#raised by wolves type beat

[raspberrystruck]

having a lot of thoughts about deer! gem and wolf girl Pearl tonight …

[b00kdiary]

Euphoria | Ithan Holstrom

Ithan Holstrom x Plus Size Reader

Where Y/N finds herself needing to be reminded just how desirable she is, and Ithan Holstrom is more than willing to show her. Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some SJM men love too xo

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and the Ithan being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady.

MASTERLIST

I stared, unblinking, as Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae, kissed his way down the neck of a gorgeous and dark-skinned Faun. I trailed my gaze along as he sucked and bit gently against her soft skin and perfect bone structure, the Faun's eyes closed, her face a mirror of lust and bliss.

The grip I had on my glass tightened and I willed myself not the shatter it, to not draw attention to myself, to how jealous and seething I was.

The fluorescent lights inside the White Raven danced over the two of them, highlighting their ungodly beauty as they danced and rocked against each other to the beat of music. My chest tightened at the way Ruhn's arms wrapped so effortlessly around her slim waist, resting against the perfectly flat length of her stomach, revealed by her cropped bralette.

She was lovely by most standards and typical of the kind of females Ruhn was seen with- tall with small breasts and a small, yet nice ass and petite enough that there wasn't a single place that sat out or rubbed or curved too much.

Unlike me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, taking a long indulgent sip of my drink to drive away the dryness and the sorrow. It was hard not to trail my mind into those uncharted, dark waters, the kind of scary, hollow place of insecurity where I could pick myself apart and rip any sense of security I had to pieces.

Because unlike that Faun, who had turned now, her toned back facing me as Ruhn kissed her, kissed her with so much passion and need that it made me feel sick. Unlike her, I was not petite or skinny and I did not look like the kind of girl that Ruhn Danaan desired.

"You're glaring, Y/N." A deep voice interrupted my pity party and snapped me back into this room, away from all the meanest, cruellest thoughts I had of myself.

I turned, levelling out my eyes and surprise-filled me when I met with honey-brown eyes and a smile that could melt a girl's heart and drop her panties.

My lip kicked up as I took in the golden-brown soft waves of hair and tan sun-kissed skin, my gaze moved down, over the acres of strong, corded muscle that was further accentuated by the form-fitting t-shirt he wore.

"Ithan Holstrom," I mused, cocking my head at him, and seeing his lip tilt into a lazy smile "You're the last person I expected to see here, I didn't think this was your kind of scene."

"It's not, not really but," He shrugged, glancing over his broad shoulder to where a few wolves sat gathered around a table "But the pack forced me."

"You don't strike me as the type of guy who can be forced to do anything," I raised a brow, tossing a long strand of hair over my shoulder and felt Ithan's eyes track each movement. "Don't try and hide it, you came here for a good time, a good fuck maybe?"

He chuckled at my playful words, the sound rough and heady, running over me and prickling my skin. I forced myself to breathe as he stepped closer, close enough that his hard chest brushed against my breasts, and I felt the warmth and scent of him.

"Is that what you came for?" He asked, though his words weren't a question, not as he looked over my head, his stare pointed, straight to where Ruhn and that Faun stood "Or were you planning to glare at Ruhn Danaan all night, hoping he'd notice you?"

"Don't be a prick," I scowled, my lip curling and I pushed at his chest, hearing a rough bark of laughter escape him as he saw the fire burning in my eyes " I might be pining after Ruhn, but it's no different to how you trailed after Bryce like a lost puppy all these years, Holstrom."

His eyes darkened at that- those honeyed pupils shadowing into a starless night sky. Bryce was a sore topic still, even after two years and I felt guilt gnaw at me, hating myself for mentioning her, for the way that smile tilted down now.

"Bryce didn't want me, I knew she didn't," Ithan gritted back, his jaw locked and his eyes hard "Ruhn might want you, he could want you as badly as you want him, you're just too scared to find out."

"I'm not scared," I said defensively, crossing my arms over my chest, and yet again, I didn't miss how his steely gaze fell, something sparking in them as my top lowered and revealed my ample cleavage. I clear my throat, ignoring the twist in my gut "I'm just realistic, I know Ruhn's type, I've seen his type and I know I'm not it."

"His type?" Ithan mused, raising a dark, thick brow at me "What? Gorgeous? Desirable? No, you're definitely not his type." It was sarcastically drawled, accompanied by a sassy eye roll and it was the least serious I had seen Ithan in years- since Connor died.

"Try petite, skinny and perfect," I snort, but my voice isn't as joking as I would like, it's heavier, weighed down by the reality of the words.

"Bullshit, Y/N," Ithan scowls, and the way his eyes glared out in protest, in defence, it was as if he was furious at me for even saying what I did. "If Ruhn fucking Danaan thinks you're not perfect then he's a bigger asshole than I already thought he was."

I felt my face heat, my body turning hot and needy at his words, at the honesty and conviction behind them. He stepped closer, close enough that I smelt the mint and alcohol on his warm breath, and a fire sparked in my core- and I didn't step back.

