “Gay Baby Jail”, because they’d started a habit of banishing defeated board game opponents down there. Also because it was small, cramped, almost empty, and only had one tiny, high window into the backyard, which for some reason had bars on it.

For all these reasons, it was the perfect habitat for Bill. There was a bathroom in the back, and they’d spruced the room up with a beanbag chair and one of those empty wooden chests from the gift shop, just to tie the room together. He’d be fine in there. Probably.

It was easy to sneak in the back door and down to the basement. Dipper, Stan and Ford were all chatting in the kitchen, working on dinner. It smelled like something was on fire, but she still really wished she was in there with them. This was to keep them safe, she reminded herself as she eased open the door to Gay Baby Jail.

She turned the blanket bundle upside down and dumped Bill out onto the beanbag chair. He was still out cold, lying there in a pile of noodly limbs, but at least he was still breathing. She dropped the blanket on top of him and backed away.

Looking him over, she frowned. A small bite wound on his arm was still oozing silver blood. It would ruin the beanbag chair pretty soon. She sighed and started digging through her pockets.

Gingerly, with as few fingers as possible, she pressed a sky blue band-aid over the wound. “You didn’t earn that,” she whispered. “That’s for practical reasons only.”

With one last look around the room, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll be back,” she said, practicing her Interrogation Voice. “And when you wake up, I want answers, Geometry Boy.”

Bill stayed asleep. Mabel shut the door, locked it, tested the lock. It held strong.

She took a deep breath and straightened up, switching from Serious Mode back to Mabel Mode. Then she snuck back outside, knocked on the front door, and joined her family for dinner.

#gravity falls #mabel pines #bill cipher #mabel’s guide to the power of friendship #bill & mabel friendship au #milleniart #robin writes stuff

190 notes · View notes

evieelyzabethh · 10 months ago

Note

Love your work. <3 Could you write something with reader x spike where they're kinda' pining for one another, but one night he gets injured and has to stay over at her house? She patches him up and maybe offers him a bite? Doesn't have to be nsfw but +5 cool points if it is. <3

Hello, my loves, long time no see!!! I hope this is to your liking <3

Spike is so incredibly reckless. You knew this, he knew, everybody knew that Spike was a walking accident waiting to happen'. He likes to think he can handle himself. "I'm bad, baby," he'd tell you, "M' the big bad slayer killer. I can handle a few scratches." But you were never worried about what he could handle, you were worried about the fact that his blood was always staining your couch. That and the fact that his lack of self-preservation kept you up at night.

Usually, he has some decorum. He doesn't come to you with every scrape and bruise, even though you handled him with much more care than he was capable of extending to himself. It was his way of punishing himself, depriving himself of your head scratches and soft hands for bothering you too much. You scolded him for this, of course. It seems like its every other week (more like every other day) when you and he argue, most often in front of the Scoobies who waited anxiously for you take your arguments to the bedroom, about him leaving you to worry about whether or not he was ash.

"I mean, fuck Spike. Is it really that hard to just give me a call if you plan on bleeding at your place. A little 'Hi, yeah, I don't think I need my wounds treated with modern medicine, I'm gonna take my chances with old whisky and tetanus like the good ol' days'." And every time he takes his well-earned lecture with a smirk and a bowed head.

"Yes, mother, next time I'll break your door down at three in the morning for some pretty pink bandages."

"If you were so ashamed of the pretty pink bandages, maybe you should think before you run into knives!"

Spike has maybe told the truth a grand total of two times in his whole life, so his word means absolutely nothing. He continues to ignore your street like the plague unless it's an absolute emergency.

Now was an emergency.

You barely heard the faint knocks on your door from your bedroom, where you sat on your bed, music blasting from your stereo and some reality court show droning on in the background, catching your attention when someone decided to be particularly messy. You had thought it was your neighbors blind dog scratching at your door again until something large and loud hit it. Quickly arming yourself with a frying pan, you crept to your door, tearing it open for a very injured Spike to nearly fall flat on your floor before he caught himself using your doorframe.

His left hand clutched at his bleeding side and he walked with a limp over to his couch which now had a plastic cover. His dead heart was touched.

"Aw, you were waiting for me, " he croaked out. He fell on his back, one of his hands falling over the side and his eyes closing as soon as his head at the pillow. His shirt had claw marks that were lined with blood and his duster had barely escaped the carnage, a few holes separate from the preexisting moth holes sticky with some supernatural substance.

"Have to be prepared when it comes to you." You patted his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbones to try and arouse some consciousness. "Can't have you fallin' asleep on me. You might not wake up." You weren't going to leave his side until you were sure he wasn't going to die in your absence.

He babbled unintelligently, his mouth moving but having no connection to his brain to form any sort of actual thought. His eyes flit between closed and aware, his head moving to catch up with the spinning room, his mouth impossibly dry, and his head pounding. In his head, he insisted he was fine, but the words wouldn't come out right. He spat them out garbled and messy until he was too choked up to even try anymore.

He was barely conscious when he felt your wrist at his mouth. He had enough sense to shake his head and nudge away your wrist with his nose, but his lack of strength made his attempts futile. "No," he mumbled.

"You'll feel better," your voice swam around in his head until the words lost meaning and he just smiled at the sound of your voice. You swiped your thumb across one of his canines, the red contrasting with the pearly whites of his teeth swiftly wiped away by the pink of his tongue. After the taste of your blood was on his tongue, his sense was surrendered to instinct as he brought your wrist to his lips.

You didn't know what you were getting into. Vampires get their life force from blood, so it just made sense to have him feed from you to expedite the healing process. The more he drank, the louder your heartbeat grew in your ear and the closer he pulled you to him. You had only done this once before, when you were both drunk and dizzy and jokes being whispered in your ear turned into tiny nips from your neck that Buffy nearly walked in on.

In complete shock of what had happened then, you never brought it up, halfway convincing yourself that it never happened in the first place. If it did happen, he had enough sense to pull away then and you hoped he had the sense the pull away now, but now was much different. Now, there was a newfound hunger. A desperation. Like he had been starving himself for years and you were the first bite of food he had eaten. Had to have been good food to, with the way he inhaled you, indulged in you like you were some ambrosia or golden mead.

"Spike," you moaned. "I'm getting a bit light-headed." Your voice was high and thin, fearful as you made attempts to pull your arm from his lips. Through his haze, his fangs contracted back, and his tongue swiped whatever lingered on your skin.

"I'm sorry." Sorry for going too far, sorry for almost turning you into an empty Capri Sun pouch, sorry for being reckless again.

" 's ok."

You wobbled a bit as you stood, fingers wrapped around your wound as you shuffled into your kitchen in pursuit of your first aid kit. "You gonna tell me what happened?" He only groaned from the couch.

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm tired." You laughed on your way over to him, wrist already covered in gauze with an all too familiar needle and thread in hand.

"You're tired?" The smell of your blood was all too pungent, still. He turned his head towards the wall, studying the numerous music posters and paintings you had hanging.

"Going out to fight evil is a very hard job." You chuckled.

"I know. That's why I stay in here to patch you up." Your fingers were like magic. They always had a way of calming him down. Especially the way you hummed to yourself while you worked. You were never content with just silence. "I expect an answer in the morning." He smiled.

"Yes, ma'am." He fell asleep before you even finished and by the time you were done, you were too tired to walk the down the hall to your bed. You laid your head down on his chest, with no heartbeat to thrum and no breath to rock you, you still fell asleep just like that. Who knew cold bodies were so comfortable.

#btvs #btvs imagine #btvs x reader #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy the vampire slayer fanfiction #spike btvs fanfiction #spike x reader #spike btvs #buffy the vampire slayer x reader #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs imagine

422 notes · View notes

the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 6 months ago

Note

tdb boys taking care of pc as a cat? 🫢

Taking care of the purr-fect

After an accident in class the prefect turns in a cat for a day

Wc: 670

Note: I'm going to be honest, I just chose four off the top of my head jaja

Jin

He swears it's the one time he leaves his room for the week and somehow there is an intruder, a cute cat sleeping on his bed. He grabs you by the scruff and calls Thoma who hurriedly takes it from his hands and smooths its hair explaining the mess during class.

He rolls his eyes at the story of how the ghouls -surely vagastorm punks- asked you to help and you ended in the crossfire with a temporary shapeshifting potion, either way he grabs your back, now properly with a hand under your front paws and under your butt.

His family had a few cats, his dad allowed it if they were purebred as a status symbol, and his mom loved the fluffy things. Maybe that is why his usually soft spot turned softer.

Acting huffing and tsundere like lays down on the bed and lets you cuddle up to him, even covering you with his blankets without worrying much about hair sticking to it.

Every so often he texts things to Thoma ‘the cat is hungry, get them fish ‘jin, canned tuna isn't good for cats.’ ‘There's sushi tuna in the kitchen. Hurry’

The most spoiled cat for the day or so that you turned, ribbons as your collar so nobody mistakes you for a worker cat, cooked meat every meal, hair brushed every night -by thoma- and sleeping under many imported silk blankets.

Sho

There was a cat sleeping on Bonnie's seat and, somehow, she wasn't thrashing around for it to get out, quite opposite she seemed to be seeking out sunlight for you. It isn't until he gets closer and you wake up that he recognizes your eyes in the kitty's that he guessed it's you.

He is knocking down on Hyde's office asking about what happened to you and how long it's going to last, Hyde grabs you by the armpits and twists you around before throwing you back to Sho unworried and he guesstimates about a day or two.

He doesn't allow you inside his food truck because he respects food hygiene but you can sleep on the outside tables acting like a mascot, at first Subaru was quite open to touching you in this form until he saw your memories and figured it was you.

He now feeds two mouths, Bonnie and you, sorry Leo, your noodles will have to wait until he finishes the pulled pork bbq sandwich for Bonnie and your cat-friendly oil-free stir fry, die mad about it.

After one of the vagastorm students grabbed you to get you out of a spot on the couch and Sho dared him to meet him at the pit for that, after that nobody really touched you.

Yuri and Jiro

Some general students got called after the accident in class to check out the students who were well except a few scratches, they were called later when the students brought a cat claiming that it was the prefect.

Neither are very worried as it happened before but more interested in how similar your labwork would be to your human one so Yuri is drawing blood, doing ultrasounds to see if everything looks normal or similar to before (if you struggle to much because you are nervous or fear needles and try to scratch him he will make Jiro hold you as you claw at him. At least he doesn't hold it against you when you return to normal)

After that you can hang around mortkraken with a little note stuck on your fur saying ‘dr isami’s patient, do not feed’

Sorry if you like garlic, onions, chives or grapes, the same way they forbade chocolate for Lyca bc he is a wolf those foods aren't entering your mouth soon.

