#past small town religious trauma

[abominable-space-they]

Sport Fishing

New Orleans Homicide Detective Will x Surgeon Hannibal. Hannigram meet at the art museum & are drawn irrevocably together whether it's good for them or not

[luvrgreyy]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, i

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 2.5k summary: small towns, small minds. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

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18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. religious themes, religious trauma, forced conformity, mentions of neglectful/abusive parents, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), spying on neighbor, alcohol consumption. there will be smut in future chapters.

a/n: wooooo i’m finally done!!! been working on this since late april/early may, and im so glad i get to finally show you guys what i’ve been working on these past few weeks. PS donations are super duper appreciated and they really motivate me to write more. <33

you disliked sundays. growing up, you had grown to dread those unfulfilling hours spent in church, but the early mornings were the worst.

your parents, staunch believers and church officials, had raised you on the principles of religious devotion, making it a non-negotiable start to each week.

your aversion to church was not born out of rebellion or a lack of faith, but rather, it stemmed from the fact that you've always been perceived as different. you were an outcast, a black sheep amidst a flock of white. the townsfolk, with their narrow-minded views and an unsatiated hunger for gossip, saw your eccentricity not as a unique characteristic to be celebrated, but as an anomaly to be scorned.

at first, your parents had brushed it off, attributing it to you having a rebellious phase. though the snide comments and complaints proved too much for them to ignore.

sunday dresses in demure pastel shades, polished mary janes, and a bible clutched in your hands became your uniform. they hoped that the facade would be enough to silence the wagging tongues. and with every layer of lace and propriety they added, they hoped to smother the you that didn't fit into their mold of perfection.

you’d frown every time you recalled the countless times you’d spend cooped up in the stale, stuffy church, the air thick with saccharine hymns and pious chatter. the suffocating confines of the pews made you yearn for any excuse to escape.

and yet, you would swallow down the discomfort, plaster a convincing smile on your face, and try to blend into the sea of devout worshippers.

despite your best efforts to conform, your parents' reprimands were a constant reminder of your shortcomings. "fix your dress," your mother would chide. "straighten your socks," your father would command, a sigh escaping his lips as he looked at your disheveled state. and always, always, "tidy your hair," would be their unanimous complaint, their hands reaching out to smooth your unruly locks into submission.

as the church bells tolling signaled the beginning of another soul-sucking service, a sense of dread would settle in your chest. the early mornings meant rising before the sun had even begun to paint the sky, where sleep still clung to your eyelids.

you reluctantly sit beside your parents, a sense of suffocation washing over you. the stagnant air, tinged with the scent of incense, felt heavy with the weight of forced piety. you’d force yourself to sit up, the yawns trapped in your throat, as bleary eyes strained to focus on the sermon droning on in front of you. the morning service continued as usual, blending into an excruciatingly tedious routine.

each and every time, you would silently count down the hours, minutes, and seconds until the final amen was uttered.

the minute the pastor would proclaim, "go in peace to love and serve the lord," you'd be out of your seat and trudging home with your parents.

the open sky, the whisper of the wind, and the rustling of leaves were your sanctuary.

the neighborhood filled with rows of neat, uniformly built houses, their well-kept lawns and identical facades creating a picture-perfect tableau of suburban tranquility.

however, a single house stood out like a sore thumb. it was a stark departure from the typical architectural sameness, unkempt front yard overrun with weeds and unruly foliage.

you scrunch your nose as your gaze settled on the eyesore, the lawns left untrimmed, windows grimy with neglect. but this sunday was different.

the old 'for sale' sign that had been staked it’s front yard for what seemed like forever had gone. in its place, a few boxes were piled haphazardly on the front porch.

“didn’t know we had new neighbors,” you’d mumble as you pass by the house.

you caught your parents exchanging glances before you’d hear your mother’s hushed tone. “something kennedy, heard some of the ladies from church talking ‘bout him.”

him? a man? you furrow your brow as you process the information. 'him', your mother had said. the new neighbor, was a man. curiosity gets the better of you. you make a mental note to peek out the window later and try to catch a glimpse of him.

“what’s he like?”

your inquiring tone is met with a grimace from your mother, her demeanor already reflecting her preconceived notions.

“not good.” her hand reaches out to adjust your skirt, her voice laced with a disapproving frown. “people like him are rude, uncouth, and quite.. unsavory.”

unsavory? what did that even mean? were they saying he was trouble? a delinquent?

your father merely grunts in agreement, his eyes fixated ahead, avoiding eye contact. “people like him ain’t meant to be in places like this,” he spat out.

"we don't want you talking to him, y'hear?" your father adds, his tone firm and reprimanding.

"he's nothing but trouble. the last thing we need is him rubbing off on you."

your mother chimes in, her tone echoing the sternness of your father. "we don't need you gettin' roped into any of his nonsense."

you let out a silent sigh as the conversation comes to an abrupt stop.

you reach home, the silence only broken by the faint clinking of keys as your father opens the door.

evening arrives, the afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, its rays of orange and red angling through your bedroom window. you're left with an hour before dinner to fill.

boredom claws at your skin, leaving you itchy and unsatisfied. you drag yourself out of bed, your feet sinking into the plush carpet. restless legs carry you to the front window, where you perch yourself on the sill, eyes scanning the neighboring yard. you squint, trying to make out any details through the dusty glass.

and then, you see him. leaning against the porch railing of his front door, he's lounging in a pair of faded jeans and a plain black t-shirt that hung loosely off his broad shoulders.

he stretched, his back arched, and let out a loud yawn. for a moment, you simply stared.

he's not what you were expecting. so different from the uptight men in your town. more relaxed, more casual. the loose-fitting clothes couldn't hide the defined muscles that rippled beneath his skin.

and as if sensing your gaze, his head snaps sideways to look at you. just for a second. his eyes, sterling blue, are locked onto yours.

you quickly duck behind the curtain, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

you couldn’t help it, really. you wait a few moments before peeking out again. hoping he didn’t see you, hoping he’d be gone.

you peer out the window once more. and he's still there. your heart skips a beat as your gaze meets his again. he raises an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. like he knows you've been watching him. you quickly drop down behind the curtain, cheeks burning crimson once more.

you spend the rest of the evening avoiding eye contact with your parents, the shame of being caught ogling the neighbor burning hot under your skin.

you can't focus on anything. television, chores, even dinner becomes an impossible task.

that night, you find yourself tossing and turning. thoughts of the neighbor cloud your mind. what was he doing just standing there? why did you get so flustered? sleep eludes you as you toss and turn. finally, in a fit of restlessness, you throw off the covers and slip out of bed. padding down the hallway in your nightgown, you pause outside your parents' bedroom door. the faint noise of their gentle snores drifts out.

continuing on, you make your way to the front window. pulling back the curtains, you peer out into the night. his house is dark, no signs of life. a gentle breeze stirs the leaves of the trees between the houses, causing the moonlight to dance across the lawn. you let the curtains fall back into place, a strange longing bubbling up inside you. what is wrong with you? you scold yourself. get some sleep. it's just your silly imagination running wild.

you wake up late, sunlight streaming in through the window. silence greets you, a rare treat with your parents having already left for work hours ago. stretching lazily, you sit up in bed and run your fingers through your tangled hair. yawning, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and pad downstairs.

you wander into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of cereal. as you eat, your gaze drifts to the window. the curtains billow gently in the morning breeze.

the idea comes to you as you're rinsing your cereal bowl. what if you baked him a welcome gift? a peace offering for spying on him like a creep? an excuse to see him again? yes, exactly that. it's a sweet gesture. a kind thing to do. you can apologize and introduce yourself properly.

you'll bake a batch and put them in a cute tin. that'll show him you're friendly, and apologetic. perfect!

you rummage through the kitchen cabinets, gathering up flour, sugar, eggs, and butter. the simple recipe is one your mother often makes. you follow the instructions, the repetitive motions of creaming and stirring calming your nerves. the aroma of baking cookies wafts through the house as you slide the tray into the oven. while you wait for them to cook, you grab a package of decorative bags from the pantry. filling one with the warm cookies, you tie the top shut with a twine bow.

you're dressed and ready to go by the time the cookies have cooled. a pale pink sundress with white floral embroidery adorns your small frame. the skirt hits just above your knees, while the straps hold up the bodice. your hair is pulled back into a half ponytail, a few strands framing your face. you look like a living doll. an adorable, innocent thing.

you slip on a pair of pink slippers you owned and snuck outside, keeping to the shadows as you make your way to his front door.

the cookies are pressed into your palm, the brown paper bag crinkling softly as you walk. your heart in your chest as you climb the steps to his front door.you take a deep breath, straightening your posture.

you ring the doorbell, shifting your weight from foot to foot. seconds tick by, and you ring again.

many moments pass. you begin to worry he's not home. just as you're about to turn and leave, the door swings open.

he stands before you, a towel draped around his shoulders, his chest still bare from showering. hair damp, he looks even more handsome than before. those piercing blue eyes meet yours, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

"can I help you?" his deep voice rumbles.

"hi, mister kennedy...i’m from next door. i, um..." you fumble, feeling stupid. "i saw you moving in yesterday and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“…and also to apologize for spying on you. I know it was really creepy and i’m sorry. these are just some cookies i baked to say hi and apologize.” you offer the bag, cheeks flushed.

he looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since opening the door. his expression softens, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "aw, thank you. that's real sweet of you." he takes the bag from your trembling hands, his fingers brushing against yours.

he pauses, studying your blushing face.

"so you're the one who's been peeking out that window, huh?” he pauses, peering inside the small bag. "chocolate chip, my favorite."

“yes, i'm really sorry. wasn’t trying to be weird or anything,”

“’ts fine, dollface. didn’t really mind that much,” his gaze drifts up to your face, studying you intently. "you wanna come in for a sec? i just got out of the shower but i can throw on some clothes,"

you hesitate for a moment. enter his home? now? it didn’t feel right. you shake your head, feeling silly. you're just here to apologize, right? get the cookies out of the way and go.

“you sure? i know the it’s a mess right now, but there's some drinks in the fridge if you want one."

it's not like he’s asking to come over for a date or anything, right? it's just being friendly. you chew on your bottom lip, looking unsure. entering his home feels like crossing a boundary. but he did invite you... and it does feel kind of weird to just stand on the porch.

"yeah, o-okay... just for a second,” you say finally, stepping over the threshold.

the interior is just as he described — a mess of boxes and random items not yet unpacked. but it doesn't feel unfriendly. he leads you to what appears to be a living room, gesturing for you to have a seat on the couch."i'll just go grab us some drinks," he says, heading towards the kitchen. “you drink beer?”

you shake your head. “no, thank you. i don’t drink.” you sit down on the couch, smoothing your skirt over your thighs. the cushions are still wrapped in plastic, giving them a slippery texture under you.

"alright, no worries. just juice or soda then." he returns a moment later, now fully clothed, with a can of beer and a glass filled with juice or soda or something. you can't quite see. you take a sip, feeling a bit more at ease as you sit on his couch. it's not as bad as you thought it'd be.

“thank you, mister kennedy.”

“just leon, please. callin’ me mister makes me sound old,” he plops down beside you, close enough that your arms touch. his thigh presses against yours. it feels intentional. you shift uncomfortably, trying to put a little space between you. this is getting way too cozy.

“right. sorry, leon.”

he chuckles, taking a swig of his beer. the two of you sit in silence for a minute, sipping your drinks. it's actually kind of nice, just sitting like this together. you find yourself gradually relaxing, too. before you know it, hours has passed.

you blink, surprised. where did the time go? you glance at the clock on the mantel.

“oh, it’s getting late, i should probably get going," you say, standing up abruptly.

“mhm, probably a good idea,” he stands up, towering over you.

“i’ll walk you out," his hand brushes against your lower back as he walks you to the door. the light touch sends a shiver down your spine. you feel his eyes on you as he sees you out. the air feels charged. you quickly scurry back home, feeling his eyes piercing the back of your head. and you don’t dare look back.

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[amourdivine]

୨ ♡ ୧ WHAT KIND OF PERSON ARE THEY?   ઉ   PAC

Hello, angels! I hope you're well. I'm bringing in another nosy type of reading. We'll look into who this person really is and if any advice comes up. If you liked this reading, please consider tipping me at @ amourdivinetarot@gmail.com via paypal! xo ♡

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HOW TO CHOOSE YOUR PILE.  take a few deep breaths and look at each picture separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later!

amourdivine 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content!

୨୧ PILE ONE

who is this person, deep down? two of cups ✧ the hermit ✧ judgement

This is someone who values meaningful, deep, soulful relationships. They do not crave the buzz of parties or endless chatting with strangers. They don't like small talk. Others may describe this person as an old soul, someone introspective and wise. Their friends turn to them for honest and sensible advice; they may be an older sibling, or someone who's seen as a role model in some type of way.

Unfortunately, this wisdom came at a cost. They have endured a thousand inner deaths in life. This person had to start over many, many times, but they always got back up. As strong as they are also loyal, they're mature and still believe in the magic of being surrounded by good people. Strong Virgo and Scorpio energy, given the cards you got.

It's likely they came from poverty or are enduring a financial loss at this moment in time. Since this person is hardworking and independent, I don't think you have anything to worry about - sadly or not, they're more than used to the weight of their shoulders.

Although they're not expressive with their emotions or thoughts, you can count on this person to be sincere. They seem heavily protected by something greater, something bigger. For most of you, this person is spiritual, but not religious. They're very private and you may have a hard time understanding them or figuring them out.

channeled words & songs: black and white, heavy as led, test of time, a drop of water, night of the soul, life path 7, seek solitude, "i'm always okay", read my mind by the killers, runaway horses, small towns.

quotes that remind me of this person

Tell me, Atlas. What is heavier: The world or its people's hearts? — Darshana Suresh.

I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses. — Friedrich Nietzsche.

Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me. — Sigmund Freud.

୨୧ PILE TWO

who is this person, deep down? five of swords ✧ the world ✧ the moon

Accomplished, but lonely. It's how this person feels as I shuffled. They have seen and known so much, but it came at the cost of their morals. This person holds many secrets - even from themselves. Nothing dark, but they do regret their ways at times. With how competitive and aggressive they can be, it's difficult for them to hold onto anything but their success.