"You think I'm perfect?" I whispered, my voice hoarse and shaking slightly. I couldn't stop staring into his eyes, couldn't stop watching the lust roil in them, darkening them by each second, we inched closer, drawn together like magnets. "Don't fuck with me Ithan, I mean it."

"Y/N, while you were busy glaring down Danaan and the Faun," Ithan said, his voice slipping into a low timbre, the gruffness clawing over my nerves and making me breathless "I was staring at you."

"You were?" My voice was softer than I wanted it to be, but my defences were wearing down. I had always found Ithan attractive, always wondered what he would be like as more than a friend. And as his hand snaked around my waist, large, veined, and ringed, and slowly dragged me to him, I knew that those feelings hadn't faded with time.

"You might not believe me, but I was staring at you, alongside damn near every other male in this room, Y/N," Ithan muttered, his face inches from mine and when his nose brushed against my cheek, my eyes fluttered. "If you had just looked around you, you would have seen how many wanted you- and how could they not?"

I felt his hand trail down my back and sides, over the rolls and curves of flesh, and I felt nauseous, hating that he could feel it. But he growled, a purely animal sound, his fingers digging into my flesh as if he was holding himself back as if touching me brought him to the edge of his control.

"Ithan," I swallowed, steeling my spine, and forcing back the fierceness and power I was used to wielding with men, "I'm not Bryce Quinlan."

"And I'm not Ruhn Danaan," He shot back immediately, his lip quirking "But that doesn't change the fact that I fucking want you, and I know you want me too."

I inhaled a shaky, long breath, my throat drying out at his words and at all the sinful, dirty images that flashed through my mind, filthy enough that I had to clench my thighs shut.

"Let's walk to yours, no cab," I say hoarsely, ignoring the way he grinned as I grabbed his hand and began dragging him to the exit. He followed dutifully, his fingers interlocking with mine, his thumb brushing soothing, soft strokes against my palm.

"Why?" He laughed, his brow raising at me as I glanced over my shoulder and I didn't miss the way my body ignited, striking, and burning as his gaze trailed over my skin.

"Because I can't promise I won't ride you in the back seat," I said honestly, gnawing on my lip as my eyes met his over my shoulder "And I don't want the night to end before it's even begun."

"Fuck," Ithan swore, low and dirty, and I could smell his arousal.

Just like I knew he could smell mine.

***

We walked through The Wolves Den with ease, silent and quick-paced as we waded through each corridor and climbed floor after floor.

Ithan had wanted to take the lift straight to his floor and had been so on edge that he looked as if he might have taken me against the wall in the goddamn lobby if I had given him the say-so. But I wanted him at breaking point, wanted that wolf inside him to come out clawing, biting and roaring.

So instead, we walked, each second that passed and the silence that stretched drawing the tension tauter and tauter, and I could feel my blood thrum in anticipation. Ithan looked over at me as we walked down the final corridor- and the smirk he wore, the knowing gleam in his eyes, told me everything he wanted to do.

"You have got to be kidding me, Ithan," A voice declared, female and high-pitched, loud enough that it grated against my senses and had both of us coming to a reluctant halt. I eyed the fifth door, which happened to be Ithan's room, with need. "Bringing the trash home?"

"Watch it, Amelie," Ithan growled, his eyes tapering in warning as he turned to glare at the dark-haired, golden-eyed female before him. His pack member- and a total hateful bitch.

"Why? Scared I'll scare away your whore for the night?" She snorted, her arms folding over her chest as she looked at me, amusement and cruelty gleaming in her eyes. I saw her stare trail between us, taking in our interlocked hands, the way our arousals wafted in the air, and she scowled.

Jealous, that much was obvious.

"Hey, Ithan?" I mused, glancing sideways at him, and smiling sweetly. He rose a brow at me, confused and half-amused. "Are the walls here thin?" I stared pointedly, past Amelie, to the open door at her side, number four- right next to Ithan's.

Ithan seemed to catch onto my thought trail and chuckled lowly, nodding his head "Very thin."

"Amelie," I smirked, my hand trailing up Ithan's muscled chest as he punched in the code and pushed open his room door, "When you touch yourself tonight, imagining that Ithan's fucking you and not me, don't be too loud- Ithan might hear it and go limp."

"You fucking-" Her eyes burned, and so did her cheeks, outrage and embarrassment filling her as she stepped toward me.

"Have a good night, I know I will." I winked and Ithan's laughter flittered over to me, caressing my skin like a phantom touch. The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly, Amelie was gone, and it was just me and him, in his room, together, and alone.

"I don't think I've ever seen Amelie that red before, she's not used to being put in her place like that," Ithan noted, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned against the back of his sofa "She's not going to let that go, you know?"

"Amelie's a neurotic, insecure bitch," I scowl, walking a few tentative steps further into his room, "She can get fucked, I couldn't care less."

Ithan doesn't say anything else, remaining silent as my gaze lifts and washes over his room. I take in the four bare walls and the simple brown sofa, glass table and TV, a large double bed at the furthest wall and a chest of drawers and a matching wardrobe at its side.