If Yuri is sitting down while writing or reading your test he allows you to lay on his lap and maybe he will rub your belly.

Jiro doesn't mind you climbing him so you can sit on his shoulders while he works and won't tell you anything. He asks teasingly if you wanted to be taller.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker jin #tokyo debunker sho #sho haizono #shohei haizono #jin kamurai #yuri isami #jiro kirisaki #tokyo debunker yuri #tokyo debunker Jiro

249 notes · View notes

inevesgf · 3 months ago

Text

FULL MOON • DANIEL RICCIARDO

after daniel had been disappearing in the middle of the night for years during your relationship, you head back to the house one night only to be met with him turning into a vicious werewolf.

content + warnings: werewolf!daniel + reader, pre established relationship, descriptions of a morbid transformation, mentions of pain, yelling, angst — hurt + comfort, slightly happy ending. word count 3k.

decided to write something spooky for the month of october! if you would like to find other works from this special or read my other works, click the link here ⋆·˚ ༘ * happy fictober! notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated.

for the past three years of your relationship with daniel, your life had felt like a never ending cycle. you’d fuck, you’d fight, you’d apologize, he’d leave in the middle of the night while you were sleeping, and then you’d fight again – it was continuous.

daniel was a wonderful boyfriend, a great one even, but there was one thing you couldn’t shake. waking up at 2am with no daniel next to you or in the apartment was horrifying. where did he go? was he cheating? you wanted answers, but you loved him. a fear loomed over you when you assumed the worst, holding you back from opening your mouth.

it was a friday night, a full moon, when you decided to go to the pub with your friends. fridays were usually date nights for you and daniel, but with an irritated attitude masking his usual happy tone for days prior, you assumed he had just forgotten. it was fine though, you told yourself, you can wait til next week.

you were a little drunk – maybe more than you should have been – when you entered your shared apartment. the kitchen was dimly lit, a scented candle you had lit hours prior still pushing its aroma throughout the room. the apartment was silent, no signs of daniel anywhere, which had you sighing under your breath.

you weren’t going to leave daniel, you couldn’t – you loved him too much, but his attitude recently had gotten on your nerves. for the past week he had been moping around the house, grumbling at every word that fell from your mouth – it was like the part of him you knew was gone.

you tried to shake off the upsetting thoughts as you threw your bag onto the couch, pulling off the leather jacket that covered your spaghetti strapped shoulders as you made your way into your shared bedroom. your hand fumbled in the darkness, reaching for the light, but before you could turn it on, a voice spoke up.

“please – please don’t turn the light on.” daniel spoke nervously, his words shaky as he shuffled in his position in the darkened corner of your bedroom. “i thought you weren’t home. are you okay?” you questioned, a look of confusion decorating your face as you advanced further into the room, squinting to see more of daniel in the darkness.

“don’t come any closer–” he muttered quickly, turning his face into the wall. your mouth fell open to speak, but no words escaped as you stood there dumbfounded and confused. daniel was coward in the corner, his body turned away from you as you stood a few feet behind him. it was worrying, and in the darkness, you couldn’t make out what was happening.

“daniel, just please tell me what’s wrong..” you spoke softly, keeping your distance as you searched for an answer. you bit your lip, trying to come up with an explanation for his panicked words, but no ideas formed in your mind. “i – i can’t.” daniel muttered, his hands coming up to claw at at the wall in front of him as if to try and hold onto it.

“what do you mean you can’t?” you questioned, taking another step forward despite his plea. you weren’t sure what was wrong with him, but all you wanted to do in that moment was provide comfort to your boyfriend. “don’t come any closer!” daniel repeated sternly, his voice raising which caused you to flinch, taking a couple steps back. “i’m sorry,” he spoke again, this time more calm as he began to pant heavily, “just go get a hotel for the night, i’ll be fine.”

“i’m not leaving,” you spoke harshly, challenging him with a stern tone of your own, “not until you tell me what’s wrong.” daniel’s breath quickened, what you could see of his shoulders rising up and down quickly. he cleared his throat, heavy pants escaping his lips before he spoke, “nothings wrong.”

daniel tried to remain cool, but you could see right through his facade as you treaded towards him, placing a tight grip on his shoulder with your hand as you turned him to face you. your lips fell apart in an effort to speak, but no words dared to spill after what you were met face to face to.

coward in that corner wasn’t your boyfriend – well it was, but not what you remembered of him. daniel’s eyes were bloodshot, dark veins swimming their way up to his pupils while more facial hair than normal decorated his features, traveling up along the side of his face.

daniel sat dumbfounded, his eyes wide as his body shook in fear. “it’s a full moon.” he mumbled like everything would make sense to you in that moment – and it still didn’t. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, your eyes dancing around daniel’s face as you took in his disheveled presence. “daniel–” you muttered out, your words breathless as you searched for an answer.

“you have to leave – you have to get out of here.” daniel ushered, standing up from his once seated position before he put his arms on your shoulders, trying to push you backwards out of the room. “stop – stop it!” you raised your voice, pushing him back by the chest – you were all too scared and confused to just listen to him and push you away.

daniel gasped at your outburst, taking a step back. “trust me, okay,” he took a deep breath before he continued, “i know what its looked like – i know how me being gone in the middle of the night makes you feel, but it’s not what you think it is. i’ve been lying to you, i’m sorry–” daniel croaked out, a hissing noise falling from his mouth as his gaze averted from you to the ground.

“what is it then? what’s the truth?” you retorted, a pained look on your face as you still couldn’t grasp the situation in your scattered brain. daniel took a deep breath, waiting a long moment before he answered, his eyes slowly raising to meet yours again, “i’m a werewolf.”

god, you could have laughed at his confession, the words being too unreal to be true. “sure.” you whispered sarcastically, only causing daniel to grow more impatient as he advanced towards you again. “i love you, ok? but you need to leave before something bad happens.” he spoke, his words coming out low and labored. you still didn’t believe him even though he was practically unraveling in front of you, his breaths coming out in shaky gasps.

“what are you talking about?” you questioned, a morphed look between confusion and disgust decorating your visage. you didn’t want to believe daniel’s abnormal confession, but nothing else could explain the dark facial hair that grew on his face seemingly over the course of a few hours since you had last seen him.

“why won’t you listen to me?” daniel panted, his body growing more tense as he itched at his arms, his body feeling as if it was about to jump out of his skin. daniel was trying to get ahold of himself, but he knew it was no use once he had seen the full moon peak over the corners of the curtain, pulling him into a withered trance.

his body froze in one place, his eyes widening as the light from the moon illuminated the room, lighting it up enough for you to make out the dark hairs growing up straight on his arms. your body shook as you took a step forward, placing your hand onto your boyfriend’s shoulder once more. “daniel–”

no additional words could fall from your mouth once you grasped what was occurring right in front of you. you didn’t believe daniel’s words until you saw it, the transformation now taking over his body as you stood horrified.

daniel’s muscles tensed under his shirt, the ripping off the tiny threads echoing throughout the room. he let out a groan – no, a howl – a pained expression decorating his face, his eyes darting in every direction. daniel’s bones started to crack, shifting into every direction. the way his body contorted was unreal and you wanted to scream, yet you were frozen in fear – no noises able to escape from your parted lips.

daniel was unraveling in front of you, growling, groaning – nearly screaming – as he shifted into something that was no longer him, but a monster. the thin threads of daniel’s shirt tore off his back, revealing the dark hair – no, fur – that had now overtaken his smooth, olive skin. in fear, in confusion, you backed up, your head cladding with the wall.

at the small tap of your back with the wall, daniel craned around to face you, and it wasn’t til you were looking into his beady red eyes that you knew it wasn’t daniel anymore. what was once your boyfriend, someone who looked so kind and welcoming, now maintained the visage of a wolf – a hungry one with red, piercing eyes.

“daniel..” you muttered, a panicked expression decorating your face, and you began to wish you didn’t speak up when it started growling at you. looking at that thing was horrifying, your heart quickly pounding out of your chest – you couldn’t see daniel behind the eyes of that monster even if you searched and searched.

the wolf growled, nearing you as you somehow tried to sink your body deeper into the wall. running was no use and neither was screaming – this thing was your boyfriend whether you liked it or not. “daniel, daniel, please – it’s me,” you choked out a sob, your body on shut down as you started to hyperventilate, “daniel – please don’t hurt me.”

the only noises that filled the room was the growling of the wolf and your quiet pleas for your life. you clawed at the wall behind you, much like you feared the wolf’s claws would do to you, ripping you limb from limb.

you didn’t want to leave daniel, but you were scared. your body shook in fear as you gathered your thoughts, stirring up the courage to run. with a deep sigh of courage, you ran. you ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, to the door — all while the wolf growled and heaved as it pummeled towards you. the world was spinning around you, your eyes clouded as you slammed the door to your apartment, gasping and crying for a reason of why or how.

a restless night in a hotel bed wasn’t exactly what you needed at that moment. the revelation that daniel was not what you thought he was — a monster — breathed down your neck as the wolf once had. as you laid there on the hard mattress, you prayed. prayed to god for a reason, prayed to god for a miracle — then you found yourself realizing if god was real, he wouldn’t have shoved you head first into the arms of an unreal creature.

it took plenty of courage and overthinking before you decided to make your way back to the apartment the next morning, disheveled, exhausted and scared. you took a deep breath before putting the key into the key hole, slowly turning it and pushing the door as you stepped in. despite your bodies best effort to make you freeze up and turn away, your mind shoved you on with the determination to find out the truth as you tiptoed into the living room.

a small gasp escaped your lips at the state of the room, the couch torn to shreds and glass everywhere. these items were replaceable, but your boyfriend wasn’t, and though you were scared of him in that moment, you couldn’t help but pray he was okay.

your heart broke even more once you noticed the broken picture frame on the floor, the glass shattered all around the living room carpet. a deep sigh escaped your lips as you bent to pick it up, carefully scrapping the glass away with your hand.

maldives trip, 2023 was wrote in black ink on the side – a photo from a vacation you and daniel had taken together. it was an image of the two of you, smiling brightly, arms around each other; it made you question if you could ever be that happy with daniel again after this revelation.

your eyes danced around the picture, a broadening sadness stirring in your chest before you were caught off guard. “hey,” daniel’s shaky voice spoke up from behind you, causing you to jump and drop the picture, only making the frame break more. you gulped as you turned around, and there he was – your boyfriend – with no deep fur, beady eyes or fangs. you didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t even muster up a ‘hello’ in response as you stared at him with a mix of fear and confusion. if looks could kill, daniel would be dead.