They may be famous or well-known in some way. Renowned. A lawyer, a judge. Someone with a fair share of experience and authority in a certain field. But my God, how their words can hurt. Have you ever heard that the pen is mightier than the sword? Yeah, that's this person.

Even when they bask in the glory of being so accomplished, no one really knows this person. Not even themselves, as I said. They're scared of vulnerability, emotions and intimacy. They're scared of the things the Moon tries to show them: their deepest fears, the nightmares and past traumas they've tried to bury deep down.

Interestingly, despite the cards, I get heavy Aries energy. This person may be an Aries Moon, quite a complex placement to have. They're good at being logical and practical, good at the doing, at the speaking, but they don't have the time for people, for emotions... for friendship or family. Given their history, it's likely they shut themselves off from connections out of fear.

I don't think they're happy. They look happy, they look so beautiful, so otherworldly, but inside of them there's this urge for something else. Something more meaningful.

channeled words & songs: ambitchous, aries, sagittarius, "i want it i got it", "let my money talk", chest pains, life path 8 or 9, neon pink, overprotective, oh no! by marina, terrible love by the national, bank account.

quotes that remind me of this person

I live to succeed, not to please you or anyone else. — Marilyn Monroe.

My worst fear - that's anyone's worst fear - is to lose myself and become an empty person. And that happens a lot when you're very ambitious. — Marina Diamandis.

୨୧ PILE THREE

who is this person, deep down? two of pentacles ✧ the sun ✧ four of pentacles

What an interesting contradiction, it seems. The person on your mind is generous, extroverted and.. quite the busy bee. Their outer persona remind me of J-Hope from BTS, very caring and extroverted - someone who's got an infectious laugh, but despite his bubbly appearance, he's actually very caring and protective.

Although they may seen foolish, this person is anything but. They're quite careful and at times, intense. However, I don't think many people get to see this more serious and protective side of them. They seem guarded for the right reasons, because they know their heart is quite precious and too much of a good thing to be given away so easily.

It's possible they come off as brain-scattered or high maintenance to you, but they're genuine and one of their main purposes in life - whether they know it or not - is to bring joy to others. They're so good at it. It's not a party without this person, with or without alcohol, they know how to lighten up the mood and are an amazing team player.

It feels cheeky too. I think they like the dad jokes, the lighthearted atmosphere, but they know when to be serious. If I am to be honest, this person is an amazing partner (in case you're asking about a romantic interest) and an even more amazing friend. Someone who'll cheer you up and stick by your side through thick and thin. A very dear friend.

channeled words & songs: heart-shaped, light up a joint, weed, recreational drugs, easy breezy, life of the party by shawn mendes, 9 to 5, bisexual, lgbt+, rainbow, friend-shaped, dogs, cats, energetic, rap.

quotes that remind me of this person

The greatness of a man is not in how much wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.— Bob Marley.

You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it. — Robin Williams.

Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind. Always. — Unknown.

୨୧ PILE FOUR

who is this person, deep down? ace of cups ✧ ten of swords ✧ seven of cups ✧ the lovers

I feel like whoever you're asking about is in a brand new mode. They seem to be someone who was previously overburdened by their past. This person is in a major transformative phase, both physically and internally. They have endured so much, it's heartbreaking just thinking about it. I don't think they're very open about it though, at least, they weren't before.

Honestly, this person may have suffered from addiction, major losses or betrayal. They're getting back up after a period of darkness. Spirit's referencing their current phase more so than they actually are, because I believe they haven't yet fully come to really be who they are. They're shedding the person they had become, in order to be who they were meant to be.

They seek a new beginning, new friendships, good, better choices. It seems this path they're on has just begun, so they're a bit.. amazed at the options being offered. Still, this person wants to choose well for themselves and the people they love. They've regained a great love for the world. I feel filled with wonder, with enthusiasm for what's to come. Like anything and everything is possible.

Although they may seem immature, they've seen a lot. They've had to fight to survive through their worst and now, they're learning to let joy and love in. They've come to realize their power, the magic in who they are and learning to accept that this too shall pass. However, this person feels peaceful yet determined, broken yet healing, quite balanced in their aspects. A thinker and a feeler.

channeled words & songs: ego, healing, therapy, six of cups, innocence, yet to come by bts, mbti types, dancing in the dark by bruce springsteen, "a do-over", "maybe", shufflemancy, spiritual, 777, 333, psychedelics, hippie, hologram, offline, nature.

quotes that remind me of this person

I go to seek a Great Perhaps. That's why I'm going. So I don't have to wait until I die to start seeking a Great Perhaps. — John Green.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. — Steve Jobs.

I’ll rewrite this whole life and this time there’ll be so much love, you won’t be able to see beyond it. — Warsan Shire.

୨୧ PILE FIVE

who is this person, deep down? two of wands ✧ six of wands ✧ page of cups

A courageous, successful individual. This person has a lot of wanderlust. They are in love with life, in love with themselves, in love with the world. They like to be on the move, to party and be around other people they also admire.

However, they have an impulsive, non-committal side to them that is expressed mainly in the way they approach relationships, especially romantic wise. They have a fear of settling, so they're always on the go, on the search for the next best thing in every way. They may move a lot or have a different crush everyday. Although it isn't inherently bad, I think this person may come off as hard to pin down.

In reality, they're enthusiastic and ready to take on the world. They like the spotlight, they have big dreams too. It gives me Leo energy, in the way they love to be praised, to be adored. Depending on who you're asking, this may be polyamorous or they just enjoy being single and free. Many people describe this person as free-spirited and bold.

At times, their words and behaviors get the best of them. They're not good at keeping secrets and may have quite a temper when angered. They mean well, but there's a diva-like side to this person that can be egocentric or immature, since they've got a bit of a one track mind when it comes to their dreams. They're also very beautiful and they know it. It's also quite the ego boost to be around them - they love to give out compliments and flirt.

channeled words & songs: bisexual, "himbo", bucketlist, pinterest, clean girl era, "i want everything", poetry, interlude: shadow by bts, parallel universe, edm, party girl, wild, erratic, center of attention, instagram, social media influencer, blogger, barbie movie, hungry heart by bruce springsteen, rumors by ross lynch (this song started playing after i finished the section above! very relevant).

quotes that remind me of this person

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days. — Sylvia Plath.

I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles. — Audrey Hepburn.

amourdivine 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content!

DISCLAIMER. tarot is a divination tool, it’s not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i don’t take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. be mindful ♡

[dearunreliablenarrator]

I'm here, queer, and highly likely to disappear*; but here's a very unreliable introduction to this narrator.

Hi, I'm Saturn (for now at least, i think.)

I'm a black 20-something year old writer with a imagination that happens to be active at the wrong times. When I'm not writing, you'll find me struggling through classes and holding my cats in air jail for chewing on my clothes. and you probably thought a college dorm dryer was bad...

I often use music as a progression for my writing, using it to build the personality and lifes of my characters, cause I think you can tell a lot about a person with the type of music they listen to. This goes the same for food, whether they're cooking (or lack thereof), eating (which there'll a lot of and not just food), just for the sake of storytelling. Cause food can tell a story too!

You'll also see the use of Sims4 in these posts, there's nothing better to me than to be able to build my world from the ground up even if it is tedious. I often burnout myself out between both writing and building so its nice to be able to switch between the two! here's a small character visual as a start!

it's also nice to watch my characters evolve real time, they tend to outgrow some things faster than i can keep up.

As a current researching and scrappy practitioner, you will see hints of practical magic(k)/workings/information in my works. Influences from traditionally african american practices will be underlying themes in this world of mine; within my scope of course. How my characters navigate through a world that is both mundane and spiritual is something they'll have to overcome in all aspects; and how they affect future lives and timelines is all hanging on the fading tradition of storytelling.

follow, share, and embrace their stories; because there's only one way to keep them alive.

as for what i write or rather my niche: the unreliable multiverse

genres: (comp) (hist) (queer) romance, urban/southern horror, urban fantasy, and apocalyptic sci-fic.

topics/tropes: religious deconstruction, religious trauma, witchcraft (mundane, practical, scrappy, cultural, A(A)TRs.) anti-racism/racism,politics, social structure,found family, star-crossed lovers, childhood friends to lovers, ancestral/familial secrets, morally-grey protagonists,coming of age, the anti-christ, HEA, small town horror, mental illness/disorders, philosophy.

for some these topics may be a lot, and while i want my writing to be a source of escapism...fiction will always be influenced by reality, and that is something that will be in my writing (just not to the extremes), expect CW and TWs but they will not always be there.

CURRENT WIPs: the big three

Where The River Bends:

Bored of modern romance and her own life, Elaine Brown suffers from being a daydreaming, skeptical, hopeless romantic. In a plead to the Universe to grace her with a new addition to her routine, she finds herself stumbling into spell unlike her very own. Warren Soo has be dreaming of a life where days can feel like a breath of fresh air. When a random chance driven by his choices puts him in the space of unsuspecting Elaine, he can't help but be bewitched by the ease in which her days go by. Together, they navigate the modern world of romance with just the sprinkle of magic.

theme song

tag: #goddamnitsamson

Aletheia:

Sanctum, place of human design created to preserve those who survived the last of nature's destruction. When humanity was suddenly reckoned with the damage of over creation they are forced to pick between two things.

Stay or leave.

For those that had the ability to leave, Sanctum embraced them with open arms; promising a generational haven within their walls. Here, the people are communities; removed from the worries of past plagues and mortal insecurities. But all peace must follow order.

Questioning the world she's grown in , Emilia Porter has wanted to escape the stone boundary of Sanctum. Taking a chance to explore the land beyond, she registers for the Vanguard; the exploration and task forces that protect and serve the lasting stand of humanity.

Now away from the containing hands of those who seek perfection, she must weigh the truths; both tailored and unwritten.

theme song

tag: #findthetruthyouseek

Cherries Under The Sun:

A southern gothic horror that follows Grace Davis even in her dreams. Stuck in a constant cycle of despair, Grace often finds herself living in a loop of a forgotton past, wondering about the should've, would've, and could haves of her life. When her small college town of Marietta is shaken by a rise in missing cases, her hollow world soon becomes a flash of white papers and bloody lines. Now that her daily life of being ignored comes to halt and the lives of those around her are blurring together, they must now find a way to get their world back to normal. Before it is erased altogether.

theme song; intro; taglist

tag: #howsweettheesound

I don't know what else to put here, but that my characters are much like myself. Weird, witchy, creepy, romantic, sensitive,sarcastic, inquisitive (that's a big word for elmo), and a range of clumsy that only a handful of people can enjoy sooo...

IF you've found me or my wips to be interesting, please feel free to follow, ask a question or comment. Thanks for reading all this and from reader to another, create the book you've always wanted to see. Edison out!

i also don't really know how taglist work but if you wanna here's where to keep up! #theunreliableverse

1.* psst...you can find me and (to be)published works here!

[littlechaoticwitch]

Things I want to happen in Dead Boy Detectives Season 2

-Edwin and Crystal bonding over their grief about Niko's “death”. Both blame themselves for what happened and still have nightmares of Niko's body, so they turn to each other for comfort and a beautiful new bond is built between them. They're still catty and bitchy to each other, but in a more loving and playful way

-Maybe an unpopular opinion but I really don't want Payneland to get together in this season, purely from a narrative perspective. I would much prefer for Charles to slowly put the pieces together and realize he has been in love since that night in 1989, but confused those feelings for a strong friendship due to the rampant homophobia of the AIDS crisis and his own father being an asshole. It would make any future intimate moments with Edwin feel more special and carry so much more weight, especially since he KNOWS that Edwin is in love with him back, he just has to figure out what these feelings mean. Plus, the idea of him being all bashful and excited of being loved by TWO amazing people is good therapy for all the bullshit he had to deal with when he was alive, let my boy have that.

-Please please please let Charles get some closure on his past. As in he gets to haunt his murderers for an episode or stand up to his father, but that’s me wanting him to get some well-deserved revenge

-PLEASE give Crystal her own closure too! Personally, I would love to see her stand up to her parents and eventually cut them out of her life, but that's just me loving the narrative of cutting toxic parents out of your life. Also let her find a way to kill David because being buried underneath that damn tree isn't good enough for me

-Honestly we would to see an exploration of Edwin's family and the fact he was alive when the first world war happened. There could be a lot of unpacked trauma there (whether it's from the religious views of the time, societal expectations/pressures, or from his own parents) and how it shaped Edwin into the person we know now

-NIKO NEEDS TO RETURN (idk if she's a ghost or a demon or whatever now but she needs to come back and still be her bubbly self, I love her too much). My theory is that the Principal is her ancestor and her coming back could somehow link back to her father's death

-FLASHBACKS TO OLD CASES

-GALA EPISODE! No, listen, this only serves the purpose of getting to see them dressed up and the episode itself being pure shipping fuel

-More low-stake episodes, at least in the beginning

-More monsters-involved cases, such as vampires or dragons or werewolves. As someone with an unhealthy obsession with monsters, this would be a delight

-St Hilarion's being fucking burned to the ground (Crystal needs to do it, I will accept no other way)

-Esther Finch was such a fun antagonist for the first season, but I would want the next antagonist (regardless if they’re introduced in the second season or later on) to be a little more threatening. Still campy as fuck but maybe someone who has more of an active role in being an asshole. A demon would be a huge leap from a small-town witch who sacrificed young girls to stay youthful, so maybe a formerly-possessed psychic (which would parallel Crystal’s storyline) could work.

-And finally, the agency adopts a not-so-normal dog. While a ghost dog would make sense, it would be funnier if it was a hellhound or some kind of mythical creature they just picked up on a case. Niko wanted it so they could be more like Mystery Inc.

[jazziejax]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

Odessa Moore and Antoinette Benoit were best friends. Sisters in a way. Two girls with opposite personalities that were both raised together in the Catholic Church foster care system. After coming of age they moved away together, relying on each other to work through the trauma such a time brought them. But life away wasn’t any sweeter. They were struggling to stay afloat in the big city and the days were getting more miserable by the day.