"Not what you were expecting?" Ithan asked, cocking his head to the side as he observed my expression. I pursed my lips, looking over his folded arms, the way the muscles bulged, and I swallowed.

"I'm not sure what I expected," I say honestly, my voice quiet and when I slowly began to walk over to Ithan, I felt the tension in the air go taut. I paused, standing just before where he sat on the sofa's back, looking at me with a wry smile. "Were you being honest when you said that the walls are thin?"

"I was," He chuckled, revealing two sharp canines on either side of his upper teeth and I shivered at the sight of them. I imagined them against my skin, teasing, scrapping, and biting and I clenched my hands. "Were you being honest when you said you would be having a good night?"

I smiled at the heat in his eyes, at the way we were so close, yet we didn't touch not in one single place, and I knew he was holding out, restraining himself from grabbing on to me, just as I was.

"I plan to have a good night," I say, cocking my head in challenge "But really, it's up to you how good of a night for me it is."

One second, I'm standing before Ithan, smirking, cocky as I watch the lust burning in his eyes, and then the next, his fingers are wrapping around my throat, his ring digging into my jugular as he pulls me to him.

I groan as his mouth collides with mine and my body shakes at the heady, desperate way his lips move against me, tasting me, devouring me, taking me like it's his last night on Midgard. I melted into the strength and solidity of him, his hand at my throat, the firm pressure there, making my body turn weak.

Ithan's lips move against me, deep, languished strokes that fan the embers sparking in my stomach and I dig my nails into his chest, curling my fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt, needing to tether myself to him, to keep myself upright.

I whimper at the feeling of his left hand descending my body, his fingers gripping against every bit of flesh and curve with need, all the way from the top of my spine to the curve of my ass, and he groans as he cups me, the flesh spilling out and soft against his palm.

“Bed, now,” I pull back, my faces only inches from his and we’re both panting wildly, lust and need dancing in our gazes, like a mirror.

“Hm, not sure I’m a fan of being told what to do in my own place, sweetheart,” Ithan smirks, and my eyes flutter as he draws me closer, biting and suckling against my neck, the feeling of his canines against my skin driving me crazy. “Why don’t you try again?”

“Stop trying to be an alpha male, Ithan,” I manage to grit out, desperately trying to force down the moans that threaten to slip past my lips, but his mouth and tongue against my hot skin make it so hard. “We both know you’re really just a puppy- ah-“

A squeal escapes me as both of Ithan’s arms wrap around me, hooking under my ass and there’s a whoosh of air as he yanks me up into his arms, so fast my heart lurches and I’m locking my legs around his waist and holding onto his t-shirt so tightly I’m surprised it didn’t tear.

“You’re far too coherent right now,” Ithan grumbles and fuck if the sound of it doesn’t go straight between my legs. I hold onto him tighter as he begins to carry me over to bed, looking as if my weight is less than nothing to him right now. “I’m going to need to fix that.”

“Please do,” I whisper, tossing my hair from my face and bringing my lips back against his, slower, deeper, the hardness and ridges of his body brushing against my breasts feeling so good and the long, thick length rubbing against my thigh feels even better.

Ithan smirks against my lips as we thump against the bed and true to his word, Ithan drops me on the bed, so hard and fast I grunt at the impact, my body and tits bouncing as I land on my ass. The sight makes him smile, and the way he towers over me, looking like some kind of God has every nerve in my burning.

“You’re fucking incredible,” He mutters, and the honey in his eyes is gone, melted into the darkest chocolate, the kind that told me every filthy, heady, dirty thing he wanted to do to me. I leaned back on my palms as he rested a knee on the mattress, lowering his pleased face down to mine. “But I bet you’d look even better without all the clothes.”

His hand snakes around to the zip at the back of my top and fuck, fuck, fuck- I freeze.

“Or not?” He mutters, a crease forming between his brows at the way my body physically locks up and his hand immediately stops, resting flat against my back, his thumb rubbing softly to soothe me. “We don’t have to do that if you don’t want-“

“No, no-“ I shake my head, clearing my throat as I bring a hand to cup his jaw, loving the way he melts into the touch, “It was just a habit, a muscle memory reaction- No, trust me, I want to, I want you, Ithan.”

“Good, because I want you too, Y/N,” He mutters, smiling as he brings his mouth down, but he doesn’t pull at the zipper, instead he kisses me, tastes me, and enjoys me, and my hands curl into the root of his hair, glad for that moment of reprieve.

I can tell he’s being sweet because he is sweet, and now that he knows I’m hesitating, he won’t make the next move until he’s sure I’m ready- and I am, I am so fucking ready.

I pull back from him, my eyes locking with his and the room is so silent, deadly silent, as I draw my hand back and ever so slowly tug down the zipper to my top. The sound is almost sensual, making Ithan’s face darken, in anticipation, in feral lust.