“please,” daniel muttered out, a tone of begging in his voice, “just please let me explain.” he advanced towards you, taking the smallest step closer, and it took all of your courage to not back away or run. your hands shook at your side, your pupils widening slowly at the close proximity as daniel’s brown eyes pooled into yours. the pleading look in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, your body relaxing as willingness to listen finally flooded through.

you nodded softly, beckoning daniel to start his explanation of what had happened in front of your eyes the night prior. after taking a deep breath, daniel began, “i am a werewolf – i think you understand that now.” his voice was shaky, his lip quivering as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. daniel took another step closer, grabbing your hands to hold in his, which you didn’t find yourself fighting.

“i didn’t tell you sooner because i was scared – i didn’t want you to leave me, and now i’ve realized i should have told you so long ago, sweetheart. i should have told you before i hurt you – and i did.” daniel’s voice began to break, his warm hands trembling as they held onto yours.

you couldn’t find words – in fact, you still couldn’t grasp the situation – but you needed to muster up something in your tired brain. “no–” you quickly jumbled out, “you didn’t hurt me – you just scared me. i left because i was scared.”

daniel tried his hardest to remain calm, but he couldn’t, tears welling in his big, brown eyes. his grip on your hands got a little tighter – a little more desperate. “but i scared you. it’s my fault. if you left and never came back, i would have understood that. i’m a monster.”

with your brain scattered and the rest of your body in fight or flight the previous night, you had thought him a monster, but as you stood in front of daniel at that moment, all you saw was your loving boyfriend. “no, no – you’re not. i’m just confused.” you stuttered out, maintaining eye contact as you stared into his eyes.

“i’ve been like this since before i met you, since before i can remember. i’m sorry, i should have told you sooner. i didn’t mean to scare you.” daniel tried to collect his words, to try and keep his thoughts organized, but as tears welled in his eyes, he couldn’t. “i love you, and i know – i know this changes things, but i want to try and make things work. it’ll take some adjusting, but i won’t lie to you anymore – it’ll always be the truth.”

you wanted to believe daniel, you really did, but fear still fogged in your brain. daniel was the love of your life, the light in the darkness, but could you really shake the fact that daniel was not human, but a monstrous creature? “i want to make it work,” you croaked out, “because i love you, but this changes a lot, daniel – i don’t want to beat around the bush, lie, and say everything will be the same, because it won’t.” it hurt to say those words – it hurt to tell your loving boyfriend that your once happy relationship would need to be rebuilt – but like daniel said, there’s no room to lie anymore.

you tiptoed through the broken glass, letting yourself slowly sink down onto the torn up couch, stuffing sticking to the material of your jeans. a small exhale left your lips as you tapped the spot next to you, daniel obeying like a dog as he made his way over. he sank into the couch, getting comfortable as he laid his head into your lap. your fingers found his hair, tangling in the curls, calming his nerves as he relaxed into you.

the room was silent, filled with the sounds of daniel’s shallow breath as he let his eyes drift close. as your hand pet his hair, he hummed a satisfied noise. “i love you,” daniel murmured, his head nuzzling into your thighs.

everything was different now, far from what it was before, as you and daniel snuggled on the tethered couch. your once neat apartment was trashed, glass surrounding the floor which mimicked how your heart had shattered. daniel was a werewolf, and you were a human – it felt forbidden, afterall. though as you relaxed into each other, the surrounding air holding a melancholy mood, you realized one thing was still the same: you still loved him as you had all those years.

as the moon crept in through the windows once again, daniel remained calm, relaxed in your touch. this time his breath was slow, his body still – the gibbous moon peeking through the curtains adding to the tranquility of the moment. a small sigh escaped your lips, a toothless smile coming to decorate your visage as you looked down at him. things were different – they might never be the same – but what stayed consistent was the love.

136 notes · View notes

darlingdaisyfarm · 24 days ago

Note

Howdy! Jdjdjfh I hope you're still taking Gravity Falls Stan/Ford requests--

What if the reader and Ford/Stan (separate) were married, but the reader suffered a traumatic head injury in a car accident? This injury causes them to be unable to retain memories for more than a day. Every morning, they wake up next to this mysterious, handsome man who has to explain to them that they are married—and have been for years. The reader can't help but feel guilty about this situation. :( We need some lovey-dovey comfort

Sorry if this is long or complicated kfhfkfh thank you for your time!!

Have a good day/night :)) 💗 love your writing so much

you’ll always remember | Stanley Pines x reader

tags: sfw, memory loss, established relationship

a/n: hi, lovely anon! thank you for sending this in and for your sweet words!💗 this little piece focuses on Stan for now. but don’t worry, i’ve got something equally heartfelt coming for Ford too, ill post it a lil bit later

thank you for trusting me with your emotions and have a beautiful day/night, darling!

Ford version

you open your eyes and the next thing you feel is headache, your head feels. . . way too heavy, but sadly, not from oversleeping or the nice kind from sleeping in. it’s different type of pain.

you rub your eyes, feeling lost and blink around the room, with fear realising you don’t understand where you are. your messy thoughts are interrupted by the bed creaking when you sit up and your heart does this awful little jump when you see him.

this man.

this. . . mysterious man with a broad chest, an old tank top clinging to it. there’s golden chain around his neck, glinting against the soft peppered hairs of his chest.

and you. . . you don’t know him.

your stomach twists immediately. the room doesn’t look familiar, either, nothing does. these stacks of magazines, mugs, a nightstand that’s barely holding itself together. you hear a faint sound of birds outside, but even that won’t calm your mind

“mornin’, sweetheart, sleep okay?”

your heart lurches, panic curling up your throat. you try to get up from bed, but everything feels too heavy and weird, your body barely listens to you, your limbs hurt

you freeze, looking a bit scared, but more than all confused. “who— who are you?”

Stanley sighs, nodding at your words, agreeing with you. it’s not the first time he’s heard it. you can tell from the way his face falls, his smile disappearing, but then he covers it up with a gentle grin

“right. uh, this part,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, so. you don’t remember me. look, baby, my name’s Stan. Stanley Pines. i’m your husband.”

your what?

“yeah, i know. sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. you’ve got, uh. . .” he avoids your wide-eyed stare. “you’ve got a thing. memory stuff. from the accident. doc says you won’t remember much past a day. it’s been like this for a while now, heh.”

his tone doesn’t sound all that happy, because for Stanley it’s just as hard as it is for you. he explains it like it physically pains him to spell all this shocking nonsense out for you.

“i know this ain’t fair to you. shit, it ain’t fair to either of us. but i’m here. i’ll always be here, ‘kay? even if you wake up every day thinkin’ i’m some creep who wandered in off the street.”

you just look at him, unable to understand what he’s talking about after the word “husband”. husband. . . gosh, feels like your brain just started to hurt more. your mind scrambles, clawing at the edges of something it can’t reach, no matter how hard you try.

“don’t— don’t look so freaked out, kid,” Stan says quickly, seeing your panic. “here, look—”

he reaches for something on the nightstand, hoping each time that it will work. Its an old picture frame, a little bit worn, but when he holds it out with a hopeful look, you see yourself in it. laughing. leaning into him. his arm’s slung around your shoulder as he grins, his fez perched crookedly on his head.

“that’s us,” Stan says softly, watching your reaction. “took that on our anniversary, up at lookout point. you love that spot, always goin’ on about the view. even dragged me up there at sunrise once.” he chuckles, but his eyes are watching you carefully, he’s waiting you to give some reaction, please just. . . please. he waits to see that beautiful smile of yours he always loved so much and you want to smile. you want to remember.

but there’s nothing.

corners of your mouth lowers and your chest tightens, guilt bubbling up inside. “i. . .” wait, what was his name again? damn. “don’t remember that. i don’t remember you.”

Stan’s smile wobbles for half a second before he catches it. “yeah, i figured. but that’s okay. s’not your fault, sugar.”

you hate that. you hate how kind he is about it, how patient, but at the same time how broken his voice sounds.

Stanley sighs, rubbing at his face, trying to scrub away years of exhaustion. then he looks at you again.

with hope in his eyes.

“here, how about this?” he says suddenly, brightening. he pulls open the nightstand drawer and takes out another photo, this one of you, him and some. . . kids? it’s twins, a boy and girl in some funny looking sweater, both with brown hair, all of you standing by the lake. you’re holding up a huge fish, grinning from ear to ear, and Stan’s standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders looking so damn proud of his lovely little human.

“this was last summer,” Stan tells you, tapping the glass with his thumb. “we went fishin’. you caught that sucker all by yourself. wouldn’t stop braggin’ for weeks.”

a faint smile appears on your lips.

“still got the tackle box you picked out, too,” Stan adds with a laugh. “you said the one i had was too ‘junkyard chic.’ you’ve got a sharp tongue on ya, y’know that?”

your fingers tremble as you reach to take photo from his hands. you look at it, look at that person who looks like you, with a smile’s brighter than the sun and these eyes. . . sparkling, as if you’ve just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, staring down at your hands. tears spilling down your cheeks. “i- i don’t know how you do this. every day. i can’t- i can’t even remember, Stan.”

the first time you said his name.

“hey, hey.” his hand comes up, hovering over your shoulder, rubbing it slightly to calm you. he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch you yet, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but you look up and he’s already leaning closer. “don’t you dare apologize for this, sweetheart. you didn’t ask for it. none of this is your fault, y’hear me?”

you nod weakly, but he isn’t done.

“you’re still you. still the same stubborn, beautiful, funny, smart, pain-in-the-ass i fell for, okay? you’re stuck with me, like it or not. you take all the time you need, honeybun. i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you nod, still doubting, lowering your eyes to that photo again.

“now, how about we get some breakfast? you always say my stancakes are the best damn thing in oregon.” Stan smiles at you because you’re his whole world. and even though the pieces don’t always fit in your mind, Stanley still loves you with this kind of affection that’s lived a thousand lifetimes and he knows, somewhere deep in your mind, you love him too. he just gotta try a bit harder.

when you meet his eyes, for the first time, you feel something painfully familiar deep inside of you. as if he’s the one you’d always reach for in a sea of faces. and you laugh softly

“i say that, huh?”

“every time,” noticing that little change in your voice, Stan grins and winks at you. “c’mon, let me prove it to ya, baby.”

even though your head’s a mess and your heart feels like it’s been put through a blender, you want to believe him. you take his hand, noticing a ring around his finger and only now you realise you are wearing one too

….