And as if the great force up above answered their prayers, that only one continued to do, a letter was sent their way. A letter addressed to them from the church, asking if they would like to come back and help out the foster home for the summer, the death of Mother Martha taking a toll on the community. Pay and housing included. And after some careful consideration, the girl agreed, leaving behind the small life they created in the span of four years to go back home. A place that brought back terrible memories.

But things have changed in the past four years. There are new children within the home, better establishments within the town, a new church was added onto the old one and new people roamed the area. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

I just want to preface by saying that I mean no harm to any religion. I love and adore all religions, they are very important to my development as a person and to me as a person of faith. I just want to use this story as a way to explore religious trauma and controversial topics within some religions, while also adding some romance. I mean no harm whatsoever and if it’s too much of a problem, I have no issue with deleting the story. Trust me, I get it. There are some things I don’t like about people disrespecting religious groups. Thank you! <3

[themidnightcrimson]

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

[i-live-in-spite]

Summary: You get a case in your hometown, you haven’t been back for almost 10 years after you left when you were 18 to join the FBI academy. Your brother was not very happy to see your transition.

Pairing: Around season 5 Spencer Reid x Trans Male reader(He/They)

Genre: Angst w/ Comfort

Tw/Cw: Family argument/dysfunctional families, transphobia/homophobia, kinda “gory” with some details, talk of s3lf h@rm, platonic pairing but they are pinning for the other, normal violence of Criminal Minds, the Unsub targets queer people, religious talk/trauma, talk of ending one's life, use of the t slur(If I missed something please tell me)

Word Count: 2.7k

I knew that if I had just asked Hotch or Rossi to stay back or for time away from the case, they would have told me yes. After all, I’m  pretty much just a stand-in for Garcia on the ground. Just there in case she got overworked or she was busy on one search I could quickly pick up the task. But the BAU taking me on the field was still pretty rare, I know why I’m here even if all I can think about is leaving again.

I didn’t know even after 10 years of healing, the wounds could still be so fresh. The feeling of blood rushed down my arms as we passed by the stores from my childhood. Some buildings I couldn't recognize but hardly anything changed from the old small town I grew up in. 

I’m snapped from my thoughts when I feel Spencer’s hands on my shoulder, “I’m sorry could you repeat the question sir?” I snapped my eyes up to Rossi who was in the passenger seat as Derek drove.

“I was just asking if you knew of any hidden in the wall clubs who may..enjoy the same sex may go?” Rossi sounded as if he was afraid to say the wrong thing, which I could understand. I have always been open about my gender identity and how I have had male lovers, I really didn’t see why it had to be hidden. At least not to them, no the team was like family. Emily and Penelope aren’t as loud about it but they also didn’t hide it.

“Uh yea, if I remember correctly there is this, old salt cave that many would go to for..activities. Whether it’s still operational is another question, I would have to be able to get down there.” Rossi nods and I look away from Spencer’s gaze and the subtle look from Derek in the mirror.

When we got to the police station I hesitated opening the car door, a few quick memories flashing through my eyes. I take a deep breath before pushing the door open and going to the back to grab my computer bag, I feel Spencer’s hand on my shoulder, the other one gently rubbing the nape of my neck. I would typically find comfort in his light touches but my anxiety was running high, all I could do was curl up from his hands.

“I know something is wrong, is it because of the murders? Or the fact that this is a ‘special’ place to you?” I couldn’t stop a choked laugh from escaping and Spencer was quick to recover, “Maybe special didn’t quite express the right emotions. You are tied to this place, and you don’t like it. Why didn’t you ask to stay back?” His voice was soft, full of concern. 

“You don’t ask to stay back when we have cases in your hometown.” I look up, my voice having more of an edge than I would like. He sighs and grabs his bag before turning back to me, a serious expression taking over his normal goofy smile.

“Yes but I had an ok childhood. It’s one thing to be an outcast because I’m smart, you were an outcast because-” Hotch calls us over cutting Spencer off, “I’m just saying, we have different memories of childhood, you had more hate than you let on.” I never heard Spencer being tied to emotions in this way. He knew my past and I knew his, we held each other's scars close, refusing to let the past repeat. 

Spencer walks over to Hotch but I highly doubt that this conversation was over. I follow closely behind, keeping my head down. The station had the same bleach smell, my nose burned from the smell. Then the world seemed to crash when I heard his voice.

“Welcome in agents, we have a small meeting room y’all can use in the back.” The sound of my brother's voice made all my muscles freeze. Hotch shakes his hand, thanking him for the space and they start to talk a little more about the case. I go to the back and set up in a corner away from the door, this is gonna be the longest case in my life. 

As I continue my setup, I hear his whistle. “That’s some mighty fine computers you got there, but I was told y’all had a tech analyst back at Quantico.” I refused to look up from my keyboard as I continued to fidget with my settings to appear busy. 

It was Derek who finally spoke up, “Well we do, but the lovely little lady doesn’t always enjoy coming on the field and sometimes her work load is a little too much. So we bring him in and he helps on the ground.” My brother lets out a choked noise and even though he tried to whisper it was clear as day.

“That’s a boy? I mean i’ve seen my fair share of boys with long hair but that’s..damn near to the floor.” Derek sighs and expresses again I was in fact a boy, keeping out the fact I was trans. Which fills me with gratitude. “Damn well.. Okay. Nice to be working with you las.” 

His hand appeared in my face and I was slow to grab it. I felt his gaze on my freshly painted nails, it was just a simple black and white look. But I could feel the judgement of his gaze.

“Did you know that a handshake spreads more germs, it would be safer to kiss.” Spencer’s distraction makes me laugh, of course he had no idea that we were actually siblings or the fact my brother would rather live in hell than kiss another boy.

“And who are you?” I was thankful for the attention to be off of me, though I’m very much aware of the attitude that hides behind my brother's voice.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” Spencer waved a little uncomfortable. My brother looks him up and down before nodding.

“Well. Thank you for coming to look at the problem.” Spencer and Derek nod as my brother leaves and I finally let out the air in my lungs. Derek turns to me and sees the look of discomfort not fully leave my face.

“I typically try to keep the past the past, but the history between you and the sheriff?” I shift a little before looking down at the computer.

“Can't you see the family resemblance?” The boys are physically taken aback by this information. I smile awkwardly and get back to the set up of my computer. Neither of my fellow males spoke up after the statement, for once I’ve made the great Spencer Reid silent.

—-

“I need you to go to the cave, you are trusted there correct?” Hotch looks down at me as I gently play with my hands, a nervous habit I picked up from Spencer.

“I’m sure the older ones may remember me, I won't know for sure till I get down there though.” Hotch nods and scratches under his chin some.

“Would you be comfortable going alone or would you like someone to go with you?” I think for a minute, I would refuse to ask anyone from the local p.d. to join, but Emily or Spencer could be candidates. But Spencer is still getting over getting shot that him joining me is a hard no from me, even though he claims he was good to go. 

“Emily would be a good fit to join me.” Hotch nods and leaves to tell Emily about joining me. I didn’t hear the door open till my brother spoke.

“You look different now, since when did you turn into a boy?” My brother's voice was a little callous, the same tone he used when I told my family I planned on leaving.

“I have always been a boy, you and the others just refused to see it.” He scoffs and looks around to no one particularly, I still refused to turn to him.

“Oh I’m sorry miss ‘used to love dresses’, it’s kinda hard to think you were a ‘boy’ when you always dressed all pretty like.” 

“Because how I dress doesn’t define who I am,” I couldn’t stop my southern twang from coming through, something I fought to hide for a while. “, I’m very much aware that when I dress feminine people may see me as a girl. But also growin up here, if I dress like how I wanted to I would be shot on site. I’m not an idiot.”

My brother crosses his arms and I feel him staring me down. “So what, you put on a pair of pants and suddenly you were a boy? Is that really how easy it is? To erase the life mom gave you? To destroy the bridge you and dad had?”

“I would have died Evan!” I turn to him, rage clear on my face, “I would have killed myself. My only hope was my friends. Friends you belittled. Do you have any idea what that does to someone?” My brother laughs and his face hardens.

“And you do? Do they become the killers you chase down?”

“No Evan. They kill themselves, they do drugs, they hide every part of them because they can’t live any other way. I didn’t kill the little girl I was, I saved the little boy you tried to snuff out like a fire. I protected myself because the same people who were supposed to do it were the ones cutting me deeper than any of my blades do.” I took a step to him, the fire was clear behind his eyes. “Aren’t you proud? I changed my name. You can tell everyone I died in action. You have no connection to the man I am today. I may have to use extra means to make myself who I am but I am more of a man than you'll ever be.” 

Before he could say anything Emily walks in and tells me she’s ready. I grab my coat and walk out without another word being said.

—-

The next couple of days went on with my brother ignoring me, if he had anything to say he went to Hotch or Derek. Not that I really cared, but I knew the team could tell the tension between my brother and I was getting very heavy.

Spencer walks up to me with an iced coffee, he looked a little unsure of himself. “I remember one time you told me you preferred iced coffee, I went down to the local cafe and got you one.” I thank him softly and take a sip. “Are you okay with working on the case? I mean with your brother and openly gay people being targeted..”

“I’m okay Dr. Reid, I’m a tough cookie you know this.” He nods, tapping his hand on his arm.

“I’m aware of that but after the case I got shot, you were worried about me, I could hardly go pee without you commenting about how I needed my crutches.” His smile was genuine, I knew he truly loved that I cared enough to keep him up with doctor orders.

“It’s not my fault a certain FBI genius liked to test his limits, someone had to care for him.” I smile and he shuffles steps a little closer.

“And this genius wants to make sure you're not chewing off more than you can handle. You’re just as important to this team as Garcia or Morgan or me.” There was a hidden message behind his words, that I was important to him.

“The best thing I can do is work and stay away from my brother where I can. I’ll be okay pretty boy, I’ll be good. You won't even have to handcuff me.” Spencer’s face bloomed into a nice rose pink colour, he was always so easy to fluster. It was another thing that made him one of the cutest people I have ever met. Can stare at dismembered bodies, but can’t handle a compliment fully.

“I’m here for you, we all are. Don’t go somewhere you don’t think iIcan join. I’ll find you, and I'll bring you back.” His hands slowly grab my face, his eyes searching mine. But before we could do anything the door swung open.

“Garcia thinks we found our unsub.” Spencer nods and grabs his vest before turning back to me as Derek leaves.

“I mean it, I’ll follow you into any river, any ocean, any fires you think you have to handle alone.” And like that he was gone. I stayed by the phone waiting for any information that this person actually was our unsub. 

It wasn’t long before Emily was pushing the guy through the station spouting bullshit, saying the kids deserved it. I look at him, he looks back at me. 

“You some little tranny aren’t you. You cried over their deaths? They were gonna do it anyway, why not speed up the progress?” I just stare at him. I knew him, but I knew everyone here.

“Sir, all you’re doing is incriminating yourself. The gender of my agents are none of your concern. He doesn’t have to kill to make himself feel good.” Hotch pushes him forward, him having my back makes me tear up. “He’s not weak. He doesn’t push others around to make himself known. He is a man.” Hotch was pushing the UNSUB every time he would call me a he. 

Spencer shows up beside me, “We found a hair in his truck bed. It’s being analysed right now.” I nodded, his hand finding its way to the nape of my neck. “Hotch is correct, you aren’t..what he said. You’re strong and you’re the male you always knew you would be. You’re so strong being able to fight your way out of a town like this, with a family who did everything it could to keep you down.” All I could do was nod, I didn’t trust my voice.

By the night Hotch had everything he needed to prove this man did it, I started to pack up my stuff. “I will never understand you. Why did you tear it all down?”

I turn to Evan, annoyance clear on my face. “I tore down broken walls, I tore away the paint that hid the beautiful tile underneath. I am who I was always meant to be.” My brother started to talk but I cut him off, “I will never be your sister again, either accept it or stay out of my life.”

“You weren’t meant to be a boy though. You were born a girl, why can’t you understand?”

I take a step closer to him, “Your mind is one of the smartest things in the world, it’s not always connected to your body. Nerves can be damaged, emotions can be out of place. We live in a world where your next door neighbour murdered innocent kids because their brain didn’t match the way their body was. I bet deep down you wished we never caught him.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It started being your fault after I left how you continued to fill your brain with the idea that who I am was a choice, that the fact I like guys as a guy was something I just woke up and picked. When in reality it was you who drove me away.”

“You’re unnatural.” His fist was balled up and I knew we would never see eye to eye, not in this lifetime.

“Goodbye. Enjoy the wife, but I hope your kids never have to live in the fear I did.” I grab my bags and walk out the station. I fit my bags snuggle in their place as Emily turns to me.

“You know, the family isn’t just blood. The saying ‘blood runs thicker than water’ isn’t always true.” She offers me a small I’m sorry type of smile.

“Actually one of the earliest sayings of the quote was ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’, meaning your brother doesn’t have to be the brother you accept. We will always love you.” Spencer has a goofy smile, his knowledge of everything makes me feel better.

“And I will always love you.” Spencer can’t hold my eyes sensing the deeper meaning behind my words. Derek ruffled my hair and we started the long hours home.

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 12

read on ao3 (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 6k

Chapter 12: 'The Night We Met'

Juliet’s POV

Their food ran out that morning. 

Juliet sat huddled under a tree in the small patch of forest within the town they currently passed through, her teeth almost cracking as she bit into her remaining piece of jerky. She cringed as it slid down her throat, then swallowed some water and moved to stand, eager to continue their journey. 

She was brushing the dirt off of her trousers when a ziploc bag suddenly hit her torso and dropped to her feet. Juliet’s eyes shot up to Joel who stood against the tree opposite her, his hand still outstretched from his throw. Her eyebrows shot up and she reached down to pick up her gift. It was the last piece of Joel’s jerky. 

Juliet’s hand curled around the food like it was a piece of precious metal. “Thanks,” she whispered, still too shocked by Joel’s action to find other words. He just grunted in response and turned away from her. Juliet savoured the food this time, thankful for Joel’s curious gesture of kindness. 