I gnaw on my lip as the zipper pulls free and still keeping my eyes on his, I draw the top forward, down my arms, every movement deliberate until the fabric is discarded on the floor beside us. Ithan says nothing as he stares down at me, as he stares down at my bare chest, my breasts heavy and aching and I’ve never been gladder that I chose not to wear a bra.

His Adam’s apple bobs and the breath seizes in my lungs as his cold hand traces across my back, around to my chest and he groans, low and deep, the second his hand cups around my breast. I gasp as he kneads the flesh, his fingers slowly and deliberately tugging on my pebbled nipple.

“Ithan,” I growl, I can’t help it, he’s staring at me, looking like he wants to devour me, but he hasn’t bloody moved. “Do something, for Cthona’s sake.”

“So needy,” He croons, and I nearly sigh when he leans forward again and pushes me back to lay flat against the mattress. My body shivered as he climbed onto the bed, his large figure moving to hover over me, and I felt almost small in comparison to him, a feeling that was unfamiliar to me.

He kissed lower down my neck, his mouth inching closer as his hand kneaded my breast, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers and tugging gently igniting so many sparks that I couldn't even speak, merely moaning breathlessly with each sure touch.

I gasped when his head ducked, his eyes shielded by the strands of hair that fell forward as he plucked one nipple into his mouth. My back arched and my fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to hurt as the raw feeling of his tongue and teeth teased me.

“Ithan,” I moaned when he began biting against my nipple, not too hard, but firm enough that I felt the shock go through every nerve ending, sparking, burning, and throbbing, so hard I felt it in my core.

My head spins as Ithan begins shifting lower, and I cringe when he begins trailing his hands down my stomach, instantly thinking over every roll and stretch mark and flesh that was there- not that he seemed to mind. No, he kissed against the skin, trailing his tongue languidly down, just as infatuated as he had been before.

The tension in the air is thick as Ithan runs his calloused hands down the side of my thick thighs, kneading the flesh and teasing the material of my skirt, his intentions obvious. And with the ache beginning to become unbearable between my legs, I don’t hesitate to lift my hips, glad when he immediately hooks his fingers into the top of my skirt- pulling it and my underwear down in one go.

It’s almost amusing how quickly he discards the excess material over his shoulder, so transfixed on the sight of my naked body before him, sprawled out and burning from the intensity of his gaze.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” He groans, his voice hoarse and the tightness coiling in my chest eases as he runs his hand up my thighs, feeling the cellulite and stretch marks and grins as he spread my legs apart for him to come between.

My heart races in anticipation as he sinks down below my parted thighs, his eyes burning with satisfaction as he comes level to my core, and the urge to clamp my legs shut fills me- which he seems to sense, if his strong grip on either side of my thigh, keeping spread wide apart is any indication.

I feel his hot breath against my most sensitive part and just when I feel like the seconds are dragging into minutes, making me fidgety and restless, I gasp at the feeling of his tongue flicking against my clit, soft and probing, coaxing out quiet moans from me.

“That’s it,” Ithan purrs and the sound vibrates against my core, making me clench my fingers into the duvet under me for purchase. Ithan seems encouraged by my moans, his tongue lapping against my clit in long languish strokes that draw pleasure from me in waves. “Taste so fucking good.”

He grins against me, cocky, sure, and under any other circumstances I’d hate it, but right now, I can’t find it in me. Instead, I reach down, lacing my fingers through his soft hair, tugging, yanking, and scratching, coaxing Ithan to give me more- which he happily does.

“Fuck, oh my-“ Two fingers prod my wet entrance, and the sound is so lewd as he quickly stuffs the two digits inside me, stretching me in the most perfect yet painful way, especially when he curls those two digits, hitting a spot that has me seeing stars.

“There we go,” Ithan coaxes softly, feeling my body start to vibrate and writhe, that pool of pleasure building and building within me, plummeting fast and harder as he fucks his fingers in and out steadily, in tandem with the smooth agile movement of his tongue against my clit. “There we go, such a good girl.”

I cry out, trembling and moaning as a white-hot blaze burns through me, starting at my core and running into my thighs and stomach, all the way down to my toes. I pant, my head fogging with the overwhelming blanket of pleasure that Ithan’s smothered me with.

Ithan groans, his teeth tugging at my sore clit before he eventually lets go, his fingers slipping out of me with ease. I exhale harshly at the loss of contact, sagging back as the euphoria dies down and my body settles into calm again.

Ithan ascends my body, a shit-eating grin on his wet lips and I don’t have time to even speak before he captures my mouth in his, pushing his tongue deep into me, letting me taste myself.

“How’s that for a puppy, sweetheart?” He mutters, biting my bottom lip and I roll my eyes at the sheer masculine satisfaction in his voice, in those bright eyes as he stares at me.

“Don’t be an arrogant prick,” I snipe back, ignoring Ithan’s laughter as I place either hand on his shoulder and the surprise that lights his face as I yank him down onto the bed beside me, flipping us so that I’m straddling him, makes me grin. “I’m still in charge, Ithan.”