“but what if i never remember?” you ask as you trace the edges of his beautiful face with trembling fingers, trying to commit it to memory.

he just smiles and wraps his big hands around your waist.

“then i’ll just remind ya every day. as long as it takes.”

#gravity falls #x reader #gravity falls smut #gravity falls x you #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stan pines #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x you #grunkle stan #gravity falls fanfic #stan pines smut #gravity falls headcanons

136 notes · View notes

justananxiousweirdo · 6 months ago

Note

CAN YOU DO JOOST X AGGU X READER FLUFF HC / IMAGES?? PLEASE IM OBSESSED

YESSS OFC I CAN (hopefully)

Side note: I appreciate everyone who’s been interacting with my channel. I love you guys :)

Joost x Aggu x Reader HC

Joost absolutely loves cuddle time. Anytime you or Aggu are laying or sitting back Joost always jumps at the chance to lay with you. Your and Aggu’s camera rolls are filled with pictures of Joost snuggled into either of your sides. He loves to lay his head on your or Aggu’s chests. Whenever he lays on Aggu Aggu will play with his hair soothing Joost to sleep.

Aggu’s the type to play a claw machine or carnival game a thousand times if you or Joost see a prize you like. That man will be concentrated as fuck trying his hardest to get you or Joost some stuffed animal that probably costs five bucks but Aggu spent thirty just playing the damn game over and over again.

After begging the boys to bake with you over and over they eventually gave in. You cheered as the three of you headed out to grab a few missing ingredients. As soon as you got back home you raced to preheat the oven and get started. Within five minutes all hell broke loose. The kitchen was an absolute mess, they’re was flour everywhere, Joost had dumped a bowl of dry ingredients over top of Aggu’s head because he thought it would be funny. In retaliation Aggu poured the rest of the bag of flour on Joost, but the second you tried to scold them they both declined to team up against you. Both boys decided to grab the closet dry ingredient to them and completely covered you. For the rest of the night the three of you had a food fight and got no baking done.

They both have a million pet names they use. They have nicknames both in English and their native languages. Aggu usually calls you shantz, liebe, Prinzessin, Shöne, or mein leben. He usually calls Joost babe, prinz, Süße, Kuschelwanze, or liebling. Joost usually calls you perziken, liefde, or Schatje. He usually calls Aggu Aggie, honing, or knap. If you don’t speak German or Dutch it took a lot of begging from you for them to tell you what the nicknames meant, obviously you had an idea but you were never certain until they finally told you.

They’ve both made songs for you and each other that they’ll never release because they like to keep some things private and they think it’s more meaningful that way. And if you make music as well you do the same for them.

They’re both the type to ask for five more minutes. You’ll wake up and not want to just lie in bed all day so you’ll try to stand up just for both men to hold you down muttering something along the lines of “five more minutes” or “its too early”.

You three have a lot of movie and game nights. Either you three cuddle up on the couch watching a movie (that took twenty minutes for the three of you to agree on) with blankets and snacks. Or you all let out your competitive sides and get out some cards and poker chips, kisses are also accepted as a form of currency in your guys’ game nights. After all it isn’t about the money it’s about totally destroying your boyfriends in every game you play. They always accuse you of cheating, but that’s never the case, esp when Joost runs out of Monopoly money fifteen minutes in and pays rent with small kisses. Who are you and Aggu to disqualify the blonde from playing?

You three always have the most fun on dates, you go to a fancy dinner, a walk in the park, get some ice cream, that sort of thing. It’s almost always a simple date but you three somehow always manage to make it the funnest night ever. Every date tops the one before it.

Haters definitely get to Joost, he doesn’t like seeing comments talking about how much people don’t like him so sometimes after Joost has been scrolling through those kinds of comments he goes to you and Aggu for comfort, after all you two are the only two who make him feel truly loved and safe.

After Joost got disqualified from Eurovision he made it your three’s hotel room as fast as possible and just collapsed on the floor crying. When you and Aggu made it home to see a puffy eyed and red faced Joost you both knelt on the floor next to him doing your best to soothe him until he could speak. As soon as he said what happened Aggu threatens to march down there and beat the shit out of the people who hurt his boyfriend.

The last two are a little sad but I hope I did good. I don’t get to write a lot of fluff because I don’t think I can do it very well but I’m such a sappy person, a true hopeless romantic.

#joost x aggu x reader #joost #joost klein #ski aggu #ski aggu x reader #joost klein x reader #joost x reader

167 notes · View notes

concretecultist · 7 months ago

Text

Sacrilege

summary: being the daughter of a Pastor meant your life was the Bible through and through. Noah being the son of the choir director meant that even though he rejected the faith, he still showed up. You’ve known Noah all your life and always tried to get him right with Christ so he wasn’t predisposed to an afterlife of eternal damnation. What you didn’t expect though, was for him to begin chipping away at the walls of the only thing you’ve ever known. Faith.

pairing: PastorsDaughter!Reader x Noah Sebastian

warnings: sacrilege, smut, religious themes, corruption kink, unprotected sex, mentions of cult-like behaviors, "kool-aid" incident mentioned, just please beware reading this if this is not your vibe!!

word count: 4.6k

A/N: this is an 18+ blog so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! This is ALL FICTIONAL!!

You and Noah had known each other since you two could talk. He was always the rebellious one, you were the rule follower, you had to be. Your father was the Pastor of the Concrete Commune of Christ.

Coining its name based off of how "solid" the community’s connection to God was.

But even concrete can crumble.

“Have you changed your ways yet?,” You question him, “I grew up with you, Noah, I really don’t want you to go to hell,”

“Oh, Dove you’re gonna go to hell too,” he smirks, all of this was a joke to him. He has made it clear to everyone in the commune, from a young age, how he feels about religion but they let him stay in hopes that the 28 year old will one day accept Jesus as his Lord and Savior.

“No I’m not,” you shriek, “I’m a follower of God, I live by the book,”

“You live by the book huh?,” he plucks the collar of your shirt, “Deuteronomy 22:11, ‘ye shall not wear cloth combining linen and wool’… your little sweater with the mock collar is a sin,”

“Leviticus 19:28,” you eye his tattoos, any time you two were near each other, it was a banter like this. Noah found it amusing but you were serious. You cared about everyone in the commune, you wanted them to make it to Heaven.

“I’ve made my peace with knowing I won’t make it to those pearly gates,” he gets closer, “If I did it’d probably be to spit in your God’s face and dethrone him,”

“Noah, that’s blasphemous!,” you gasp, “W-what… what is wrong with you?,”

“Your God makes no mistakes right? So he made me this way”

“Satan really has his claws in you,” you give a shaky breath.

“He’s a cool guy,” shrugging as if it were a normal statement, “He’s not as uptight with the rules to brainwash you all like cattle,”

“It’s not brainwash! This is the way. The word of God is the true light,”

“Why do you think he’s called the Shepherd, Dove? Because you’re all sheep. None of you think for yourselves. It won’t be long before your father is feeding you all kool aid and you all commit mass suicide,”

“You’re real nasty you know that?,” How dare you he question your faith. Your faith is all you’ve ever known and as far as you are aware, it's the reason you wake up every day.

“Oh baby you haven’t seen nasty. I can show you though,”

“I cannot commit sin as freely as you,” the disgust written all over your face, “I cannot commit sin with a clear conscience,”

“So repent,” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face, “What did your Lord and Savior die for if you don’t sin? You really want him to have died for nothing? Up on that cross with nothing but a sponge of vinegar in his mouth. You really want to be that ungrateful and not appreciate his sacrifice?,”

He gets closer to where he’s whispering in your ear. He’s so haunting, so… unholy, you question how he doesn’t burst into flames when he walks through the doors of the sanctuary.

“I can show you a real baptism. I bet you’d look pretty in all white… wet… as you cleanse your soul of the dirty acts you’ve committed”

“W-we… we should really focus on getting the lesson together, Noah,” you scoot your chair away from him and turn back to your bible, “I think the book of Psalms will be a great place to start. We can teach the others about the protection the Lord gives as long as you believe and do right unto others,”

Noah played your little game. Giving you pointers for the lesson. For someone who rejected faith the way he did, he knew the Bible pretty well, better than you actually, and almost no one in the congregation knows the Bible better than you.

That’s what started your time spent together. Your father was wary of Noah, considering his tattoos and his music taste outside of the church but when he saw the way Noah studied the Bible with you, he figured you were a good influence, he figured that you were following in his footsteps and spreading the gospel.

Except that wasn’t the case.

Noah was planting seeds in the garden that was your mind. He sat beside you every Wednesday night and Sunday morning whispering in your ear. Deconstructing everything your father was speaking at the altar.

He was able to plant seeds of doubt so easily and that shook you. How solid was your faith if you could question it in just a few weeks? Maybe the Devil is trying to get you on his side, but you must stand firm. So you pray more, you sit at the altar more, you sing hymns so that the voice of doubt could be drowned out.

But it was proving to be pointless almost, you’d go home every night and find it hard to read the Bible. Finding it hard to believe in a God that let horrible things happen around the world and to innocent people.

How do you keep faith like that?

That’s how you find yourself in the pulpit of the church.

Looking up at the statue of the figure that you called Lord and Savior for the last twenty something years of your life.

“Lord, if you’re listening I really need you to keep me strong in my stance. If you’re really there why is my faith in you wavering? If you’re really up there… why don’t you help the poor? Why do you keep sister Paula in an unsafe situation with her husband? If you’re really there-,”

“No one is listening, Dove,”

He has a teasing edge to his tone. He’s making fun of you.

“No one is up there answering your prayers,” his voice gets closer until he’s sitting beside you, “You’re alone. You’re praying to a voice in your head. You want to know why he doesn’t help the poor? Because he isn’t real. And if he is… then he’s one selfish fuck. Wanna know why sister Paula stays with her abusive husband? Because your father brainwashes his congregation into believing that divorce is something that immediately sends you to hell. Either that or your God is a sadistic voyeur,”

You feel Noah wipe the tears off your face as you turn to look for him.

“There are no pearly gates… there is no eternal damnation. Everything you were taught was to keep you in line. To keep you docile. But I know you wanna be set free, Dove,”

He sucks the tip of his thumb, humming at the taste of your tears.

“Do you want me to open the cage and set you free? Do you want me to show you the real light?,”

“I will be forsaken,” there’s a tremble in your tone. Your wings have been clipped long enough and yet now that you have the option to fly, a part of you wants to stay caged.