Later, as the chilly morning transformed into the heavy heat of late afternoon, they made their way through the middle of town, hugging the sides of buildings they passed, fearful of any watchful eyes. Joel led the way, always a few steps ahead of her, no less and no more. He was careful to keep his distance while always making sure she remained close behind. It was maddening. Since the run in with Blake and his lackeys at the gas station a few days ago, Joel’s walls had shot straight back up again, not that they had ever faltered really. 

He refused to meet her eyes, always darting away from her intentional gaze. He was mad at her, Juliet was sure of it, he was unbelievably angry for the situation she got them in. Juliet had seen it in his eyes when he wiped that tear from her face, as if he was disgusted by her guilt. Now he couldn’t even look at her. 

Juliet reached her fingers up to her cheek.  She could still feel the warm brush of Joel’s careful touch. 

She winced. 

Juliet was always running from her past, it made sense that another part of it would catch up with her. Her time with Blake was torture, but necessary. She wouldn’t have made it across the country alone, she needed a group, a leader to clear the way. Juliet was barely a person three years ago when Blake had found her under that tree. The memory made her stumble, tripping on a cracked piece of pavement. Joel’s head turned so fast he didn’t have time to avoid her eyes. He blinked and looked away, his steps quickening. 

Juliet had spent the past couple days going over and over the events at the gas station. Guilt, anger and embarrassment swirled around inside her, a tornado churning in her gut. Her own bad luck and poor decision making forced Blake back into her life, for however brief a moment. Bile rose in her throat when she thought about how he had touched her in front of Joel, his fingers trailing memories down her shivering body. Joel must be so disgusted by her. He was probably sickened by the revelation of what she had done, what she had given, to get to Boston in the first place. 

Juliet didn’t even know why she cared, it’s not like Joel had to like her, or even respect her, to get her to her father. But it hurt, something inside her seized up at the thought of his judgement and the knowledge of his repulsion. 

Juliet stared down at her feet, her shame falling over her like a dark veil. 

…………………………………………………………….

“Uh, Joel?” Juliet called, her steps slowing as she looked up at the sky where dark grey clouds descended upon the town. They were on the outskirts now, shops and houses had slowly descended into deep patches of forest with minimal properties. 

Joel turned around to face her, stopping in the middle of the muddy path they crossed as he followed Juliet’s gaze to the storm clouds moving across the sky, dimming the light around them. Joel grunted at the sight. 

“We’ll keep movin’, don’t think it’ll come to much,” Joel decided as tilted his eyes back down to his feet and fiddled with the strap of his bag. Juliet was unconvinced, but she shrugged and motioned with her hand for Joel to continue his rigorous stride. 

Minutes later, the dark clouds had fully eclipsed any remaining light in the sky and Juliet felt the first drop of cold rain fall onto her head. The feeling instantly transported her body back to the night at the gas station, her clothes soaked through with the pouring rain while her skin had never felt hotter. Juliet shuddered. 

Another drop hit her head, then another, then the whole sky opened and rained down upon them. They staggered to a stop, mud already caking their boots. Joel cursed under his breath, his head moving to scan the path they walked, looking for any place they could take shelter. 

Joel began to jog towards a signpost at the end of their path, muddy water splashed against Juliet’s trousers as she followed. When they approached, Juliet used her hand to shield her eyes from the rain as she attempted to read the faded letters. 

“Highschool,” Joel shouted over the sound of the rain. “A mile that way,” he added, pointing to the road on their left. Juliet nodded and braced herself to run, they had to get out of this rain before it got any worse. She could already hear thunder echoing in the distance. 

………………………………………………………

When they approached the high school, Juliet stumbled to a stop, her mouth dropping open despite the rain rolling down her face. She had never seen a high school in real life before, only ever experiencing it through the old movies her and Ethan secretly watched. Joel’s steps pounded behind her as he approached her frozen form.

“What are you doin?” Joel bellowed, his hair was soaked, parts of it sticking to his damp forehead. His eyes blazed as he stared down at her, frantic and confused as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“It’s just like Scream!” Juliet explained, raising her voice over the pouring rain, still staring at the towering building they stood in front of.

“What?” Joel called over another crash of thunder, he was getting impatient now, not understanding why Juliet was so transfixed.

Juliet turned to him, blinking the rain off of her eyelashes. “Woodsboro High! It looks just like it,” she laughed, a look of pure amazement radiating from her face as her arm pointed towards the school. 

Surprise flickered across Joel’s features and for a brief moment his eyes softened as he met Juliet’s warm gaze. Lighting cracked in the distance and they blinked, severing the connection. Joel’s eyes were stone again.

“Don’t care what it looks like, we need to move,” he grumbled as he stepped in front of her and started jogging up the steps towards the school. 

Juliet’s ghost of a smile faded. 

When Joel reached the stop of the stairs he immediately moved towards the front doors, the wood had decayed badly, leaving severe cracks down the middle of the double doors. Joel’s hands gripped the handles and pushed hard. The doors opened and a cloud of dust poured out towards them before it was swallowed by the brutal downfall of rain. Joel stared down the dark hallway beyond the doors then swung his backpack around and took out his torch, banging it on his hand to get it started. Juliet copied his movements. 

Juliet began to feel a sense of fear settle across her cold skin. The last time she walked into an unknown building, she was ambushed. Juliet dreaded what she might find beyond those double doors. Her hand tightened around her touch and she looked behind her at the forest surrounding the school. The building was quite far out from the town but that didn’t mean they were the only ones to ever find it. Juliet’s eyes darted about the small courtyard, searching for any sign of people through the rain. 

Her head whipped back around when a large hand settled on her shoulder and dark eyes captured her gaze. Joel’s brows furrowed as he scanned her face, his hand didn’t leave her shoulder. The heat from his body scorched her skin, Juliet’s eyes fell closed as she inhaled the damp air and exhaled her panic. 

Her eyes opened at Joel’s hushed words: “Stay behind me and stay quiet,” he said with a soft voice as he removed his hand from Juliet’s shoulder. 

His hand flexed when it settled back against his thigh. 

Juliet took one more deep breath then nodded. This time, she was entering an unknown building with Joel by her side. She would be okay. 

…………………………………………………

They moved silently along the dark hallway, the harsh light from their torches bouncing off every wall. Juliet’s steps slowed every time her torch passed over a poster or a trophy cabinet, her fascination overpowering her fear. She couldn’t believe she was actually walking through the halls of a real high school. It was crumbling and every surface she passed was coated in twenty years worth of dust, but in Juliet’s mind, she had stepped into every 90s highschool movie she had ever watched. She could almost picture Sydney Prescott and Billy Loomis haunting every corner she passed. The storm raging outside was definitely not ideal, but if she had to hold up somewhere for the night, she was thankful to have the halls of a real highschool to explore. 

The longer they walked, the safer Juliet felt. Everything was practically untouched, there were some rooms nearer the entrance which were ransacked but the further they moved into the building, the school became a well preserved time capsule. For a moment, as she shined her torch into every room they passed, Juliet forgot why she was there. She forgot that a storm forced them into the school, she forgot why she was even travelling with Joel, she forgot what was waiting for her back home. Juliet allowed herself to be excited, to actually embrace the emotion without guilt. She was in a real high school with real classrooms and real desks and chairs and real pictures of real people. Juliet could almost imagine herself walking these halls with her books tucked against her chest, building up the courage to talk to the cute guy by her locker. Juliet would be too old for high school now but she wished her younger self was able to experience that beautiful normal life she had only seen on a blurry screen in Ethan’s basement. What would have been her favourite subject? What friends would she have had? What clubs would she have been a part of? A sudden rush to inspect every part of the building took over her. 

“Joel,” she whispered, her steps quickening to walk beside him. “I think we should split up, you scope out one side of the building, I do the other?” Juliet plotted, keeping her voice serious so Joel didn’t suspect her giddiness. 

“Absolutely not,” Joel instantly replied as he continued to stare straight ahead. “We stay together,” he added. 

Juliet knew from his tone not to argue, so she rolled her eyes and continued walking. 

“Do you think this place will have any food?” she asked after a moment, her stomach rumbling at the thought.  

“Maybe,” Joel said. “If we can find the teacher’s lounge, there might still be some cans of stuff,” he continued. 

“Teacher’s lounge,” Juliet whispered under her breath, tucking another bit of information about the building away in her mind. 

“How will we know once we’ve found it?” she asked, looking up at Joel. 

“It’ll have a bunch of sofas, maybe a kitchen,” Joel answered in his usual deep voice as he pointed his torch in another room they passed. 

“What about this one?” Juliet wondered as she walked into the room on their left, her torch braced in front of her, illuminating the space. 

“Shit, Juliet,” Joel cursed under his breath as he quickened his steps to catch up with her. 

“Wow, okay. I don’t see any sofas but look at all this,” she exclaimed, her voice a shocked whisper. 

Joel had caught up to her, his body now positioned behind her own as the light from his torch blended with hers and lit up the abundance of instruments surrounding the space. 

“Must’ve been a music room,” Joel marvelled while standing so close behind Juliet that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her head. Her body shivered in response. 

Juliet walked forward, out of Joel’s orbit, towards the piano at the back of the room. When she reached it, she sat down on the bench and tapped a couple random keys. It was horribly out of tune, of course. Juliet looked back at Joel who was now scanning the room with his torch, searching for any signs of trouble. Juliet wasn’t worried about anyone hearing them anymore, they had cleared enough of the building to calm her nerves and the sound of the storm roaring outside would mask their voices if anyone actually lurked in this school with them. Feeling emboldened by this realisation and the continuing thrill of being trapped inside a high school, Juliet made another attempt at testing Joel’s capacity for conversation. 

“Did you go to a high school?” Juliet asked, while tapping another couple keys with her pointer finger. 

Juliet could feel Joel’s eyes on her, his mind was most likely going back and forth on whether to answer. She remembered his words in that dark shop a few weeks ago: “we keep our histories to ourselves.” Juliet bit her lip as she waited for Joel to make his decision. 

“Yeah,” he finally responded, then looked away towards the collection of guitars that sat against the far wall. “Mostly everyone did,” he added. 

Juliet nodded, desperate to know more.

“What was it like? Did you have a favourite subject?” Juliet asked, the questions rushing from her in a single breath as her eyes locked on Joel’s back. 

Joel turned around to face her, giving her a once over before he moved back around to shine his torch on the guitars. His expression would have looked murderous to anyone who hadn’t spent a significant amount of time analysing the subtle changes in his hard features. Joel had looked at her with a curious expression, where the hard set of his jaw indicated more shock than anger. 

He waited a moment before replying, as though he was carefully considering each word of his answer. 

“Was busy,” he started as he reached his free hand out to hover over the head of the guitar. “And loud.”

“Didn’t have a favourite subject,” Joel finished after a moment, his voice becoming softer. His fingers now brushed against the strings of the guitar, emitting a soft sound into the still air.

“Music,” Juliet breathed. “Music was your favourite.” 

Joel stilled, his fingers frozen against the guitar strings as his head dipped to stare at his feet. He stood there in complete silence for several long seconds before he quickly turned around, his hand falling from the guitar as he walked towards Juliet, his torch facing the ground.  

“Yeah,” he said as he reached the piano and stared down at her. “Guess it was.” His voice was so low and quiet, the sound caused a shiver to glide across Juliet’s arms, under her jacket. 

Joel reached out his hand and gripped the corner of the piano, the weight of his grip and the white of his knuckles told Juliet that he was using the piano to stabilise himself. Or hold himself back. 

Joel’s eyes didn’t leave Juliet’s face as she built up the courage to meet his gaze. His stare was heavy, intimate, exposed. Juliet’s question had stripped back a layer of Joel’s emotional defence and his answer had created a visible crack in his armour. A slow breath escaped Juliet’s lips. 

“Do you play?” Juliet inquired, experimenting with Joel’s shaken defences, as her eyes left his face for a brief moment to gesture towards the guitars. When she looked back, she immediately found his dark gaze again. He was magnetic, Juliet was lost in Joel’s orbit again. 

Joel didn’t pause this time, his chin instantly dipped in response. 

“Do you?” he murmured as his eyes trailed down Juliet’s neck, along her arm and down to her trembling fingers still hovering over the piano keys. 

She nodded, “A little.” 

“Who taught you?” Joel questioned, his stare still latched onto her hands. 

The question struck Juliet like a blow to the chest. That rotten feeling in her stomach started to simmer, churning Juliet’s memories around. She swallowed, hard, the lump in her throat joining the mess in her gut. 

“My father,” she replied with a wince. 

Joel’s eyes flew up to meet Juliet’s and he squinted slightly, his eyebrows dipping when he noticed the expression on her face. Her features were tight, gripped by a painful reminder of her father’s pounding voice in her head and the blaze of pain across her knuckles every time she missed a note. Juliet squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her free hand, resting it on her lap, against the cold metal of her torch. 

“Sorry, bout’ your dad,” Joel murmured. 

Juliet’s eyes flashed open, meeting his curious gaze. Confusion pulsed through her body for several seconds before she remembered the lie she had told Joel: that her father was sick and that’s why she had to return home. Juliet released a heavy breath and transformed her expression into a startled sadness, then looked down at her hands so she didn’t have to meet Joel’s eyes again and see the concern that now radiated from his dark gaze. 

“Thanks,” Juliet whispered, then she stood up, wiping her hands on her trousers, severing the connection between her and Joel. 

“Hey, I think I see a kitchen over there. I’ll go check it out,” Juliet croaked out, injecting as much energy into her tone as she could and pointing her torch towards the doors across the room.

Juliet took off towards them, not waiting for Joel’s permission. Her eyes burned as tears threatened to blur her vision. Juliet shook her head, what the hell just happened? Joel had gone from refusing to meet her eyes for the past two days to standing so close to her that she could smell the rain dampening his clothes as he gripped her within his merciless stare.

“Don’t go where I can’t see you,” Joel called after her. Juliet just threw up a thumbs up before she swung open the wooden doors and entered the adjoining room. There was a fridge in front of her and some cupboards, and when she turned to the side Juliet realised that the room stretched far beyond the small kitchen area, with at least a dozen sofas dotted about. It looked like the teacher’s lounge Joel had mentioned, the music room must have been one of the entrances into it. 