“If this is you being in charge, I’m not fucking complaining,” He smirks lazily, his voice heavy with lust as he leans back, his eyes oh so slowly trailing across my body atop his, looking like the cat that got the cream as he enjoys every inch of me.

I smile, soft, as I run my hands against the seam of his t-shirt, my thumbs hooking under the material and slowly dragging it up- revealing inch after inch of tan, smooth skin, so much corded muscle it makes me hot. Ithan easily helps, and it’s not long before the material is over his head and thrown to the ever-growing pile of clothes on his floor.

I drag my core against the front seam of Ithan’s jeans, and our groans mix in the air at the feeling of his hard length brushing against me. I don’t waste any time, Ithan’s eyes never leaving me as I move my hands to the front of his jeans, my fingers fumbling against the button and zipper, almost desperate as I open them, tugging the materials down just a little.

“Shit,” I mutter, my eyes widening as Ithan’s hard cock slips out, breaking free and slapping back against his stomach. Ithan snorts at my reaction, at the sheer surprise on my face at the size of him, and my cheeks heat in embarrassment as he smiles at me. “Shut up.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” His eyes flutter as I grip my hand around his hard length, my fingers struggling to find purchase as I palm up and down, every moan and gasp that escapes him egging me on. “You’re fucking killing me here, sweetheart.”

“Poor puppy,” I tease, smirking and Ithan’s canines expose in warning, his hands coming to either side of my hips, and when he slowly lifts me up, dragging me closer to him, I prepare myself for the feeling of him inside me.

“Shit, shit,” I moan as Ithan’s cock brushes my entrance and I ever so slowly sink down, down, down, until he’s stretching me like he’s going to break me in two, until his tip brushes something far and deep inside me.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Ithan swears, his fingers digging into the flesh of my hips and thighs so tightly, I can feel the cut of his nails.

I flutter my eyes as the burn soon seeps into pleasure and we both suck in a gasp of air when I drag up, so deliberate and slow, all the way to the tip, before slamming back down, hard and fast. Ithan swears, his chest rising and falling so fast as I do it again and again, his cock slipping against my wet core like it was made for me.

“Ithan, oh-“ I whimper as I ride up and down his cock, alternating between fast, hard strokes and long, slow ones, Ithan’s hands at my hips guiding me along, helping me chase after the relief, and I know I won’t last long, not with the cord within me tightening so perfectly.

“Look at you riding my cock so well,” Ithan praises roughly, his teeth gritted as he pants and moans every time he sinks into me, and when my eyes lock with his, I’ve never felt more seen, more desired in my life. “Look at those tits bouncing, fuck, taking me so good Y/N.”

He ruts his hips up to meet me, the sound of him fucking in and out of me, so wild and demanding, is like music in the room, mixing with our moans, our low curses, and the way our hands wander over each other, unable to get enough.

My fingers scratch against Ithan’s chest and abs, my body starting to shake and weaken at how good it feels, how he’s hitting against a spot that makes my insides turn to mush, again and again. Ithan must sense my fatigue, sense my head spinning, because he grabs me, and within seconds, we’ve flipped over and he’s on top of me now.

His hand guides my thighs around his hips and my eyes roll, my back arches, as he sinks in even deeper and I whimper into his lips, into his mouth at the brutal pace he sets, slamming into me again and again, unrelenting, and merciless, so fucking good I can’t catch my breath.

My eyes flutter open as Ithan’s hand wraps around my throat, pressing firmly on either side of my neck and when my eyes meet his when I see the burning, commanding, domineering power behind them, it’s like something in me rips in two.

He hits a spot, some magic, fathomless spot inside me and it all shatters to pieces like glass.

“Ithan, I’m-“ I cry out, black dots blurring my vision and my body bucking and writhing against his hard muscles as release ripples over me like a tidal wave. Ithan grunts as I clench around him, suffocating his cock inside me, the orgasm hitting me and lasting longer than I’ve ever had.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it,” Ithan whispers, panting against my lips, and I feel his movements become sloppier, more erratic, more careless, driven to the edge by me coming around him. “Everyone in the whole fucking Dens gonna know whose making you feel this good.”

I whimper at the filthy words he grunts into my ear, my body trembling with the aftermath of my orgasm, edged on by the way Ithan still fucked in and out of me, chasing his own high and when his forehead rests against mine and he groans, guttural and heady and low, I know he’s found it.

The sound he makes, the growl that escapes him, reverberates through the whole damn room and my body is aching as he comes to a gradual stop inside me, our sweaty, panting bodies, melting into each other as we climb down from our peaks.

Ithan groans as he slowly slips out of me, the feeling of his warm cum leaking from me and dripping down my skin making me blush, and the small smirk that lines his lips as he inches back to look at me tells me he finds it both amusing and adorable.

“I can feel your cum leaking down my thigh,” I breathe and Ithan's eyes flutter, rolling as he laughs, burying his face into my neck dramatically, as if I were completely ruining him.

“Keep saying shit like that, Y/N and I might just have to chain you to this bed,” Ithan mutters against my skin, kissing and nibbling across my neck and jaw before he meets my lips again, kissing me sweetly as if memorising the taste and feel of me.