“You’ve already been abandoned, Dove,” his spit covered thumb traces over your lips, “I can give you something to pray to. Something that’s tangible. Something you can see… touch…,”

“I can be your God,” he was so close to your face now, so close that his lips were touching yours, you could smell the sweet mint of his favorite gum, “I can make today your judgment day. I can walk you to the light, Dove,”

“H-how? You’re just a mortal like me,”

“You doubt me but believe in a man that rose on the third day?,” he was smiling as if your words were the world's best comedy. The congregation had its hooks in you deep. But it's okay, he'd remove them with ease.

“Noah. I don’t wanna go to hell,” you cried, it was hard to break free of all you were taught

“With me, heaven is the only place you’ll go. Follow me and I can show you the real way. Follow me and you won’t have to live your life in fear. Follow me… and I will show you how a real God treats his followers,”

Before you can answer, Noah is taking your hand and guiding you to your father’s study, locking the door before letting go of your hand.

“Psalm 90:17, what does it say again?,”

You swallow thickly, you know the verse and for some reason it’s not coming out. It doesn't feel right to spew scriptures anymore.

“You claim to know the Bible front and back and can’t recite one of the easiest scriptures?,”

Why was he being so mean? One minute he seems as though he wants to help but the next he’s asking you questions related to scripture, what is his game?

“I do know it it’s just-,”

“Not important enough to remember,” he leans back on your father’s desk, arms folded, tattooed muscles stretching the sleeves of his tight black tee.

“Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us. Yes, establish the work of our hands" Noah answers for you, sarcasm dressing his tone as he throws his hands up as if he's praising, “what does that scripture mean, Dove?,”

“It means… it’s a plea for the Lord to bless people and their work beyond imagination,” you seemed dazed.

“Every night that’s the last thing I speak before bed after I cum to the thought of you on your knees, praying to me,”

“M-Matthew 7:15, Noah… Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves,”

“And you are but a little lamb,” He pushes himself off the desk to circle you and suddenly… he feels like a hawk circling his prey, “I never came to you in sheep’s clothing… you knew who I was from the beginning,”

He was so close now. Whispering in your ear so close that it sent shivers down your spine.

“I had faith you could change. I prayed for you every night, Noah I wanted you to see the light,”

“I am… the true light. I don’t need you to pray for me… I need you to pray to me,”

“I cannot… Exodus 20: 4-5. There are no other Gods, Noah,”

His dark chuckle made your stomach do flips. How is he okay with laughing in the face of God like this?

“You’re forgetting a vital piece of that scripture, Dove,” his hands are touching you now and you find it embarrassing when his grip has to tighten when your knees buckle.

“I am not-,”

“I hate my people worshiping other Gods,” he answers plainly, “Your God admits there are others amongst him. He’s just a greedy…,”

A kiss to your neck makes you gasp, your mouth feels dry as you choke on your saliva.

“Selfish…,” a little nibble where your neck and shoulder meet, “Unworthy prick who doesn’t deserve a lamb like you. I deserve you. I deserve your praise. I deserve to hear you sing songs about me. I deserve to experience the look on your face when your knees ache from being on them so long when praying,”

His hand is under your skirt now, do you push him away? Do you… do you welcome it? What if this is God testing you to see if you’re a true follower?

Will you follow him?

Or the Devil?

“I deserve to be the flesh and blood you devour every first Sunday,”

His middle finger swipes between your lips and there’s an unfamiliar rush that takes over your body.

“Let me show you the fruit I bear,”

You can feel him smiling against your ear as he speaks directly into it. It feels like he’s speaking to your soul. All this time you’ve been praying and it’s been nothing but silence but now… now here Noah is, speaking his word into your ear and it’s taking over your mind.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, was a voice in your ear with a sense of direction. Maybe the Lord has forsaken you… maybe it’s time to try a new path of faith?

“Show me the light,” you breathe out.

Those were the words he was waiting for. That’s all he needed to hear before he’s turning you around and gripping the nape of your neck to plant his lips on yours in a searing kiss. It was overwhelming, to feel his lips and his tongue and then his hands roaming your body as he sets you on the desk.

“Can I taste you?,” he asks, “Can I taste the sweet fruit you bear?,”

You don’t know exactly what he means by taste you but with the eyes of a lamb, you nod to him.

“I will be a good disciple. Show me the truth and I will follow you,”

The words coming out like projectile vomit. The haze of the confusion and deteriorating faith creates a cast over your mind.

Noah’s hands are slowly taking off your cotton panties, eyeing the string of slick that follows before it breaks its connection to your underwear and lands on your inner thigh.

“So ripe. So fresh,” he mutters as he lowers himself on his knees, “I just might have to worship you,”

It makes your cheeks heat up. All your life, all you’ve known is worshiping something you can’t see. You were taught to be humble and modest and yet here you are… with a heretic on his knees before you claiming he wants to praise you.

A flip switches.

“Show me,” you plead softly, “I wanna know what it’s like to be praised,”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought his eyes turned completely black for a second, but it’s too late now. You’re already committing sin and like Noah said… don’t let Jesus die for nothing, right?

His lips make a path on your inner thighs before they find that string of slick. You feel his warm tongue flatten against your thigh and suddenly his eyes are in the back of his head and he lets out a moan that was devilish, it came from the core, as if he was parched and it was the first drop of liquid he received after a long, desolate journey.

“I knew you’d taste good,”

You’re watching his every move. You can’t tear your eyes off of him. Especially when his mouth isn’t even an inch away from your core. He stared and stared and you were wondering if something is wrong.

So you try to close your legs but he’s not having that. His big hands spread them even wider than they were before, taking in the view.

“My goodness maybe there is a God,” he smirked as he stared at your wet lips, “Back out now, Dove, because once I start, I will feast as if it’s the last supper,”

“I wanna see the light. Show me the light, No- OH!,”

You’re immediately cut off when he finally touches you. His mouth is so warm, he’s getting you all over his face like a juicy peach in the summer time.

You’re gripping the edge of the desk as if your life depends on it and with what he’s doing, it seems like it does.

He’s suckling on your bundle of nerves, his finger tips are digging into your thighs and it feels so good but all the sounds you’re wanting to make are trapped in your throat.

“N-Noah… N-,” you wheeze

“N-N-Noah,” he pulls back and mocks you. He’s taunting you and it brings a wave of embarrassment so bad that tears flooded into your eyes, “Relax. You’re being a good disciple,”

Your eyes flutter at those words as he dives back in. He’s lapping at you as if you have a prize inside and he wants it.

Then you feel it. He’s sliding a finger in and it takes your breath away.

“There we go,” he whispers against your clit, “Tell me when I’ve hit that spot,”

You have no idea what spot he’s talking about. Not until he’s adding a second finger and reaches deep within you and lightly curls his finger.

“Oh! O-oh m-my… goodness!!,” your legs bend and tremble, toes pointed. You don’t know what that is but it feels immaculate.

“There she goes,” He’s got you now. He now has made a mental map of your core. Knowing what makes you cry out, what makes you mewl like a cat in heat.

His fingers are speeding up and your juices are splashing on the ugly carpet of the church office.

You’re committing sacrilege and you know it’s wrong but why does it feel so… right? so… Heavenly?

Your stomach begins to tighten and you need something better to grip on, so your hand flies to Noah’s head, gripping so tight the moan he gives goes straight to your core and before you know it, your body is convulsing and you’re crying asking the Lord for forgiveness for the sin you’ve just committed.

“You’re forgiven,” Noah answers, “Let’s repent, yeah?,”

He slowly stands up and within the light of the rising moon, his lips are red, swollen and glistening. He’s sucking on the fingers that were just inside you and a part of you feels as though it should make you cringe but instead it causes your heart to race and you want to taste his tongue.

As if he can read your mind, his lips are on yours once more and you can taste yourself. It’s not something you’d taste alone, but tasting it on Noah? That’s something you can get used to.

After he pulls away he pulls you off the desk and brings you around to the other side. On the back of the office door is a mirror and above the door is a cross.

“As much as I’d like you on your knees… I have something else in mind that’s far more exciting,” he pulls you back and takes the swiveling chair so the back is against the desk before helping you on it, situating you on your knees and pulling the neckline of your top down so your breasts spill over.

He toys with your nipples with a shit-eating grin, admiring the way your body responds to him.

“Hebrews 13:4,” you whine. The guilt started to creep back in, maybe you should stop, Noah would understand. With the cross staring right back at you, it all started to become too much, “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous,”

“I am the only God here, Dove,”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and you’re back under his spell.

“What God keeps his people from experiencing something so good, so… freeing that it feels like they’re ascending? I am unclipping your wings, Dove. Won’t you fly with me?,”

You feel him poke at your core, spreading the wetness, coating his tip. He just wanted to slide right in but he knew he had to work you up first. His grip on your breast was tantalizing. His tattooed hand in contrast to your skin was a beautiful sight to see.

He was right.

What God kept his people caged from experiencing beautiful sights like this?

“Start praying,” is all he says before he starts pushing the tip in, “I want to hear what you pray for,”

It was a distraction tactic but he couldn’t get enough of your voice. Especially when you pray for the congregation after Bible study. It always made him hard, he always wanted to bend you over the podium and just hear your delusional prayers.

“I..,”

His hand that’s on your breast is now gripping your cheeks and keeping your head straight to the mirror.

“Don’t get shy now,”

“I call upon God, the Father..,”

He pushes in more and it’s not painful but it is a lot to handle.

“God, the Son a-and God, the Holy Spirit,”

With each word he slowly makes his way inside of you before his pelvis is flush against your ass.

He sighs as if he’s been reborn again.

“Keep going, baby,”

“I… I ask that you watch over us. B-bless us with the gift to see another day. Please continue to guide and protect me,”

“You sound so pretty praying to me,”

“B-but I’m praying to God,” You correct.

“Dove have you learned nothing?,” his chuckle was so dark, “I am your God now. Everything you do. Everything you pray for. You’re saying it to me,”

His hips roll and it causes you tremble in his grip. It’s dizzying. Your vision doubles as he begins a pace to move in and out of you.

“So keep fucking praying,”

There was no room to argue. There was no hint of teasing in his voice.

You didn’t want to anger him. You wanted to make him proud.

You had to be a good disciple, right? Prove to him that you’re worthy.

“God, enlighten my mind with truth. Inflame my heart w-with… with,” a gasp is ripped from your chest as his hips snap into you, he’s so deep. It feels like your nerve endings are on fire and it’s hard to think straight.

You hear the mess being created between your legs and its mouth watering.