Juliet went to the cupboards first, opening the doors, searching for anything resembling food. No luck. 

She sighed and gripped the edge of the counter to pull herself up, her knees stiff from all the walking over the past couple days. God, she missed that truck.  

Juliet gripped her torch tighter as she shined its bright light further into the room, her steps quiet as she weaved her way through the sofas and metal chairs, searching for more cupboards. Juliet thought she spotted one in the far corner so her steps quickened, hope filling her chest. When she reached the middle of the room, her foot snagged on the corner of a rug and she tripped. Her free hand flew towards the back of the nearest couch, stabilising herself. Juliet’s breaths were fast and rough, her heartbeat hammered against her chest as she looked down at what tripped her. The rug was folded over, revealing a square with a small hole along the edge closest to her. Juliet wiped her hand over her sweaty forehead and bent down before it, inspecting the strange piece of dark wood contrasting against the linoleum floor. 

It looked like a door. 

Juliet’s head turned behind her, searching for any signs of Joel coming her way. She knew he wouldn’t approve of what she was going to do, but she had to open it up, there could be food down there. Her stomach rumbled again. 

Juliet sat her torch down beside the door and hooked two fingers through the hole in the wood, then pressed her other hand against the floor to stabilise her as she pulled upwards. Eventually, the door popped open and Juliet shone her torch down the gaping hole in the floor. Cold air rushed from the space and chilled Juliet’s skin.

There was a metal ladder leading down to what looked like a store room at the bottom. Juliet angled her torch to scan the sides of the room, the light bleeding through the dust coated darkness below her. 

Her torch finally roamed over a structure against one of the walls and she realised with a gasp that it was a shelving unit. This looked promising. 

Juliet did another quick scan for any signs of Joel before she gripped the cold metal of the ladder and descended into the dark room, her torch between her teeth. She was almost certain that there wasn’t anything to worry about down there but she was still careful to keep her steps as quiet as possible. When she got to the bottom, Juliet placed her foot gingerly on the dirt covered stone floor, holding onto the ladder with one hand and moving her torch to her other so she could swing the light about before committing to her decision. 

The room was empty apart from the shelving units against the wall, so Juliet placed both feet firmly on the ground and strengthened her grip on her torch. On her walk over to the shelves, Juliet’s heart began to hammer again, hope and fear mingling together.

Maybe if she could find food, her guilt would ease a little and she could look at Joel again without seeing the repulsion in his eyes when Blake was wrapped around her. 

Juliet’s steps faltered at the memory. 

When she reached the shelves, her breath caught, there were boxes lining the bottom and inside were cans of food which were long since expired but some luckily didn’t have dents or bulges, meaning they were safe to eat. A smile threatened to appear on Juliet’s face.. She placed her torch in her mouth again and swung her backpack off her shoulders before stuffing as many as she could fit in the bag. She didn’t have enough space to take them all so she would have to go get Joel to carry more. Juliet reached for one more can to squeeze into her bag when her hand knocked against one of the boxes and a few cans tumbled to the ground at her feet, rolling in different directions. 

“Shit,” she whispered, cursing her own clumsiness. Juliet fastened her backpack and put it back on, flinching when one of the heavy straps pulled against her bad shoulder. She was trying to ease the weight a little when she heard it: a gargling, croaking sound. 

Juliet’s entire body seized up, her hands stilled on the strap she was fiddling with. Her legs were tree trunks rooted to the ground. Her breathing slowed, stopping altogether. She didn’t even dare to blink. 

She heard the sound, louder this time, getting closer. Juliet couldn’t figure out what direction it was coming from, she couldn’t decide which direction to run in. Then she heard it again, and she realised her mistake. The shelving unit wasn’t against a wall, it was the wall separating two parts of the same room. Meaning that whatever lay behind it had just heard Juliet drop those cans. 

Juliet’s fight or flight response finally kicked in and she made her choice: flight. Her legs gained their movement again and she stepped backwards, intending to take off towards the ladder. But of course, it wasn’t that easy. Juliet’s foot caught one of her dropped cans and she fell to the ground, the back of her head smacking against the stone floor with a disgusting cracking sound. 

Juliet’s worldview tilted, her torch had rolled somewhere across the room, its light pointed towards the ladder but had left her in total darkness. At least she knew where she was headed. 

She rolled her body to the side, intending to push herself up, but the weight of her backpack dragged her back down. The gargling was getting closer now, the infected behind the shelving unit was definitely aware of her and Juliet heard its body thumping towards the metal frame holding up the shelves of food. 

Juliet let out a frustrated moan, her head pounding as she rolled over again and used all the strength remaining in her arms to push herself off the stone floor. When she was on her feet, the dizziness washed over her and she stumbled, her hand fell to the shelves. She couldn’t move, it was like her brain wasn’t in control of her limbs anymore. She was operating in survival mode, her body was just desperately trying to keep her upright. 

Her caveman brain didn’t know about the infected now pressed against the other side of the shelving unit, rattling the structure. She jumped back, but not before the infected could grab hold of her arm, its decaying fingers attempting to tear into her flesh which was luckily covered by the material of her jacket. Juliet let out a blood curdling scream as her other hand tried to pry the infected’s arm away from her own, but she couldn’t get a good grip. Its flesh kept peeling off into her hand. 

The strategic part of her brain recovered and Juliet reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out her gun. But with only one shaky hand, she couldn’t get the safety off. So she did the next best thing and started pounding it against the infected’s arms, loosening them enough for Juliet to pull her arm free. 

The infected didn’t like that and pushed harder against the shelving unit, the strength it displayed was staggering in Juliet’s weakened state. She fumbled with the safety, finally flipping it off and started shooting. The infected had pushed against the structure so hard that the shelves started tipping towards Juliet, forcing her to stumble backwards but her feet kept staggering on the rolled cans. 

With the angle of the unit, the infected’s head was protected by a chunk of metal so Juliet could only shoot its torso, which didn’t seem to be doing much. Juliet was pretty sure her heart had stopped beating, such intense horror had seized her body as the infected’s hands kept clawing at her, just narrowly missing her face. She could feel hot tears start to burn down her cheeks. 

Juliet screamed when a strong arm gripped her shoulders and swung her backwards towards the ladder, kicking the fallen cans away. 

Joel had found her. 

Juliet was so lightheaded that her vision began to narrow as she backed herself against the wall and watched with tunnel vision as Joel moved forward and kicked the shelving unit with a strength Juliet could never mimic. It tipped backwards, pulling the infected down with it. Unfortunately, now that it was on the floor, the infected was able to crawl its way through the gap in the shelves and started to wriggle out of the rubble. 

Joel was prepared for it. Two shots later, the infected was on the ground again. It’s body completely still. 

Joel didn’t say a word, he just rushed towards Juliet. He bent down to pick up her torch and shove it in his pocket, then he gripped her by the shoulders and practically dragged her up the metal ladders. The pain in Juliet’s head was unbearable, white hot fire had consumed the whole back of her skull, darkening her vision again as Joel pushed her back up into the teacher’s lounge and rolled her body onto the floor next to the trapdoor. 

Juliet’s eyes were closed but she heard Joel slam the door shut and drag one of the couches over to cover it. 

Then his hands were on her. 

“Are you hurt? Did it get you?” Joel asked frantically, his voice thundering around her. 

Juliet couldn’t answer, her words didn’t exist anymore. She just moaned in response. 

Joel’s hands found their way down her arms, her legs, across her chest, searching for any bites. His touch was quick, clinical, frenzied. 

“Juliet, fuck. Baby you gotta answer me,” Joel demanded, his voice dangerously soft as his hands cupped her cheeks stained with hot tears.

“My head,” Juliet moaned, reaching her hands up to grip Joel’s wrists. 

Juliet heard Joel’s sharp intake of breath as he slid one of his hands to the back of her skull and felt the hot wetness sticking to her hair. 

“Tripped over one of the cans, smacked my head against the ground,” Juliet explained, her voice a croaky whisper. 

“You’re not hurt anywhere else?” Joel questioned.

Juliet’s mind immediately went to her arm and the feeling of the infected’s grip. She lifted her arm up and Joel caught it, his touch was so gentle. He slowly peeled back her sleeve and Juliet heard his breath catch in his throat. 

What was left of her mind began to spiral. She didn’t remember the infected biting her but what if that’s what Joel just saw on her wrist? What if the infected had bit her without her knowing? What if this was it? Was this where she would die? Would Joel put her down or would she have to do it herself? 

Juliet’s heart started to pound against her chest, her breaths came out short and ragged. 

“You’re fine,” Joel soothed. “Just some major bruising but no bites,” he confirmed, sensing her panic. 

A tear leaked out of the corner of her closed eyes and a sob left her mouth. 

“I need to get you up, get you onto one of the couches,” Joel informed her. 

“I’ll do it,” she said, moving to sit up despite the pain still radiating through her head with another harsh wave of dizziness. 

“Don’t even think bout’ it,” Joel cautioned, as he slipped his arms under Juliet’s limp body and stood up, groaning as he tucked her against his chest. 

He moved her to a couch up the back corner, far away from the trap door, and set his torch on the table next to it to provide some light. Once Juliet was on the couch and her backpack was on the floor, he helped her sit up, positioning her back upright against the cushion of the couch. Juliet suspected that he was fearful that she would fall asleep, she remembered Ethan talking about how dangerous it was for people with concussions to sleep straight away. Juliet tried to blink away the tiredness clinging to her eyes. 

When she opened her eyes properly again, they immediately landed on Joel's face. He sat on the table in front of her, his hard gaze scanning her body again, seemingly unconvinced that she was otherwise uninjured. When he met Juliet’s detached stare, his jaw hardened and his hands clenched against his dark jeans. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just wanted to find us some food -”

Joel raised his hand, silencing Juliet’s explanation. 

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” he challenged, his voice low. “Could’ve got yourself killed,” he continued, shaking his head. 

Juliet’s chest tightened at his harsh words, she blinked and looked down at her hands. “I know” she replied, not meeting Joel’s eyes. 

Without warning, Joel stood up, now towering over Juliet’s seated form. 

“No, you don’t,” he seethed. “Or maybe you do, but you just don’t care.”  

Juliet stilled, the shock of Joel’s words attacked the remaining energy in her body, draining her of any will to argue back. Juliet didn’t want to admit it, but Joel was right. 

Shame consumed her. Her decisions lately had been reckless, idiotic, doing things she would never have imagined back in the QZ, when her life was still her own. Separating from Joel, letting her rage control her decisions, getting herself shot. Juliet had left her self-preservation back in the dining room of her QZ apartment with her father’s letter. 

Juliet squeezed her hands together as her face began to burn, blood simmering under her skin. Her reckless actions didn’t bother her, but every time, it was Joel who was left to pick up the pieces. Guilt lay heavy on her chest. She couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“I know” Juliet breathed. “You’re right.”

Joel sighed and shifted his stance. 

“If I’m gonna get you there, you gotta work with me,” Joel pleaded, moving to run a hand over his face, his eyes refusing to leave Juliet’s still form on the couch. 

“I can’t see you get hurt again,” Joel murmured, his palm muffling his words. 

Juliet felt something inside her crack at the sound of Joel’s gentle pleading. It almost sounded like he cared. Joel’s concern was such a foreign concept that Juliet instantly went into denial. She had given him a mission, a goal, and he was only trying to complete that. Joel would drop Juliet at her father’s, get his supplies, then go save his brother. If Juliet died, then he didn’t get his supplies. 

Joel was only protecting his investment. 

Juliet allowed herself to wallow in the reality of her situation for several moments before she tilted her chin up to meet the eyes of the man who couldn’t look away. 

“You won’t have to, I promise,” she whispered. 

Joel held her stare, a muscle jumping in his jaw, then he nodded and moved to sit next to her on the couch. Juliet shifted over to give him some more room, another wave of dizziness washing over her as she did so. 

“Careful,” Joel breathed, his hand hovering over her head for a second before moving back to his lap, his hand flexing once more. 

The air felt heavy, unspoken words floating between them. Juliet’s stomach rumbled again. 

“Don’t you want to see what I got us?” Juliet asked, a tiny bolt of excitement flooding back through her. 

Joel raised an eyebrow. 

“Take a look,” Juliet said, gesturing towards her bag on the floor, a sly smile approaching her mouth. 

Joel held her gaze as he reached below them and pulled her heavy backpack onto his lap without effort. The quiet reminder of Joel’s strength made Juliet shift on her seat, a blush darkening her cheeks again. 

She watched as he opened it up and pulled out a can of semi-edible food. His eyes met Juliet’s,  a look of reluctant approval warmed his face, Juliet bit her lip to keep a smile from forming. 

“So?” Juliet asked, a playful mischief dancing in her eyes.

Joel caught on and rolled his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he breathed out the tension in his body.

“You did good,” he murmured. 

The smile that had been threatening Juliet’s face all day finally took over. 

Joel’s body froze. His eyes widened. Then the corner of his lip curled slightly and Juliet’s whole face beamed. 

They sat like that for a moment, both Joel and Juliet refusing to release each other from the grip of their mutual gazes. 

“So, is it everything you hoped for?” Joel asked after a long moment, his voice deeper than usual. 

Juliet tilted her head to the side, confused.

“Is what?” she replied, her own question sounded far away to her ears. 

Joel reached a hand up and gestured around them. “The highschool,” he confirmed in a hushed tone. 

Juliet’s smile hadn’t faltered, she was beginning to think it was a side effect of the probable concussion she had. But the more she looked at Joel, the wider her smile grew. 

She nodded, not breaking eye contact. 

“It’s perfect.”