“After that, I’m tempted to let you, Ithan,” I grin, sighing as he rests his weight on top of me, his arms on either side making sure not to crush me, but the warmth and touch is welcome.

“Are you still thinking about Ruhn Danaan?” He muses, cocking his head, and the honey has returned back to his eyes, that smile turning boyish and soft again as he stares down at me.

“No,” I say simply, honestly, dragging my hand up his chest and neck, before settling against his jaw, my thumb drawing lines across the hard ridge there. “Are you still thinking about Bryce Quinlan?”

“Definitely not,” He smiles, earnest and firm and the sight makes my entire body heat again.

“Good,” I let my eyes darken, letting him see just what I was thinking as I wrap a leg around his hip, drawing his hardening cock back down against me- and he grins with feral delight at the action. “Because I haven’t quite gotten you out of my system yet, Puppy.”

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

@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

[heliads]

Hi!! I miss your Derek fics so much so how’s one where you and him are in a casual relationship if yk what I mean when all of a sudden there’s a mishap that causes him to pull away and end up ghosting you because he caught feelings and is terrified of them, you still try to get in contact with him but got tired of it and that’s when Derek comes back basically begging for a chance to fix it🥺

masterlist

Derek Hale knows he’s gone too far because he’s no longer nervous waking up to hear someone else’s heartbeat next to him. Derek stays alone, always; it saves him the trouble of having to think about saving someone other than himself if he ever wakes up to another roaring inferno. Derek is good at being alone. It’s never something he’s struggled with, even as a lone wolf without a pack. He still talks to other people on occasion. It’s fine.

He’d thought it was fine. Derek had almost gotten to the point of convincing himself of it, and then he started making mistakes like entertaining himself with someone else, and by the time it occurred to him that he was long past the point of no return, there was no way he could ever end it. So he lives with it, it’s fine. Until it isn’t.

Derek Hale has never been the type to get caught up over a girl. He did it once, then swore it would never happen again. There is the idea of Derek, the lone wolf; Derek, the man with a heart colder than ice. He wouldn’t go so far as to describe himself as a womanizer, but he’s dated not one but two of the women who’ve tried to kill him and the other wolves in town, so maybe he should start thinking about raising his standards.

He did, though. That was the problem. Of all the people in this world, good and bad and outright bloodthirsty, Derek found the one woman capable of waltzing right past his best defenses and laying claim to the very organ he thought would never be bothered with again. Derek has long since assumed that, so long as it keeps beating on schedule, he’d never think about his heart unless someone was actively ripping it out of his chest, but Y/N changed that. She changed everything.

It was nothing at first. That’s what he promised himself the first time he woke up in an unfamiliar room that definitely wasn’t in his apartment complex. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he picked up on the sound of someone else breathing evenly next to him, but Y/N had woken up not long after him so they’d been able to talk things through. They’d both agreed that it was a one time thing, the result of years of rising tensions against supernaturals in Beacon Hills, and would never happen again.

The second time, Derek was no less taken aback, but a little more disappointed in himself. Usually, when he makes his word, he sticks to it for longer than a month. He’d left before she woke up that time. Didn’t stop him from crawling back, though. He can blame it on the alcohol that doesn’t affect him, the battle rush of adrenaline he’s long since learned to master. Excuses are easy. Falling is easier still.

Derek doesn’t fall, though. He won’t. Even if it kills him. Especially if it kills him. Derek can lock himself up and cut away his heart and distrust his mind until any conceivable feeling dies off from lack of oxygen. It wouldn’t be the first time. Somehow, he doubts it’ll be the last.

This is all well and good, but it doesn’t work as well as it should. Even now, blinking the last of the past night’s sleep from his eyes, Derek sits up slowly in his own bed, and the sight of Y/N there next to him isn’t surprising. Not at all. His internal alarm system stopped going off around her a long time ago. Hell, he gets more uneasy the longer he goes without seeing her instead of the other way around.

A year ago, he would have called that a mistake. Hales survive because they trust only each other. Y/N may be an ally in this eternally war-torn town, but that does not make her someone he can afford to keep around. Still, when he carefully lifts himself out of bed to avoid waking her, when she comes out of the room about half an hour later in one of his shirts, when Derek can’t quite tell where her perfume ends and his cologne begins, he wonders to himself if he hasn’t already crossed that line a very long time ago.

It doesn’t matter. None of this is real. He doesn’t make her breakfast, she doesn’t say goodbye. They just go about their lives as if the past night had never happened at all, as if none of the nights before that, all stretching out in one vast line of pale, bedsheet-white dominoes do not exist between them. You cannot topple what you do not see, and Derek’s eyes are snapped shut tight.

He’s started noticing things, though, against his better judgment. The furrows in Y/N’s brow vanish while she’s asleep, but they appear again when she looks around at her house or his in the morning and remembers something she’ll never tell him. Her shoulders always rise and pinch together right before she leaves without a word. Derek has started making himself scarce whenever she wakes up. It’s better for both of them if there’s no opportunity to stay any longer.