“Oh God, please,” your head is thrown back and you turn to look at Noah, “What… why does it feel so good?,”

Noah licked the tears that fell down your cheek. Kissing your waiting lips, picking up his pace and he swallows your cries while you grip his wrists that are caging you in that way you don’t topple over.

“I told you I would baptize you. I told you I would show you the light. I told you I’d show you how a real God treats his followers. You’re being reborn again, Dove,”

Your eyes roll the deeper he gets.

“God, please,” a whimper drips off your lips, you call out into the empty office, “Inflame my heart with l-love… enrich my life with a-service,”

Noah’s hand snaked around to your core to add pressured circles to your clit. He was everywhere.

His breath fanning on your cheek, his hand at your core, his cock deep inside, his eyes boring into your soul. His aura wrapped you up in a warm hug. This is what the presence of God feels like.

The tears flowed. This is the first time in a long time you’ve felt the reward of faith. Maybe Noah was a God… a patient God who waited for you to find your way to him.

He has a follower for as long as you’ll live… and maybe there after.

“Don’t forsake me,” you moan, “I need you. I need something to b-believe in. Don’t f-forsake me. Don’t forsake me!,”

It was a prayer that Noah never expected to spill from your mouth with such conviction.

“A true God doesn’t abandon his people,” Noah’s pace was deadly now. His hips clapping your ass sounded like the church drums during Sunday praise and worship. Your moans were more beautiful than any gospel Noah would help direct during Tuesday night practice.

“I will follow you, I will follow you, My Lord,” you reach behind him to grab at his hair. At this point, your hips were moving back to meet him.

“Thank you!!,” a wanton moan escapes you as he adds an intoxicating amount of pressure to the bundle of nerves between your legs, “Th-thank you for… for you faithfulness a-and presence in my life!,”

Most people loved for dirty talk… but this was incomparable. This couldn’t be topped. The little bird of his dreams was singing her tune for him.

Anyone could get off to dirty talk. But only someone as twisted as Noah could get hot and bothered to the sound of the Pastor’s daughter abandoning her faith to pray to him.

He is God.

Your God has been dethroned.

You’re his now.

“I tr-trust you with this day,” your eyes were so glossy that it actually tugged at Noah’s heart, “And all that it h-holds,”

“Fuck,” it was a mix of a moan and chuckle as he felt his cock twitch, “Say my prayer, Dove. I know you’re close. Say my prayer and you’ll see the light,”

He gave you a few moments to enjoy his thrusts with an empty mind. Mouth hanging open, breath hitching, tears falling and eyes rolling.

The beauty of this moment must have been what Peter felt when he saw Jesus walk on water.

“C’mon, Dove. Say it with me,” he slowed his pace down to pull out his phone. He wouldn’t record the action, but he needed to record the audio. He needed this and you wanted to put on a show, wanted to prove to him that he made the right choice.

“You can do it,”

You don’t know if you can. He’s so deep, his fingers are circling at a pace that’s too fast. His lips felt like they were searing an imprint onto your skin.

“Look at the cross and pray,”

He softly turned your head back to the gold cross above the door, picking up his pace once more.

“Our Father,” he begins, coaxing you to speak the words.

“Who art in H-Heaven,” the tears were spilling too fast for you to keep up, “Hallowed be thy name,”

His deep tone was mumbling under your high pitched mewls, creating a lovely harmony.

“Thy Kingdom come!!,”

He's bent you forward now. Hand under your chin, other still torturing your clit.

“Th-thy will be d-done,” the cross was hazy now, you were losing your wits about you. This was too good. It was shameful and it felt too good.

“Keep going, baby. You’re making your God so proud,”

You clench around him and you’d have thought there was a dark entity around you with the way he growled.

“On E-Earth as it is in Heav… en,” eyes rolling, there’s spit dripping down your chin and onto the expensive leather that the church tithes paid for.

Noah was on the edge. This was so sinful, even for him, but yet he smiled as he took in the view of your face in the mirror. So innocent. So… dumb. You really did have the eyes of a lamb, no wonder it was so easy for the church to brainwash you. You didn’t know any better.

But it’s okay.

He’s here to set you free.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he groaned along with you, “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,”

You were almost there. You could see the light. It was coming. This was real. Noah was right.

“And lead us not into t-temptation… b-but deliver us from ev… evil,” you were breathless now. Panting like you were suffering from heat exhaustion.

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah interjected, hips not stopping, you could feel your wetness dripping, your stomach was in knots.

“Oh God!,” You trembled beneath him.

“No,” he lightly smacked your cheek, “You can’t step into the light until you’re finished. Be good. You’re almost there. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?,”

“N-no,” you’re sobbing at this point. You can feel it in your guts. He’s stirring you up like brother Jackson’s gumbo. You were so wet. So fucking warm. The veins of Noah matching perfectly within the ridges of your own walls.

“Then finish. You’re almost there,”

“For thine is the Kingdom,” Noah prompted again.

“And the p… the power and the.. the glory forever a-and ever,”

Noah rolled his hips a certain way and pressed harder on your clit and that was your undoing.

“Amen,” he smiled darkly, it gave him a new life purpose to hear you scream and fall apart in his arms while staring at the cross above the door. His stills as he fills you up.

“Oh God!! Oh God, please, please, please,” you’re sobbing, face fallen against the leather chair.

“I’m right here,” he speaks against your shoulder, slowly pulling out of you, admiring the way his cum spills out of you and falls onto the vintage maroon carpet. He figured he should clean it up but then he opted not to.

He turned the recording off and cleaned you up as best as he could before sitting you flat into the chair and holding your face ever so softly in his hands.

“Breathe,” he had to guide you for the next few minutes.

“Am I dead?,” you ask softly. It was the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced. More than when you caught the Holy Ghost during a sermon.

“No, Dove. You’re very much alive,” he kisses your tear stricken cheeks.

“You’ve just been reborn. Welcome to your new purpose. Your new life,”

#noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens smut #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian one shot #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian imagine #noah sebastian fic

258 notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 15 days ago

Text

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag @guiltyasdave <3

wip #1 • SINK IN MY WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

there's something off with logan...

this is the feral!logan fic that won the last poll i posted. i'm almost done with it, literally all i need to do is finish up the smut but it's been kicking my ass every single time i try and sit down to actually finish it :))) which is so great and fun for me :)))

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze. "I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you." You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs. Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest. “Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward. The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus. You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long." Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip. “Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a low, gravelly purr, sending a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.” His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake. You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry. "Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out." Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat." His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it. Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest. He stops in front of you, close enough that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you. “There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser.

wip #2 • ALL THAT GLITTERS...

a billionaire walks into your job, and then into your apartment…

omg...a bruce wayne fic? yeah i don't know either...i just got way too into the dc universe by accident and had one (1) single idea that i thought fit his character too well to not write it. will i actually ever post this? i don't know. am i having fun with it anyway? yes, maybe a little too much fun. don't read into it i'm just throwing this at the wall because it's plagued my mind for days.

You snort, shaking your head as you walk down the hall, but you can't help the way your mind starts wandering. Maybe Rachel is right, was that your big moment? The story you'd pass down to your grandchildren once you got old enough that your filter had gone? "Yes, it's true, grandma had one crazy night with the Bruce Wayne." You shake your head, dispelling all thoughts of what might have happened had you not spent the whole lunch nervously poking at a way too overpriced plate of pasta and shoving your own foot in your mouth. Bruce—Mr. Wayne—clearly felt some kind of pity towards you that day. He was known for his charitableness, helping you score that holiday bonus and taking you out was just that—charity. You had to admit it was good press, a good headline to splash across the magazines he frequented. You could see it so clearly in your mind. BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY BRUCE WAYNE CHARMS BUMBLING SALES GIRL WITH LUXURY LUNCH! HEART OF GOLD, OR JUST ANOTHER PR STUNT? You sigh, the memory of his perfectly polite smile gnawing at you. He didn’t look uncomfortable, though. If anything, he seemed...amused. Not in the cruel, condescending way you feared, but in the same way someone might look at a puppy struggling to climb a too-tall staircase. Endearing, maybe, but ultimately a fleeting novelty. It wasn’t like the Bruce—Mr. Wayne—was secretly harboring some deep, hidden interest in you. He’d paid for lunch, helped you out with a well-placed favor, and probably forgot about you the moment he left the restaurant. A man like him doesn't chase after someone like you. He chases after pretty trust fund babies, A-list actresses, supermodels. Not women working commission at Harrow & Bloom that live in broken down apartment complexes where there's only one elevator that's been out of order since you moved in. And honestly? That was fine. Better, even. You didn't need that kind of stress in your life, the stress of being thrown off the deep end and into the public eye all because you were photographed on your solemn walk of shame out of Wayne Manor. You were over it. Completely over it. That's what you tell yourself as your wrench the door open with a little more force than necessary and— And Bruce Wayne is on the other side, standing in the hallway of your shitty apartment complex in a perfectly pressed suit looking extremely out of place. Bruce Wayne is on the other side of your door. The door that you slam right back shut directly in his face just as he opens his mouth to speak. What the fuck?

kisses!

i know it's not wednesday anymore...but i'll tag some beloved mutuals anyway! sorry if you've been tagged already <3

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @elflutter @eupheme @javier-pena @raeinyourdreams @moonlight-prose @silverskyeline @superhoeva

#wip wednesday #tag you're all it #even though it isn't even wednesday #anymore #but still!#kisses #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #x men x reader #marvel x reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #batman x you #dc x reader #dc x you

75 notes · View notes

brattyfics · 2 months ago

Text

Swampbound II

Adla shot up from sleep, jolted by the sound of something heavy dragging outside. The old porch creaked under the weight, those worn boards groaning like they were telling her to stay inside. For a heartbeat, she thought it was just a remnant of a bad dream. But then it came again—slow, deliberate shuffling, as if someone was moving through the dark with purpose.

She kicked off the sheet, her bare feet gliding over the cool floorboards. Reaching for the shotgun, she crept to the window, quiet as a whisper in the night. Pulling the curtain back just a crack, she squinted into the gloom.

A figure loomed large, hunched over, moving as though it was in pain.

The wolf?

No, that shape was all wrong. Its movements were jerky, struggling to stay upright. Then she spotted it—clawed hands gripping the railing, barely managing to hold on. Her breath caught as the figure slumped, twisting and warping in a way that made her skin crawl.

The truth slammed into her, sharp and unforgiving.

This wasn’t just any wolf.

Adla tightened her grip on the shotgun, heart pounding in her chest. Every instinct told her to retreat, but something gnawed at her—a pull she couldn’t explain. The stories whispered through the town—tales of beastly protectors and vengeful spirits—had always danced at the edges of her mind, but tonight, with this strange presence lurking outside, those old myths felt like a warning.

Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just a man, and it sure as hell wasn’t just a wolf.

Fear gripped her as the shadow twisted, revealing the shape of a man. She blinked, praying to wake from a nightmare, but when her eyes opened, it was still there. The dried pool of blood pooling beneath him turned her stomach.

What kind of trouble had she stumbled into?

Piercing blue-green eyes, both wild and human, locked onto hers through the dim light. She gasped, every muscle screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The massive man raised one hand, then the other, pounding against the walls of her little house so insistently that the whole place rattled.

She flinched at the frantic banging, the noise shaking the thin window panes. It sounded desperate, but not dangerous. And then, through the chaos, she heard it—a rough voice, weak but clear enough to make her freeze in place. “Help me... please.”

Her instincts urged her to stay put, but that voice—it was broken, pleading. She bit her lip, torn between caution and compassion. She couldn’t rush headlong into a mess, but could she really turn away someone who was hurt?

Shifting her grip on the shotgun, she edged toward the door. "Who’s out there?" she called, her voice steady but low, trying to mask the tremor in her heart.

"Just need a place to catch my breath. I promise I won’t cause no trouble. I’m just trying to escape something that ain’t right. I ain’t gonna hurt you, I swear. Please, just let me in for a minute—I’m beggin’ you."

“Lord, have mercy...” Adla muttered under her breath, caught in a bind. She’d always prided herself on being sharp and cautious, but her heart? Too soft, too generous—sometimes for her own good. “What brought you all the way out here?” she asked, frustration creeping into her voice.

“A whole string of bad luck. If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn’t be standin’ here, believe me.” She shook her head, eyes on the lock, knowing this was the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Slowly, she twisted it open, pulling the door just wide enough to peek through the screen.

There he was—wolf turned man, bigger than any person she’d ever seen. His body, thick with muscle, seemed almost sculpted from stone, hard to ignore, even with the bruises and cuts marring his skin. He was bare as the day he was born, flaccid yet exuding a raw strength. She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze upward. He had a face that was almost too beautiful, framed by full lips and those captivating eyes. A fierce, primal energy radiated from him, pulling her in and sending a shiver down her spine.

Letting in a naked stranger was easily the most reckless thing she’d ever done.

He was hunched over, leaning against the front of her house like he was too weary to stand on his own. Each second felt like a battle for him, swaying as if the ground beneath him were unsteady. His eyes, weighed down with exhaustion and pain, locked onto hers, drawing her into a tug-of-war between caution and compassion. “You best not be thinkin’ I’m a fool,” Adla warned, flipping the lock on the screen door. He reached for the door, but then jerked his hand back, hissing as if he’d been bitten by a snake.

“What now?” she asked, her brow knitting in confusion as she took a cautious step back, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

“You gotta invite me in.” His voice was ragged, as if every word cost him. She frowned, not quite understanding—didn’t she already by opening the door?

“Come on in,” she finally said, stepping back with her shotgun still in hand, not fully trusting him yet. “Just don’t ruin my floor with all that blood.” He limped inside, his gaze never leaving hers, before collapsing clumsily into a chair in her kitchen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Adla asked, watching as his big hands explored his injuries, assessing the damage. He didn’t answer, too focused on his wounds.

“Hey!” she snapped, needing answers. If she was about to shelter some strange, naked wolf-man, she deserved to know what mess he was dragging to her door. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?” His gaze slid over her, assessing, and suddenly she felt exposed—the cool night air making her nipples pebble beneath her thin nightgown. Shifting uncomfortably, she caught his eyes snapping back to her face.

“Just passin' through. My cousin, Mike, and I ran into some trouble with the wrong crowd back in town. I got hurt, lost track of him, wandered off, and ended up here." He hissed, the twisting and turning only aggravating his injuries even more. "I'm just tryin’ to keep it together long enough to find him.”

“And what’s that gonna take? You getting yourself together?” Adla's skin prickled with unease, a warning that she had stumbled into something far beyond her understanding. She needed him out of her space and her life—pronto.

“You got any vinegar?” His voice rasped, dry as a corn husk.

“‘Course I do.” Adla replied, moving around the kitchen with purpose. Her hands worked quickly yet deliberately, keeping him in her line of sight. She set the bottle down on the table, her eyes sharp and filled with suspicion. “What’s that gonna do?”

“It’ll help me heal.” The words came out strained, frustration simmering beneath the surface, though it was clear he was in no shape to argue. She could feel his urgency, a mirror to her own—both of them itching to be rid of each other.

“What else you need?”

“Baking soda and cayenne powder.”

“That’s it?”

Adla raised an eyebrow but gathered the supplies anyway, her movements smooth but laced with tension. She reached for each item from the cupboard, swaying with practiced ease.

“Fresh garlic wouldn’t hurt, if you have it. Maybe some moonshine.”

She paused, lips pursed. Was he fixin’ to heal or cook?

In no time, her table was cluttered with mismatched items—baking soda, vinegar, garlic, cayenne. It looked more like the makings of some old root-worker’s brew than anything meant to patch up a man.

“Pour the vinegar first to clean it out,” Terry instructed, his voice steadier now despite the pain. “Then mix the soda and spices.” He reached for the garlic bulb, popping it open with one strong press, the sound cutting through the silence. She jumped at the display of casual strength. Just how strong was he?

“Please.” His tone softened, pulling her from her startled state.

Adla shot him a wary look, but something in his voice—a strange vulnerability beneath that tough exterior—made her hesitate. He wasn’t lying; she could feel it deep in her bones. Without a word, he grabbed one of the cloves and swallowed it whole.

With a slow breath, she set her shotgun by the counter, still close enough to grab if things took a turn. Her daddy would be turning in his grave if he knew she was doing this, but something about Terry had her ignoring every warning bell that usually rang loud and clear.

Standing behind him, she stared at the raw, twisted wounds crawling across his back, almost like vines. “Go on,” Terry grunted through clenched teeth.

Steadying herself, she poured the vinegar down his back, watching it stream over the jagged flesh and trickle down his long legs. Terry tensed, letting out a sharp hiss as the vinegar hit the open wounds. His skin bubbled, frothing where it met, as if fighting something deep within. Adla mixed the baking soda and cayenne in a bowl with water, then followed his instructions to spread the strange paste over his back.

She froze as she saw it—right before her eyes, the skin began pulling together, like unseen threads stitching him back together. It wasn’t fast, but it was happening, slowly mending him back to who he was.

Adla’s breath caught in her throat.

Magic wasn’t something she doubted—any Black woman raised out in the marsh knew better than to dismiss it—but seeing it unfold in her own kitchen? That was something else entirely. Her fingers twitched as she stepped back, eyes wide with awe and caution.

“Keep goin’.” Terry grit out, his voice rough but laced with urgency.

She rolled her eyes, cutting him a sharp look. “Mind how you talk to me, mister. You're in my house.”

Terry mirrored her, letting out an exasperated sigh and tapping his foot impatiently as she took another look at his injuries, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. His muscles tensed and flexed, discomfort rippling through him as the mixture worked its way into his wounds. Whatever it was doing, it sure wasn’t gentle. She caught him tilting the moonshine bottle to his lips, her eyes narrowing. So that’s what that was for. She bit her tongue, figuring now wasn’t the time to fuss about him treating her liquor like his own. He probably needed it more than she did right now.

She knelt to check his leg wounds, only to find herself face-to-face with his... package. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed it seemed to be swelling—whether from the pain, nervousness, or something else entirely, she didn’t know. Her gaze darted away just as quickly.

"Would some aloe help?" she asked, curiosity edging out any pretense of concern. The fabric of her gown grazed his bare skin as she stood, the warmth of her scent wrapping around him like a blanket. He drew in a deep breath and then his eyes fluttered shut.

“Nah, this’ll do,” Terry muttered, his jaw tightening as he shifted again, turning away from her. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the soft curve of her body just inches away igniting something primal within him. Every movement coiled his muscles tighter, and he fought to keep his breathing steady, hyper-aware of her scent wafting through the air.

Finally, she stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Rest’ll heal on its own. Thank you.” There was sincerity in his tone now, softer than before, though the longing still lingered in the air between them.

“What are you?” She asked softly, testing the waters. She didn’t mean any offense; under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair question.

Terry stiffened for a moment, then met her gaze. “Terry Richmond,” he said, a faint, strained smile flickering across his lips. “But what I am... well, that’s a bit more complicated. Some call me a shifter. I just call myself a survivor.”

“Survivor, huh?” she replied, running the dishrag over her bloody palms. The image of that massive wolf flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the thought that he could swallow her whole without a second thought. “Well, as long as you ain't tryin’ to survive off me, we’ll be alright.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Terry, deep and rough—an echo of a man who’d weathered too much. “Don’t worry, I’ve got enough on my plate without addin’ you to it.” He paused for a beat. “What they call you, miss?”

“Adla.”

That thing between them—the charge—was heavy and palpable, and Adla felt it coursing through the air like a summer storm, but she wasn’t about to act on it—at least, not yet. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Terry froze, his body going rigid, as if he sensed something dangerous lurking.

“Somebody’s comin’,” he muttered, forcing himself to his feet despite the visible pain.

“What are you talkin’ about? I don’t hear anything—” Adla’s voice trailed off as she moved to the window, squinting into the early dawn. Her breath caught when she saw a police cruiser creeping down the slick, muddy road. The lights were off, but the car moved deliberately, as if searching. Morning had crept up on her, the sky shifting from inky black to pale gray-blue, the sun just starting to break the horizon.

“It’s him,” Terry growled, his expression hardening with anger. He stood, wincing, but what stopped her cold was the intensity in his eyes—hungry, vengeful. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled, his words cold and laced with hatred.

Her pulse quickened, a dozen questions racing through her mind. Who? There were plenty of officers driving cruisers like that, but the way Terry spoke made it seem like he knew, like he could smell them.

“Hold on a minute,” she snapped, stepping closer to him and placing a hand firmly against his chest. “You just got back on your feet, and you sure as hell ain’t in any shape to fightin’.” She pushed against him gently, but with enough force to drive her point home. He winced, the pain breaking through his tough exterior.

“This is my house, my land, my rules. Sit down and keep quiet. I don’t need them knowing you’re here. You can get your revenge later—on your own time.”