-----------------------------------------

@ilovemybrown-eyedbabygirl @amyispxnk

[whumpshaped]

would you ever write a vampire with catholic beliefs? Who is struggling between his beliefs and his reality? 🍬🧠🍬🧠 I forgot my zip mouth emoji...Idk where it is...

so originally i wanted to write about isabella, but well, she's not a he, nor is she catholic (she's lutheran). so have this sad wet cat

tw vampire whumper/whumpee? i'm not sure what this man is- death, murder, religious themes, religious trauma, religious guilt, suicidal ideation, (self-imposed) starvation, self-blame, memory loss, abandonment, lady whumpee, noncon drugging, dehumanisation (of self)

It was cold when he awoke. The winter breeze bit into his twitchy body and made him curl up for a moment, but it paled in comparison to the ruthless hunger gnawing at his stomach.

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar scene, but recognising the terrain wasn't necessary for him to follow the scent of blood. It was all he could focus on, torn clothes and the cold long forgotten as he struggled to his feet and began following the trail.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

He wanted it. He needed it. He had to have it, no matter the cost.

He didn't have the presence of mind to stop and wonder about his heart that was no longer beating, nor the speed with which he was pursuing his prey. He didn't think about the fact that he could see all too well despite it being the middle of the night, he didn't even consider that normal people didn't usually hunt. Not in a town. Not like this.

He pounced on the man without hesitation. He pumped the body full of venom so he would be silent, then drank and drank and drank until–

"Holy shit," someone said quietly. Then, louder this time, "Holy shit. Vampire! There's a fucking vampire–"

He bolted before he could've heard the end of it. He didn't think about the man he left behind. He ran back to where he'd woken up, collapsing to the ground as soon as he got there. He felt exhausted, he felt... dead. More alive now that he'd had something to drink, but...

He lifted a hand and pressed it against his chest. Nothing. Of course, this should've been more than expected, having drained that poor man dry–

Oh dear. He'd likely killed someone.

His mind was reeling. He couldn't remember a thing from before waking up, but the past few minutes had already thrown him for a loop on their own. He was dead, a dead man walking, and he'd just killed someone. And another human had even seen him do it!

He tried to take a couple of deep breaths to ground himself, but the taste of blood in his mouth negated any effort he put in. He was a monster. He was a murderer. He was going to be hunted and killed.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The scent of blood clung to him like a ghost, and he desperately wished for a warm shower to get it off. Alas, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a discarded coat on the ground. He should at least look through that to see whether he could piece together who he used to be. He didn't even... remember his own name.

And where was his sire? The bloodthirsty monster who turned him into one of them? Had they not even waited for him to wake up? Had they not cared at all about the life they'd ruined?

Touching the coat brought back memories of his last minutes, the way the vampire had slipped it off his shoulders and threw it on the ground. He remembered being dazed and helpless, baring his neck for the demon to feast on. At the time, it seemed like the most important thing in the world, to be able to feed them.

He looked through the pockets and found an ID for Jude Flanagan, born 1998. The picture was... him? He gingerly touched his own face, as though his fingers could ever work as well as a mirror. Was he really the Jude on the card?

He was. His fingers brushed against the cloth of an eye patch, the same one the man on the photo was wearing. More memories flooded his mind: his mother calling him, his father yelling for him from downstairs, the priest scolding him.

Priest?

He found a Bible in the next pocket, a small one. He dropped it out of fear, afraid it would burn his hands like silver, but nothing happened. The book seemed harmless, apart from the implications it brought along.

He used to be a man of God.

"N-no... No, no, no, no. You were supposed to protect me," he choked out, picking up the Bible again. "How could You let this happen? How– how could a vampire– why would You let a vampire..."

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.

"I killed a man!" Jude cried. "First You deny me Heaven, and now– the temptation was all I had! I couldn't control it! I didn't see a way out!"

He curled up with the book in hand, sobbing like he was the one to be pitied. Like he was the victim and not the murderer, like he was deserving of any kind of sympathy.

"I didn't see a way," he repeated brokenly. "I didn't... I don't... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Please, forgive me..."

-

Jude never quite managed to get used to the hunger. Nor the isolation.

The abandoned shack he'd found was good for shelter, but it was not a luxury abode, and the little money he managed to scrape together every other evening while disguising himself as a human beggar was not enough for much. The coat had become his most prized possession along with all the treasures it held: the Bible, the rosary, and the wallet with all the documents.

He bought new things, too. Some soap so he could wash himself well enough in the river, some candles to combat the suffocating darkness. Every little thing was precious, bought with the goodwill of humans who didn't care to look too hard at the creature they were giving their change to.

Jude could've charmed them. He could've tricked someone into inviting him inside, and he could've enthralled them to let him stay. He could've lived a more comfortable life, with a soft bed, a clean bathtub, and a belly always full of the warmest blood.

But he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to take any of it.

He'd thought about getting a stake and finishing the job his sire had started. He wanted so badly to be put out of his misery, to be greeted with kindness and compassion at the pearly gates before being allowed in — but he didn't deserve that either. His life wasn't his own to take, and nor was his unlife. God would make that decision when He saw fit, and until then, Jude could do nothing but atone.

He took no blood from humans. He lived on the blood of pests and small woodland creatures; roadkill sometimes, when he got lucky. He hated killing anything, but at least it was allowed, or... or he hoped it was.

Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.

God had given the creatures to the humans, not the wretched monsters of the night. He could only hope and pray that his past humanity was something to be taken into consideration.

He was kneeling on the floor with his elbows resting on his borrowed bed, hands clasped together in prayer, when he caught the scent. A human. Was this the night he would finally be purged from the Earth? Or was the human the real owner of his makeshift home?

His stomach rumbled as the scent got stronger and stronger. His mouth was watering despite his best efforts to keep a level head, and he buried his face in the covers, trying to tune it out.

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.

Jude was shaking by the time the human reached the door of his temporary dwelling. He stayed on his knees and listened to the sounds of the lock being picked, preparing himself for the blessing that would be his permanent death.

If only he hadn't been starving. If only the human hadn't smelled so good.

But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

He lunged like a wild animal as soon as the door was pushed open. His fangs sank into the poor woman's neck easily, and she let out a groan as the venom took hold. Blood, so much blood, fresh, delicious, rich, so much better than the squirrels and rats–

Jude pulled back with a start, eyes wide with terror. No, no, no, not again, not again. He wiped his mouth and even his tongue with the back of his hand, trying to get rid of the proof of his sin. The woman was still alive, letting out soft sounds of satisfaction as she lay there.

Her neck was still bleeding. He ought to close the wounds.

Jude licked his lips, then took a step backwards. No, he wouldn't lick her. Hadn't he done enough damage? He could– he could find something to bandage her with–

In truth, he didn't trust himself. There was no telling whether he'd have the self-control to stop for a second time, were he to get that close to her neck again.

"Don't you want a little more?" she asked, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I'm still bleeding so much... You don't want to waste it, do you?"

There was a mask covering the lower half of her face, and judging from that and the all black attire, she must've been a hunter. This woman could've staked him. God had given him an out, and he'd let himself be blinded by his selfish hunger.

"I'm s-sorry," Jude stammered, quickly rummaging through all his belogings to find at least a band-aid. "I'll, I'll help you– I'll patch you up, I just need a moment–"

"Can't you lick the wounds closed?" She got to her feet and ventured further into the cabin, grabbing onto the back of his shirt to steady herself and making him flinch. "There's so much blood... Is the flavour not to your liking?"

Jude spun around, and found himself trapped between the wall and his victim. She pulled her mask down and gave him a smile, eyes sparkling with unabashed want.

"You don't want this," he choked out. The smell was so strong. She was so close. She was offering, if only because of the venom, but she was offering nonetheless.

"Oh, but I do. I want it so badly."

Jude stopped breathing entirely, closing his eyes for a moment to think. "What's your name?"

"Pia Gravenor, Master."

"D-don't call me that, please."

"I can call you whatever you want, sir, if you just spare me one more bite..." Jude's eyes snapped open when she grabbed his hand and guided it to the wound, pressing his fingers against her skin slick with blood. "The bleeding isn't stopping anyway..."

He swallowed hard, and her smile widened. She was so desperate for just a bit more venom. He could give that to her, and close the wound after. He could take just one more sip. Just one more.

He was leaning in before he could fully process that he was doing it, lapping up the spilled blood trickling down her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and kept him there, murmuring soft reassurances and pleas for him to bite again.

Please, forgive me. I'm so hungry. I've been hungry for so long.

Let me have a full meal, just this once.

~

link

[ocrpfinder]

really been wanting to do a small town romance plot lately😩🏹 20+ writer searching for other 18+ writers who are descriptive in their writings, enjoys talking ooc, and is willing to help bring all sorts of fun details to the plot, bonus points for someone who is patient! i am all these things as well so i hope for fun partners! i write MxF (where i play the female role), MxM, FxF pairings! never written with a trans or nonbinary character, but i could be talked into it :) ideas i'm looking for (ofc we can add on or change things, none of these are for certain): - character one left town to make it big in the city (actor, musician, military, hell UFC fighter, whatever you want) and has never wanted to come back but has to for xx reasons (family death, family member in hospital, etc, etc) only for them to run into the one person they didn't want to see again for xx reasons, their past lover. another idea that the character that stayed in town had the one who's left kid or maybe is taking care of their niece/nephew for xx reasons. - supernatural town possibly⁉️ vampires, werewolves, you name it - post apocalypse - religious trauma filled town - dark secrets - opposites attract, second chance, cheating/affairs, a/b/o single parent(s), secret romance, name any trope and i guarantee you i will eat it up i'm looking for a good amount of angst, fluff, nsfw, comfort, EVERYTHING! mostly rp on discord, can be convinced to stay on here possibly. i'll get to each like as soon as possible!🏹

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[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

“Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[inkofthebrain]

GLUTTONY

[Lee (Bones and All) x reader]

“The flesh endures the storms of the present alone; the mind, those of the past and future as well as the present. Gluttony is a lust of the mind.” - Thomas Hobbes

Tags: No Maren (sorry bae ily) Mentions of religion/religious trauma, drugs & alcohol, no use of y/n, blue truck lives, future series, more tags will be added, briefly proofread, Masterlist coming soon

Warnings: Typical Bones and All things

Previous Next (coming soon…)

Masterlist (coming soon)

Two———

The rugged sounds coming from the engine of the truck only alluded to what would, as Lee put it, be a problem we wouldn’t stick around long enough to see. As it sputtered and let out coughs your eyes attempted to follow the trees in the skyline but they whipped past faster than you count.

Lee’s hand rustled in the center console before soon enough his voice broke your focus.

“You smoke?” He held the cigarette between his lips, extending the box to you.

“Thank god” you sighed out, “I ran out miles ago.”

A chuckle left lee as he shook his head to the side,

“Yeah?”

You nodded your head as you pulled the stick out and put it between your lips before throwing the pack back at him.

“Light mine, I’m driving.'' Lee pointed at the road and balanced a zippo between his two fingers. Your fingers grazed his lanky cold ones as you grabbed it and flipped it open. First, you lit yours, then as Lee leaned over cocking his head closer, you put the flame to his. The click of the lighter closing left you satisfied.

“Thanks” you mumbled.

“For what? Making you light my dart?”

“For the ride”

“No problem” a silence fell upon you soon after as the road ahead continued to spit out behind you.

As you puffed on your cigarette you started to observe the strange boy next to you, he drummed on the steering wheel while you traced his tattoos with your eyes. His hair was a messy canopy over his head, occasionally readjusted by his hand.

“I can feel you staring” his voice broke the silence.

“Mhm.” You hummed, “you can tell a lot about a person by their mannerisms” you took a drag of your cigarette.

“Oh yeah?”

“You like rock music”

“Well no shit It’s playing on the radio, that’s too easy”

“You're tapping on the wheel, yeah? You’ve heard this song enough times to have the drums memorized” you pointed at the radio before pointing at his left leg, “and you have either skated a fuck ton or just are clumsy as shit because your knees are covered in scars”

He stared at the road silently before quickly turning to you.

“You’re fucking weird man” he said with laugh.

“We eat people, we are both weird” you quipped before turning back to the road.

“You hungry? God knows how long you’ve been walking” Lee asked, “looks like there’s a small town up ahead, we can stop n get a bite.”

“No money”

Lee let out a small tsk before brushing his hair back, “my treat?”

It almost sounded like a question, like he was asking you for a meal rather than buying you pity food. You liked the autonomy and kindness; and lord knows, you were hungry.

———

Want to join the Taglist? Just ask!

[cookies-and-mirrors]

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Twenty Five

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier, @faceless-mirror & @comforting-madness

Dividers by @samspenandsword @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Authors Note: Some smut, some anxiety, and still more revelations!

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, violence, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness

@missduffsblog @witchyweeb34 @spicywhenspeaking @lacktoesandtoddlerants @blackveilomens

@bngurngheart @dominuslunae @collapsedglasshouses @emmmm127 @sunsshinesunny

@latenightmusiclover @dontdiganothergravetoday @high-wire @awkwardalex

(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Twenty Five

Ricky let out a yelp as he was scooped up, draping over him with wide eyes as he looked towards him with big eyes, “Baby boy? Baby-” he sighed, “Baby- slow- slow down- baby-?” he requested with big blue eyes, “Baby- you’re moving so fast I’m getting motion sick- slow down please-” Ricky gagged.

Justin growled a little, to him, he hadn’t been walking fast at all, but considering his height, and his steps, they were large, he supposed, so he consciously slowed down as he approached the apartment. Ricky leaned into his chest and kissed his cheek. 

“I hope you realise I was just trying to make him laugh.” Ricky murmured, wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling his throat gently and lovingly.

“I know.” Nodding, did he though because, well, it was an angel thing sometimes, wasn’t it… Every angel he’d ever met always wanted Ryan… Justin was used to people wanting to deal with Ryan, or Chris, for any reason more than they ever wanted to deal with him, and not just this. So Ricky teasing Ryan for to get him to… No… No, he didn’t.

“You want more cake? Chris seems to have Vinny distracted today, I can probably sneak you more.” That seemed to what Ricky had wanted before when he’d been mad at him.

Ricky sighed and pulled him down into a deep kiss, he still tasted of fudge and rich chocolate with lingering orange. He cupped his face. “Make me all yours. That's what I want…”

Justin kissed Ricky back, long and slow, just letting the touch of his lips wash over him, remind him that this was his mate. Ryan had his mate, even if, if Ryan didn’t even seem to want his mate anymore, he couldn’t have Justin’s, not right now. Justin’s hands grasped a little, pulling Ricky a little closer with a sigh. “Yea?”