Most of all, Derek takes care to ensure that whatever happens at night does not affect either of them during the day. Y/N’s more closely allied with the McCall pack than whatever dregs are left of Derek’s ill-gotten attempt to seize power with his own batch of betas, but he still sees her often enough on wolf business. Derek has no doubt that Scott has caught on to the fact that they’re seeing each other, but neither of them will bring it up so long as it doesn’t become a problem.

A couple of times, Derek has felt Scott’s eyes on him like an accusation, burning holes into his shoulders whenever Y/N shows up late or seems listless during the discussions. Derek wants to throw up his hands and declare to anyone who cares to listen or blame him that he’s doing his best to make sure he isn’t the cause, but he doubts any of the younger pack members want to know that he’s specifically trimming off any stem of feeling before it takes root. He’s doing his best, at least. Surely that counts for something.

Still, he can feel their judgment like a plague, even outside of passing glimpses. When Scott McCall shows up at Derek’s door to ask for his help with a sudden hunter shootout at the hospital, Derek can still see the awareness in the back of the kid’s eyes. Y/N’s got her own thing going, Derek wants to clarify, she’s long past school-crush days just like him. They’re both adults and they can do what they please. High school sweethearts all die by hunters’ arrows. The ones who survive don’t play by the rules.

Scott will never bring it up, though, so Derek won’t, either. Instead, he just accompanies Scott to the hospital, where he slashes and stabs at anyone who tries to shoot at him. These sorts of things are becoming normal occurrences by now; Melissa McCall and the other doctors are probably sick of it, but what can you do?

Derek’s only half paying attention. He focuses enough to keep himself alive, but it’s easy to go on autopilot. The hunters will always attack, and they will always defend. Some will get hurt. They’ll heal in time to start the game over again. Nothing new.

It should be nothing new. It is, until Derek rounds a corner and he sees one of the hunters shooting at Y/N’s back. She’s distracted taking out someone else. She won’t react in time, Derek knows it, he can feel it in his bones like a bad frost, and Derek– he actually screams, a guttural shout of despair, and he hurls himself at the hunter. The gun goes flying out of the guy’s hands and into a corner of the room, blood spatters following it a second later. It’s alright again. Y/N is fine.

Y/N, actually, is staring at him in confusion. “What was that about?” She asks slowly.

Derek catches a hazy glimpse of himself in the glass panel of a nearby door and realizes that he looks mad. His eyes are wide, startled, glowing; his claws are out and dripping with gore. “He was going to shoot you,” he says, a little unsteadily, “You weren’t paying attention.”

She shakes her head slowly. “I was, Derek. His gun was empty. No more bullets left, I heard the empty barrel click a minute ago.”

Derek stares at her uncomprehendingly, and Y/N has to cross the room, pick up the fallen hunter’s weapon, and pull the trigger several times until Derek understands. She was right, no ammunition was shot. It was a complete misfire on his end, and something that he should have picked up on far before he decided to strike. If Y/N could hear that the gun was empty from across the room, Derek should have known it from where he stood.

He knows what this means, then. It means he’s making mistakes, and mistakes get you killed. They get everyone killed. Derek hasn’t made a mistake like this in a long time, because he never let anyone in, but he has now, hasn’t he? He’s known it for a long time. Y/N means far more to him than a prolonged one night stand. He has feelings for her, of a depth he couldn’t decipher if given a thousand years trapped inside his own head. Derek Hale has fallen in love, but this love will destroy him. It will make him weak.

And, fuck, Derek knows how this is going to end. How it always ends. He is a fire, consuming everything in his path; burning down his family home; choking the last breath from the lungs of anyone foolish enough to love him. If Y/N realizes that he loves her, if she does something so terrible as to love him back, she will fall before the year is out. They always do, and it will be his fault again, his fault like it was for all the others.

He moves before he knows what he’s doing. Y/N is calling after him, he thinks, but Derek is already rounding the corner and out of the hallway. Hunters in his path are killed by a wolf that might be Derek, if Derek was aware enough of what he was doing to act on anything more than animal instinct. Instead, he just keeps going like a bloodsoaked robot until Scott tells him it’s over, and then he leaves. He does not check in with the rest of the pack. He does not check in with Y/N.

In fact, he does not speak with her again. She tries texting him afterwards to see if he’s alright, and then even shows up at his door when he’s unresponsive for days, but Derek just waits silently in the confines of his apartment until she goes away. She can probably hear his heartbeat, but it doesn’t matter. This will benefit both of them. Neither Derek nor Y/N can afford an attachment like this. He’s already started slipping up in the heat of battle. Who knows what sort of deadly error he will commit next?

If he thought the McCall pack’s judgment was bad enough before, they’re downright diabolical now. He can’t speak to them without being on the receiving end of a thousand hateful stares. Every time he so much as crosses their path, you’d think he murdered their entire family. It’s unreal. Don’t they know he’s doing this for the best? 