Terry stared her down, jaw clenched, clearly battling with his pride. He was a man used to taking charge, not letting someone else handle his problems—especially not a woman. But Adla met his glare head-on, refusing to back down. They stood at an impasse, tension thick between them like the heavy air before a storm. She didn’t flinch; his size and predatory presence didn’t shake her, not after she’d pulled him back from death’s edge.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Adla grabbed her old housecoat from the hook by the door and pulled it on, tying it tightly around her waist. She shot one last glance at Terry—his wild, dangerous eyes still trained on her—before stepping out onto the porch, her bare feet meeting the wooden planks. The door clicked shut behind her, a barrier between him and whatever came next.

She marched toward the fast approaching car, steeling herself for what was coming.

Police Chief Sandy Burne rolled down his window, a scowl carved deep into his features.

“Good mornin’, Chief,” Adla greeted with a nod. He didn’t bother to return the courtesy, his eyes narrowing as he cut straight to business. “You seen anything strange out here lately?”

Well, yes. There’s a damn wolf man in my kitchen!

“No, sir.”

“You sure, gal?” His tone dripped with skepticism. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, holding steady before speaking again, her voice calm but firm. “Yes, I’m sure.”

This was the same tired routine they played whenever their paths crossed. Her daddy had taught her to show respect for the law—not because they earned it, but because they wielded the power to make her life hell, and that was especially true now that he was gone. She was a lone woman in this world, with no safety net outside her own grit.

“Ain't nobody been by? No strangers nosin' around or passin' through?” he pressed, his voice sharper than the edge of a rusty knife.

“No, sir,” she replied, holding his gaze steady, her heart pounding like a war drum. Terry, Jesse—neither were his concern. This part of the marsh was her domain.

Burne’s eyes locked onto hers—beady and treacherous. “Take a look at these pictures. You best be sure,” he warned, passing her sheets of sketches from his window. One was definitely Terry; she recognized him instantly. The other bore a resemblance too—slimmer but sharing the same wide nose and full lips. That must be the cousin he mentioned.

“I ain't seen either of those men,” She lied with a smile, handing the papers back to him. Turning on Terry would be easy, the safest thing to do, but she wouldn’t be complicit in whatever Burne was cooking up. He’d already gotten away with too much. Doubt flickered in the grey-haired man’s eyes. He knew she was lying; she could feel it.

“Alright then. I trust you’ll give me a holler if that changes.” Irritation crossed her face before she could mask it, like a storm cloud rolling in on a clear day. “You got somethin' better to be doing, girl?” There it was again, that single word dripping with the venom of prejudice. Her fist clenched at her sides.

Low growls rumbled from her kitchen, echoing past the porch and into the yard. Adla's heart raced. There was no way that brother was turning into a beast in her kitchen.

“What’s that noise?” Burne demanded.

“A dog,” she replied, keeping her voice casual. “Found him after the storm. Crawled up on my porch and wouldn’t leave. Felt sorry for him, so I let him in. Ain’t like he’s been alone in the house yet.” She prattled on as he swung open the door of his cruiser, stepping out with the confidence of a man with something to prove.

“I thought you said you didn’t see anything.”

“Just a dog,” she insisted, her heart racing as he prowled around her. If he made it to the porch and caught sight of the blood—

“Chief, we need you.” His radio crackled to life. “Got a report of a violent altercation happening over on Flower Street. It’s Mr. Simmons; the family is requesting you personally.”

Burne narrowed his eyes, his tone sharp as he stepped closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “Watch yourself with them dogs, especially the ones you don’t know. Get too close, and you might end up with fleas. You don’t want that, Ms. Bennett.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I find out you’re keeping secrets from me, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

She felt her teeth clench at the threat.

The growling continued, rising in a way that sent chills down her spine.

“I’ll call if I see anything worth mentioning.”

Burne gave her one last intense look before climbing back into his cruiser, kicking up mud as he drove off down the winding road. The nerve of that man! Anger simmered in her veins as she imagined him ripped apart, piece by piece. The sensation coursing through her felt electric, tingling deep in her bones like a storm brewing on the horizon.

She marched back into the house, her voice steady but firm. “You can rest and pull yourself together, but after that, you gotta leave, and don’t even think about coming back.”

Terry nodded, understanding the finality in her tone. As much as he wanted to jump into action against Burne, he wasn’t ready. He and Mike had stumbled into this trouble by underestimating Burne. If Terry was gonna get Mike back, he had to regain his strength, and that meant he needed to rest.

“Don’t move. I’ll find you something to wear,” Adla muttered, tugging a storage bag down from the top of the closet. Her fingers sifted through the men’s clothes she hadn’t had the heart to toss—each piece a remnant of her Daddy’s spirit, lingering like a ghost in her memories. The thought alone weighed heavy on her heart.

“Here,” she said, passing him some of her Daddy’s old things, the ghost of his scent still clinging to the fabric. Terry’s fingers grazed against hers, lingering just a moment too long before she turned away from him.

With a sigh, she led Terry to her childhood bedroom, gesturing to the too-small twin bed where she once dreamed of escaping this very life. No way was she inviting him into her own bed. That was a can of worms she feared would never close if she pried it open.

“Thanks,” Terry said softly, standing too close. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine, like he was weaving an unintentional spell. She shook off the feeling. “Ain’t no thing,” she replied, her tone casual but guarded. “Just get some rest. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

Sinking onto the plastic-covered sectional, she felt the crinkling beneath her as her mind raced. Thoughts tumbled over one another, tangled like the Spanish moss outside. Something about Terry being a shifter tugged at her like an old tune she couldn’t quite place—more than just town legends.

One thing was for sure: she’d never seen skin behave the way his had. That was a memory she’d never shake.

Jesse’s grandmother had been a healer, claiming she could cure anything as long as the healed soul accepted the consequences. That same woman brewed her soothing teas on nights when her father was away on the fishing boat, filling the gaps her mother left behind. As a child, Adla had believed in her magic without question. But the older she got, the more it felt like a fairytale—yet perhaps it had been right there all along, hidden in plain sight.

Minutes passed before loud, unmistakable snores broke through the fog of thoughts. Terry sounded every bit like the beast she knew he could become. Rising, she moved to close the cracked bedroom door. She didn’t trust him alone in her space, but the openness felt like it was clouding her ability to think clearly.

Glancing inside, her gaze roamed over his sleeping form. He lay stretched out, exuding a readiness even in slumber. Her eyes lingered on the defined veins in his arms, the ink marking his bicep.

He was undeniably attractive.

Terry hadn’t bothered to wear any of the shirts she’d given him; the faded sheets barely covered his waist. With each breath, his abs flexed, drawing her in closer. A rush of heat flooded her skin as her mind wandered to what lay just beneath those sheets. She felt like a trespasser in her own childhood bedroom—caught between the past and a present that dared her to let go.

Terry stirred as the door creaked open, a tired smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I don’t mind a little company while I dream.” He drawled, voice low and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he was her man, waiting for her to slip into bed beside him, not some stranger she'd only met a few hours ago.

She gasped, her face growing hot. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t tryin' to disturb you or nothin’.”

Terry sank deeper into the pillowcase that held her scent—a calming blend of saltwater and magnolias, with a hint of citrus underneath. She couldn’t deny how it felt seeing him there, laid out in her bed with his hands tucked behind his head like he belonged. And it was clear he liked it too. The thought stirred something deep inside her, intoxicating and undeniable.

“I just wanted to close the door, that’s all. You were snorin’ like a bear, and I—”

Her mouth hung open as he shifted on the bed, the sheets slipping down just enough to reveal more of his toned torso, the warm light from the window casting soft shadows across his skin.

“This here’s your house, your rules, don’t forget,” he teased, a playful edge to his tone but laced with something sharper.

The idea of climbing in beside him was oh-so-tempting. She’d never felt a heat like this pooling between her thighs, searing and intense. Adla had always feared falling in love, haunted by how losing her mother had shattered her father, but she had nothing against the thrill of hot flings. She loved the playful banter and the slow build to something deeper with a man. With Jesse, it took years to reach that point, but with Terry, the heat flared too quickly. He made her want to toss caution aside, and that sense of risk sent shivers down her spine.

“What do you take me for?” She shot back, one hand perched confidently on her hip.

He remembered how she’d pushed him earlier, bossing him around with that fierce spirit. He craved her fire, even if it meant getting burned. “A woman who knows how to take charge and go after what she wants. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there?”

He had that look about him—sure of himself, like a cat toying with a canary, or maybe a werewolf eyeing a Southern belle, ripe for the taking. "Quit playin' around with me." She turned to leave, but he caught her arm, pulling her down to the edge of the bed. She didn't fight him. "You ain’t scared, are you? Thinkin' I might just gobble you up?"

"Just caught off guard, that’s all." Her gaze lingered on his lips, like a wild cat reduced to a purring house cat. Heat pooled beneath her skin, making her feel as if she needed to shed layers. “I ain’t scared of you,” she insisted.

Terry’s soft, seductive smile shifted into a confident smirk. "You got no reason to be," he replied, leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around her. “I ain’t gon’ bite… ‘less you ask real polite.”

A deep pulse thrummed through her core, something fierce. She felt like prey, yet made no move to escape the gaze of her predator. His focus sharpened on the pulse in her neck, and he leaned in, his soft lips grazing her skin as her blood rushed to the surface. She trembled in his embrace. "Don’t you worry, Ms. Adla. You ain't asking for it... not yet."

She gasped as his warm tongue flicked out, pressing against her skin, meant to soothe, yet it sent her heart racing. “Please,” she breathed, torn between desire and confusion.

“Please what?” he asked, pulling back to meet her big brown eyes. She looked like a doll, wild curls escaping from beneath her scarf, the bright blooms of her nightgown drawing his gaze. Her soft curves were undeniable, making it nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away.

“Don’t devour me,” she whispered, the weight of her words thick with the understanding that she wouldn’t survive if he did. Already drowning in sorrow, she struggled with the truth that the supernatural was real and had come knocking at her door. Her mind raced back to Jesse's grandmother—wait, Jesse.

In an instant, she jolted out of his arms, springing up from the bed as if it had caught fire beneath her.

Terry watched her, a mix of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. Her chest rose and fell in quickened breaths, and he couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the quiet room. "You okay, there, sugar?"

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she replied quickly, her voice shaky. “I just... I gotta think.”

“You sure ‘bout that? You look a tad flustered to me.” Terry’s eyes danced with mischief as he grinned, leaning back against the tiny headboard like he owned the place.

Adla felt the tension crackle between them, electricity simmering in the air. “I’m not about to get caught up in whatever foolishness you’ve got goin’ on,” she declared, though her voice wavered, betraying the strength she wished she had.

“You’re already knee-deep in this swamp with me. Ain’t no runnin’ from that now.”