The small nephilim nodded, “Baby… make sure everyone knows…” he breathed softly, arms around his shoulders as he kissed him softly and lovingly. Long black hair draped over his narrow shoulders as he leaned up to kiss him.

Make sure everyone knows, “Oh Daddy, as much as I’m sure you want that already…” Something he knew Ryan probably wouldn’t hesitate to give him if he asked for it, he was pregnant… “I don’t want to hurt the babies, and let's face it, Chris broke the bed.” Justin’s eyes went wide, so if he were to let himself just go, who was to tell what would happen to Ricky’s bed.

“I want you to take control, Justin. I want to see what you like.”

Justin blinked at him for a moment, “I, what? Daddy, I like you, what do you mean what I like?” His hands on Ricky’s waist from when he’d pulled him closer squeezed lightly, his eyes so freaking wide. 

“Baby, we’ve only done stuff I like in the bedroom… what do you like?” he asked softly petting his cheek softly, “I want to see what you like when we have sex.” he whispered kissing him again softly, kissing down his neck softly to place soft kisses on his chest.

The tall gargoyle keened a little at the kisses down his neck, to his chest over his thin shirt. It was quite a bit different to the military garb, even though he still had more than a few weapons on him. His swords were, however, kept safe in the rectory for when he was getting ready for patrol. Did Ricky not think he enjoyed everything they did? Oh, the way he’d fucked him, he’d even let him fuck him, and he didn’t do that often.

“I’m not usually the one in charge. I don’t, make the choices. You’ve not done anything I haven’t liked, and Rick, I-” As much as he wanted to let loose, he was afraid of what he could do. But there was also, “I like it when you are in control.”

The nephilim smiled, “There has to be things you've thought about…?” he murmured, kissing his shoulder gently. “I just want to be close to you right now.”

“What I’m thinking about I don’t feel safe doing to you until you aren’t pregnant anymore because it's going to break the bed. In so many ways. But hopefully not you because that would make me feel awful.” Justin’s face going all kinds of flush just thinking about it if that were to happen. “I’m going to be honest, you’ve probably tried a lot more with sex than I have because, well, we always had to patrol, and training. We were lucky if we got to have quickies after battle, or before sunrise occasionally. Trying anything else, I don’t really know what there is to try. Those things you showed me, you used one to fuck me with, I don’t even know what they’re called.” 

Ricky smiled and pet his cheek. “Baby boy- I have an idea of what to do.” he murmured pulling him to the bed and sat down pulling out his phone, “Let’s watch some different porn… and we’ll see what you like from that, and we can try some of those things.”

Justin looked at Ricky for a second, he’s heard about porn, patrols on the street, middle of the night with teenagers, homeless or not, he’d heard about porn. He had, but knowing explicitly what it was? Not exactly. “But… but what’s porn for?”

“It’s supposed to help people get turned on, help with bedroom ideas, or experience things in 3rd person you’re not ready to try in person.” Ricky explained, pulling up his phone and dragged him to the bedroom, “I used to watch it to help me kinda figure out what I like. So… we have options.” He continued.

Turn people on, there were people who needed help getting turned on? Justin looked over at Ricky in alarm for a moment because seriously, all he had to do was think about Ricky and sex, and he was good to go, no questions asked. Though, the part about bedroom ideas… “I supposed the bedroom ideas part is valid.” Justin mused following along as his mate was pulling him along when he pulled his phone out. “Wait, we’re not going to watch on the TV? Isn’t the screen bigger? Wouldn’t we be able to see it better?”

“We can watch it in my room, I have the TV set up for it for when I had dry nights… now it's just a fun bedroom toy.” He mused darkly, showing he had… A few ideas in his pretty head.

As soon as Justin and Ricky were alone, Ricky was stripping both of them, giving Justin a few reassuring kisses, as he opened the app on his phone to cast to the TV. He smiled having Justin sit. “Do you want to see one of my favorites?” He asked softly.

The gargoyle eagerly sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide, glancing at the television, just wondering what could be in these favorite porn videos. So curious now, running his tongue over his lips as he licked them slightly, his cock twitching already and Ricky hadn’t even started the first one… “Yes, yes please.”

He smirked and pressed play. A trans man was sitting on his subs face, encouraging the much larger man to eat up. Meanwhile, Ricky crawled behind him, laying over his back with a deep rumble in his chest, hands ghosting down over his chest.

Justin sat up straight the moment that one came on, oh, he liked that, along with the way Ricky’s hands running over his chest, leaning back against him some. He groaned softly at the sight on the screen, watching the two men, swallowing, “I, I like this.”

Ricky chuckled softly, marking Justin’s shoulder lightly, showing him a few more of a man where he was watching porn and unable to move being used as a dildo. “Have you ever eaten someone out before?” He whispered. A strangled sound escaped the gargoyle at the question as Ricky made him watch the video, not even able to consider answering, his eyes just glued to the screen for the moment, watching the man being used like that. 

Finally coming to the end of the video with a start, Justin, shuddered, not even sure what the question had been, “I uh, what, what, Daddy?”

“Have you eaten someone out before, baby?” He asked, kissing his neck, dragging his nails over his chest lightly and playful. “Do you wanna bury your face between daddy's legs and make him feel good?”

Had he? Maybe. Was he going to say when and how, not on your life… Not when he knew more than Ricky could hear him, and he wasn’t sure where he stood between Chris, and his and his bond with Chenza. He was going to become a father, admitting to his mate he ate out his best friend back when she’d been a gargoyle might be a bit much, he thinks. Not to mention because Chris couldn’t anymore, and that had to be a sensitive subject right now, that was something Justin wasn’t entirely obtuse to. 

“By the angels, please, I want to… Daddy, smother me.”

He smiled, and pulled Justin to lay back, straddling his head and smiled, playing with his green hair. “Show daddy how excited you are, Baby.” He purred, grinding against his lips and face slowly.

Hands ran up over Ricky’s thighs as he straddled his head, groaning as he looked up at him, enjoying how his fingers ran through the strands of his hair. Licking up against his skin, his tongue running up along his folds, with a moan, lapping at him. His fingers gripped at his thighs, holding onto him tightly, not remotely wanting to let go as Ricky ground down against his face.

Ricky moaned as his pussy pressed to Justin's tongue, trembling for him as his eyes fluttered and instinctively directed Justin's attention to the best spot, moaning for him loudly. His body quaked gently as pleasure built up, letting Justin take his time. Justin pressed his tongue deeper into Ricky, trying to curl it as deep inside of him to find that sweet spot that he knew would be inside of him to make him feel so good. When he said he wanted Ricky to smother him, having his thighs clamped around his head until he had to tap out until he could barely breathe, that, was the way he wanted to eat him out. 

He groaned, pressing closer, his thighs only getting tighter as he moaned, his jaw dropping as he squirmed, riding his tongue harder. His back arched as he gripped the headboard tightly, whimpering and gasping out. 

Justin was not happy, and in heaven at the same time. If only he had more than one tongue because he just wanted to let Ricky ride his tongue, grind down on him to his heart’s content… Yet, the urge to lathe his tongue over his mate’s clit and suck until he was shaking? Oh, yes. Moaning against him, Justin just couldn’t resist now, lapping a little more before he switched to move and curl his tongue over Ricky’s clit.

The nephilim moaned loudly, tiny nubs with feathers fluttered over his back, making him look like an angel. “Justin-! Right there-!” He cried in shock, voice curling to die in his throat until a loud filthy moan filling the air as did the music of an orgasm as he came.

Humming against him with the moan as he sucked as he swirled his tongue, enjoying the way that his mate was crying out as he came. The way his back arched like that, he looked so exquisite, so perfect, Justin could only hold onto his thighs, but, but… Behind him, were, were those… They looked like… Almost wings… His moan got even louder at the sight of them… He wanted to touch them so bad.

Ricky’s wings flapped as he gasped for air as he collapsed and moaned, his hand moving around his cock, curled up to press his heavenly wet mouth without mercy into his throat. Not really thinking. As Ricky collapsed on him, Justin moaned again, his hands shifting to run up his mate's back and, oh, oh fuck, they were wings, angel wings. “Fuck, Daddy, you have wings… They’re gorgeous…” His fingers brushed through the feathers on the nubs on his back as his hips arched up under him.

“Ah-” Ricky moaned, hips jerking again as his eyes watered, sucking and moaning for him like a whore. 

Justin stroked over the feathers again with the way that Ricky moaned, they felt like silk against his battle rough fingers. The wings were small, underdeveloped, Justin doubted that Ricky would ever be able to fly with them, which was a travesty, and it was a painful thought because he would love to take him up into the sky. Maybe he would still, he’d take him up himself if he wanted too. 

Throwing his head back against the pillow of the bed, his hips rocking up against nothing as he felt him grind down again his stomach, “Daddy, Daddy please, can I be inside you? Can you ride me with your wings out, like this?”

Ricky chuckled, “Of course, Baby. I can do that for you.” he teased after pulling off and moved to straddled his hips to ride him, whining sweetly as Justin stretched and filled him up.

Seeing him like that, Justin’s eyes almost rolled back into his head, the moan that spilled from his throat was feral, hips lifting from the bed to push up into him. Leaning up to kiss Ricky as his fingers continued to stroke through those gorgeous wings, not caring for a second whether they were fully formed or not. His mate, his angel.

He moaned loudly, riding him hard and slow, tight around his mate as he kissed Justin so deeply, groaning and shivering. “Baby boy-” he whispered hungrily, arms tight around him as he kept moving.

Rolling his hips, gasping against his lips, groaning again to him, “Daddy, is it okay, touching your wings?” He didn’t want to hurt him. Even as Ricky’s arms were wrapped so tight around him, and he was rocking with him and Justin’s hips rocked, thrusting up into him, keeping the flow of movement going. 

“Fuck yes, baby- oh, fuck yes-” he breathed, gasping as he held onto him. He felt good- like he was floating, as he screamed as he came again. Justin moaned as he felt him clench around him as Ricky came, not able to help himself, falling over the edge, and filling him, but that didn’t stop him, his thrusts continued. Growling against his lips as his hips rolled up a little harder until he was almost jerking his hips up and almost bouncing Ricky a little on his cock.

“Can you cum again, Daddy? Just like that?” His fingers were still stroking at his feathers, so delicately compared to how he was fucking up into his body, just a little rough… Just a little.

“Y-Yes baby- yes-” he moaned, rocking harder and faster, moaning louder and louder legs shaking, “Oh- fuck- oh fuck-” he whispered clenching hard on his cock trying to hold off some, whimpering softly before screaming out Justin’s name in bliss.

The curve of Ricky’s baby belly between them, a distinct growing curve of his skin, and Justin growled as he was coming again with Ricky’s scream sounding through the apartment. “Fuck, Daddy..”

Ricky moaned pressing his face into Justin’s neck biting and marking at his skin ferally, nails scraping his skin as he whimpered out finally calming some, though exhausted, “Keep going- keep going until I pass out- please fuck-please- Justin please-” he begged drooling some against his chest.

The way that Ricky was marking at his skin, his teeth scraping over his skin, had Justin’s snarling low in his throat, the rumble running through his chest as he continued to thrust his cock deep into his mate. “Yes, yes Daddy.” His fingers twisted in those feathers, stroking them down his back as his cock stroked him inside of his body with each thrust of his hips.

Ricky trembled, heels locked around his waist as he sobbed out happily at the feeling of being fucked so well by him- fuck- “Justin-” he moaned softly with wide blissful eyes as his eyes fluttered sweetly.

“You, you feel so good, so good, my little angel, Daddy.” Moaning now as Justin leaned to claim Ricky for a kiss this time, the first time they’d been together properly like this since they’d been mated. Since they’d claimed each other properly, not to mention found out they were going to be parents, that Ricky had their babies growing inside of him. 

Ricky held onto him, moaning into his mouth, and shivered happily and in bliss. “Baby- all yours. Daddy is always yours.” He promised, groaning sweetly.

“Are you going to come for me again, Daddy?” Justin again with another growl, but the question so sweet even as his teeth scraped over his skin with the way his breath danced from his words. The thrusts matching his words, in an effort to draw the orgasm out of him.

The nephilim screamed blissfully as he came again, choking on his tongue, whimpering out. “Justin-! Oh fuck-!” He choked nails biting in leaving deep but superficial scratches.

Justin would be tempted to throw him down on the bed and fuck him even harder, but that would mean putting him on his back. Why would he ever give up the view and touch of his gorgeous wings. He did, however, slide his fingers regretfully from the feathers on Ricky’s back and slide them down his blissful body til he could grasp those slim hips that were going to bare his children. “You got one more for me? Hmm? One more?” And with that he was lifting Ricky up and down on his cock, practically bouncing him like that… fuck, he was gorgeous. He wanted him to make him pass out…

“Baby-” he moaned dumbly and whimpering for him as his hips jerked downwards on his hips. “Please-!” He whispered pleadingly.

Rolling his hips up into Ricky, letting his mate feel his cock thrust into him again and again. Fuck, “I know you can do it, Daddy, go on.” His fingers were gripping his hips so tight they were going to leave marks now as he moved him, fucking into him.

Ricky pressed his face to his chest, crying out, helplessly trembling. His head was so high off the ground. Up down left right it didn't matter. He felt good. “Justin- b… baby!” He moaned, his wings vibrating for him as his wings flapped softly as he came hard again, laying on his chest with a shiver as he came with a drawn out moan.

As Ricky laid down against Justin’s chest, the gargoyles hands slid up from his hips, and ran up his back to his wings again. Stroking at his feathers softly again as he came inside of him with a moan, “Yes, Daddy.”

The nephilim moaned staring up at him with wide loving and sweet eyes, drooling just a bit as he shivered happily purring at him, “Baby- Baby…” he whined kissing at him, wings flapping lightly. His head was swimming, and he felt like he could have completely passed away right then, whining as a moan filled his mouth again, eyes rolling back- he was-

Gone. He collapsed into his chest with his final orgasm. Exhausted.

Even as Ricky passed out, just as he wanted, Justin panting, stroking at his wings with the way he was laying on top of him, oh… He was so pretty, he was perfect… And Justin couldn’t be happier. As he settled, holding him, Justin swore he could almost hear the throbbing heartbeats of their babies, they were racing away inside of Ricky, so much faster than either of theirs, and so strong. The shudder that ran through him of excitement. Fuck, they were going to be parents, he couldn’t be happier.

“Babies!” Ricky's eyes shot open hard, fast and abruptly. Eyes watering. “Justin- Justin. The babies- they aren't just gargoyles and human- how… what-” the pregnant nephilim had a realisation, and he was terrified now.

Justin had drifted off, only to be startled awake by his mate, Ricky snuggled up with him in bed, both of them wrapped up in the blankets now, safe, and warm. “Huh, I, wha?” Responding more than a bit groggily to the abrupt awakening, gargoyle, human, okay, um, his hair was sticking out every which way, Justin was not used to waking up this way. “I- what?”

“I'm not human- I'm nephilim. They're part nephilim- what's going to happen to them? Oh, fuck-” Ricky ranted, getting louder with a shaky voice.

Right, he, he knew that, Ricky wasn’t human, they’re part- oh, the babies, he was talking about the babies. Justin was waking up now. Pushing himself to sit up a bit more, groaning as he rubbed his hand through his hair a little, “Rick, Ricky, slow, slow down, please, we’ve been meaning to talk to Gwynn, they’ve seemed really calm about the angel thing before now, so, this is good time to, okay? Let's get up, get dressed, I’ll go get them, and maybe sit down over breakfast and talk?” Food, food sounded good and calming.

Ricky nodded slowly, his tiny wings trembling softly as he tried to balance as he grabbed sweatpants and pulled them on before slipping on a tank top.

Justin was up out of bed, and pulling on some clothes before he went to go find Gwynn in their alcove. While he had no clue how this conversation was going to go, he knew it had to happen. At the very least, they needed to address the issue that Ricky was a nephilim and no, he wasn’t going to allow anything to happen to him, or their children. Then there was the planning of  how to take care of the babies, they had changed the Church so much, it was time to build a nursery again, for one, minimum gargoyle strength, but Ricky was right, he wasn’t human, he was nephilim, the babies would be tribrids, who know how that would affect them. As he got to Gwynn’s alcove, he knocked.

Gwynn shuffled to the door and creaked it open, rubbing their eyes, “Mm… good morning.”

“Morning.” Justin tried to smile, but- “Ricky is in a panic, about the babies, about being part angel, what it means for them, and everything. I thought maybe talking to you might help?” Hopefully.

“Justin- it's okay. I planned to, it's okay. Just let me put on shoes and I’ll meet you there. I promise.” Gwynn chuckled softly.

Nodding, sighing a bit easier then, he didn’t know Gwynn, at all, he’d never met them before they’d arrived, but Chris and Ryan had assured him that he could trust them. Even if he knew Ryan had his issues.

They smiled, putting on shoes, and they both started down to where Justin and Ricky resided, sighing softly with a smile. “I’m not like Jerahmiel.”

Vinny had made them, everyone plenty of breakfast, but both she and Chris had already eaten before opening the café downstairs, Atsuko, Justin didn’t know where he was, and Ryan, no clue. He was just worried about now. Filling their plates, Justin looked across the table to Gwynn, “I’d like to think no one would be like Jerahmiel.”

“I would hope not…” they sighed, having a rather large portion. “Who knew such a tiny angel would turn into that.” They sighed and looked at Ricky who looked like… well… a mess. “Dear. You don't need to worry about me. I have no intention of ever harming a nephilim. And I won't report your existence.”

Justin munched on some eggs thoughtfully as he looked between Ricky and Gwynn before he swallowed. “Reporting aside, how… how are you even a fallen? You are so… nice?” Justin was so thankful they weren’t going to report them, beyond thankful, really, so he was curious.

Gwynn smiled sadly, “I’ve fallen out of favor of those running heaven.” They explained softly, “It’s… very complicated.” They said softly looking at their plate, “Those who are fallen… are not treated as equals, no matter what.” Their eyes were clouded with pain, of memories, and a shudder ran through them.

His jaw clenched, at least they had still been sent down to help them, though, that, Justin wasn’t sure how that worked. How was Gwynn allowed to be here if they were apparently important to one of the arch angels, but not the one in control, that was, curious. However, the pain in their eyes, he, he hated the way he knew it in both Ryan and Chris. Too many times they’d think back over horrors and Justin would just shrink back and have no clue how to help, how to handle anything. He knew nothing else, this was the only life he’d ever known. “I’m glad you are here now, Gwynn. Here, you are, an equal. You are one of us. Eat, Vinny would say that you are too skinny.” Just like she said they were underfed, Gwynn too obviously.

They nodded, taking a few bites as Ricky ate a bit, stomach churning still, leaning into Justin without thinking. The raven haired man had his face tucked into his shoulder softly.

“Um, so,” Justin began again, Ricky leaning into him, reminding him about the other part of this, it wasn’t just the worry about Ricky that had started this, there was a much bigger part. “So, the more important part, the babies. Do we know anything about the effect being both part angel and part gargoyle is going to have on the babies?” Justin was eating along with the others, but unlike his mate, he had a cast iron stomach, even when he was nervous.

Gwynn perked and gave a sad smile. “I… don't know. Ryan and I never got around to having babies… but… we can figure it out.” Gwynn assured tenderly to the mated pair. 

“Why don't you ask Noah?” Atsuko asked, walking over to fill his own plate.

Justin tried not to cringe, he, he knew that they hadn’t, and he, he hadn’t meant… But… He had wondered if there were others. Before he could say anything of that sort, Atsuko was wondering in, Noah? “Dude, what the hell are you talking about? Who?”

“Tadashi’s kid. Noah.” he said bluntly, filling his mouth with food and drank some milk without looking up. His hair had been cut short, with Ryan’s help, at least it was a nice length now, and he was wearing a beanie, humming to himself. “Noah would know.”

“... Atsuko. We just talked about this-”

“I’m sharing it.”

“Tadashi’s kid, is-” Justin shook his head, so, they had a name now, Noah, but a name didn’t change, “He can’t tell us this Honesty. He doesn’t know what it means to be a gargoyle let alone an angel, he isn’t even an angel, he is only human, and gargoyle.” Glancing at Gwynn, and Ricky, and then back to Atsuko, “Right?”

Gwynn sighed, “Apparently… not.” They sighed, running a hand through their locks, sighing, “Okay… who wants to tell grandpa we have to go see his grandson?” they asked, looking at Ricky, Justin and Atsuko.

“Not it.” Atsuko and Ricky said in unison before Justin had the chance.

“Not it.” Gwynn agreed, close behind.

Justin jerked, but he wasn’t fast enough to try to swear out of being the one to tell Chris… “Dammit, I hate all of you… except you, Ricky, I love you…” Instantly, though, he turned his head and called out, “Ryan!”

“I got it!” Oh, Ryan knew exactly what was going on, in the rectory playing some Bayonetta, no offence to Gwynn, and now it seemed Noah. Not that he moved from where he was sitting, and he didn’t think he would have to. “Hey Chris!”

A long-suffering sigh came from behind the counter of the café, it wasn’t even the fact that he had to go back to see his grandson that was the problem right now. It was who was going to tell Chenza that they were going to have to go back to the buffet. “As much as I want to go now, we’ll go at lunch, they probably aren’t even open now, and she won’t forgive me. You all owe me.” The words spoken low under his breath as he glanced slightly towards her where she was seated so tenderly on a chair by the coffee machine so she could make them while he took the orders. 

“Baby?” she asked, seeing the look on his face, and her face fell. “Nope. You are not taking me back there, thank you very much, I will make a sandwich and stay here away from the healthcode violation incarnate.”

The fact that Chenza already knew what he was talking about to the others upstairs without him even saying specifics had him sighing again… shaking his head… “You assholes owe me. Honesty, we will be talking about this later.” Then looking over to his darling, mate with hopeful eyes, “His name is Noah.”

“Well, that’s nice to know his name…. I’m still not going.” she said firmly, “I will only go there when I get pregnant.” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “But I’d be willing to meet him elsewhere.” she clarified. “Just… not there.”

Raising an eyebrow, the thought that she might have that kind of craving, “Is that a popular craving for pregnant mortals? Ah, never mind, all the same,” he sighed, “I understand. We’ll be going for lunch, I won’t leave you until the café closes, I’m not even sure it opens until then.” What's more… the thought… 

Chris fell silent at the reality that Atsuko had revealed upstairs, Chenza hadn’t heard them, but Chris had and something in it terrified him. “He’s part angel, BabyGirl.”

Which was terrifying, and not just because historically nephilim could sometimes, and he didn’t mean any offence to Ricky, sometimes they could go insane. Noah was with potentially dark creatures, at least a werewolf, who knew what that meant for his sanity… but what was worse, was how he had looked yesterday. How, physically thin he had been, like he could just snap him, without even trying, just be hugging him. “What if that is why he can’t put muscle on, what if we bring him back here and we can’t help him… I’ve never known a gargoyle and angel to have a child before, what if this is why? I-” He didn’t want to think about having to watch his son’s son continue to waste away just when he’d found him. Not that Chris was thinking about the fact that he’d lasted four hundred years already.

Vinny sighed, “Come here.” She said firmly, motioning for him, happy to have a lull. “Chris… it’ll be okay. He's been okay for four hundred years. And you and I both know, not every werewolf is evil. Maybe he found the good ones.”

Moving from the register where he was serving customers, towards where she was seated, into her arms, and leaning into her touch. Sighing, “Obviously they aren’t just werewolves, creatures that can’t cross only holy ground? Not that that says much, that hellhound Jerahmiel brought here certainly defied the holy ground. How he withstood it I have no clue, and what it's capable of, I just-” Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he needed to, they needed to watch out for that thing. 

Sighing, “I need to protect him, and seeing him like that, and knowing that Jerahmiel is still out there, I’m worried.”

“Darling.” She cupped his face. “It's okay to be worried. I know you want to keep him safe. But you have to keep in mind these people are important to Noah. I think he's had a hard life. Like me and Ricky… but he seems like he has at least one good person in his corner. I doubt that he would let anything bad happen to him.”

Considering who that one good person seemed to be, that was going to be interesting enough when Atsuko figured it out, and potentially when the werewolf figured it out himself. If he did. Chris wondered how that had happened, Chenza coming back as a human, and, Cheerfulness had come back as a werewolf. How did it work? Reincarnation. How did they get chosen? “I wonder if the wolf would like to know his platform is right over there?” Not that the kid seemed to remember, at least, not yet, any more than Chenza had remembered at first.

Chenza froze, blinking a few times, “Nickolai?” She whispered softer than the gargoyles upstairs could hear, eyes wide in shock before covering her mouth. “Should we tell him?” She asked, thinking back to some of Atsuko's behaviour.

Glancing at her slightly, the soft way she spoke, he knew it was a risk, maybe he shouldn’t have spoken, glancing upwards, had he heard? Should they? His who voice dropping practically inaudible, to anyone but his mate of course, “I’m not so sure if that would be such a good idea, at least not for the boy or the messenger. If anyone had insinuated that about you when you first arrived, I am not entirely certain I would have handled it well.” If it wouldn’t have finally sent him over the edge, he had been tethering for some time. “The young man already feels a connection to Atsuko, it's there, that's the best we can hope so far.”

Moments later, there was a gust of wind and shouting of Atsuko’s name- and a growl from above. One wing beat and down the stairs came Ricky, still in his in pajamas. “We gotta go.”

[dearunreliablenarrator]

Cherries Under the Sun ➺a work in progress intro

status and length: crafting; to be determined genre: speculative fiction, paranormal, horror thriller

blurb:

A southern gothic horror that follows Grace Davis even in her dreams. Stuck in a constant cycle of despair, Grace often finds herself living in a loop of a forgotton past, wondering about the should've, would've, and could haves of her life. When her small college town of Marietta is shaken by a rise in missing cases, her hollow world soon becomes a flash of white papers and bloody lines. Now that her daily life of being ignored comes to halt and the lives of those around her are blurring together, they must now find a way to get their world back to normal. Before it is erased altogether.

theme song; cherrylist ;playlist. (coming soon)

tag: #howsweettheesound

prologue

chapters: one,

epilogue

excerpt:

“Oh please Jebediah, I am far from holy. For that I am only human in the flesh but with the spirit of God at my helm I am sure to be in his grace.”

A tall man stood to the pulpit, his hands placed on his heart in an act of humility. His eyes shined bright with charm and had a smile warm enough the melt the women in room to puddles. Snaking around to the front of the crowd, he placed himself among them, nearly swallowed by hands that reached to touch him.

“Today! We will drink and be one with the lord, for sharing his body and blood will make us one in both mind and spirit.”

The dark crimson matter swirled around the lip of the chalice, spilling over the edge with each pass down the line. Now in her hands, it looked thick, sludge like as it clung to the thin gold body. A sense of unease washed over Grace, and the reflection that stared back at her shared that feeling.

“Come now, girl. Drink! For this is the only way towards salvation, leave all thoughts and worries behind knowing that our merciful lord has blessed us for a better future.”

Suddenly, it felt as though all eyes were on her, waiting for new member to join their ranks of superficial good deeds and misguided trust. And the closer the chalice rose, the stronger that unease became. But what was salvation without a little bit of spilled blood?

Grace Davis: cynic,researcher,loner.

Simone Thompson: intellectual, silver spoon, jealous.

Aliayah Greene: cheerful, ambitious, tomboy.

Clive Wilson: handy,self-assured, observate.

Miaciah Richardson: provoker, charming, perjurer.

coming fall 2024, mark your calendars!

topics & tropes: religious deconstruction, religious trauma, witchcraft (mundane, practical, scrappy, cultural, A(A)TRs.) anti-racism/racism, politics,found family, ancestral/familial secrets, the anti-christ, mental illness/disorders, philosophy, and if you squint enemies to lovers.