It’s not like Derek enjoys this, anyway. It’s unnatural. He’s started waking up at odd hours of the night, reaching out for someone who isn’t there. Derek rises with the sun and stares at the empty other half of the bed. He starts to get up quietly and then remembers that there’s no one around who’s still sleeping, so he can be as loud as he pleases. It feels wrong when the floor creaks.

He’s started creeping closer to the door whenever Y/N stops by. He hovers right by the threshold, listening; he can tell by the inflections of her voice that she’s starting to give up hope, and then she stops coming. When a week goes by without a single word from her, Derek thinks that he should be pleased because he’s finally saved her from himself, but instead, all he feels is alone.

It’s not a good feeling, this. Derek thought he would be able to shake off any and all feelings for her in a matter of weeks, but even a month later, he’s still in a terrible state. Lydia starts taking pity on him, he thinks, and actually treats him like a normal human being again, which kind of makes it all worse. He doesn’t want her compassion. He wants–

He wants Y/N. Waking up alone again, hands curling into fists around empty sheets, Derek realizes the earth-shattering truth as if from a dream. He wants her. He wants her more than anything. If this is safety, Derek doesn’t want it. He hates not knowing if she’s alright. He hates thinking that he might have hurt her. If this is the cost of keeping them both alive, Derek would rather be dead.

He throws on his clothes, headed towards the door in a flash. He wakes up early, always has; if he can just get over to her place before she leaves to go to work, maybe it would be okay– maybe she would still want him– maybe he would be enough, now that he knows without a shadow of a doubt that she is for him–

Y/N doesn’t open her door at first, which is, admittedly, justified. Derek’s cheeks flush with shame remembering all the times he’d pointedly ignored her visits. However, she’s better than him, always has been, and opens the door eventually. He looks at her, breathes out at last, and says– “I miss you.”

Y/N arches a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” Derek repeats, “And I’ve been– stupid, really, and I shouldn’t have been. I know better than that.”

Y/N folds her arms across her chest. “What made you change your mind?”

“I realized I love you,” Derek says. It’s only five words, but it makes Y/N sway as if she’s been shot.

“You’re just saying that,” she whispers faintly.

Derek shakes her head. “I’m not the type to throw those words around. You know that. You know me better than anyone, Y/N. Tell me if I’m lying.”

He waits. She stares at him, but at last she nods slowly, and says, “You love me?”

“I love you,” he affirms. Then: “Can I come in?”

A ghost of a smile haunts her lips. “Always so forward, aren’t you?”

He laughs a little, actually. It surprises both of them, Derek the most. “I thought you liked that about me.”

“I do,” she admits, and steps aside to let him pass. Derek lingers by her side, he can’t help it. Moments like these were meant to be treasured. He may have messed up too many of them to count, but for once, Derek can start again. He intends to make the most of it.

teen wolf tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[soulofapatrick]

Pack Instincts - Peter Hale x Reader

Summary: Peter finally sneaks into your room to confess his feelings 

Words: 2.8k 

Warning: none 

Notes: Am still in love with Peter Hale like four years on, guess some things never change

Y/N’s POV

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I hear my window squeak as it’s lifted slowly, someone lingering just outside as if scared to come in. It’s a pack member, I can tell, that pack mum connection I have to the pack lets me know it’s one of mine but there’s something different. Something is off about them and I stay facing my laptop, shifting in my chair and tucking my leg underneath me as I continue typing my essay, not wanting to scare them away. 

It seems to work as soon enough there’s a soft thud and the familiar smell of the forest that seems to cling to the wolves no matter how much they shower. It’s become a comforting smell to me and I can’t stop the small smile that settles on my lips as it has begun to smell like home. The wolf is sitting on my bed, hesitating before I can sense them reaching down and unlacing their shoes before a jacket is placed on the back of my chair then moving back to the bed. The strange mixture of musk, something slightly spicy like dark amber and is that… is that vanilla? My mind races as it’s something new, something I’m not used to but something so familiar and intoxicating that my heart skips a beat or two. 

A rumble escaping the wolf behind me and I would never mistake that sound: Peter Hale. I’m turning my office chair around to see him lounging on my bed, a book in hand as he pretends to read it and be completely disinterested in me. The omega of the McCall Pack; the creeper-wolf with a tendency for violence; the wolf who has no pack. There’s an air of nervousness surrounding him as his eyes scan the page way too quickly to be ready any of the words there and if I were a wolf I would probably be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest. I just lean back in my chair, raising my feet to rest on my bed and watch him: his lean figure relaxed on my bed, displaying a subtle air of dominance that seems to come naturally to him. His toned physique barely hidden behind his one size too small tee shirt, his dark hair, slightly tousled, frame his angular face, accentuating his strong jawline and chiselled features. 

“A picture might be better if you want to keep staring so.” He speaks, voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with a touch of apprehension. Peter’s voice has always possessed a seductive quality, laced with a velvety smoothness that holds a power of his own. The words rolling off of his tongue with an almost musical cadence, drawing my attention further. It’s a voice that can be both soothing and enthralling, making it difficult to resist its allure. 

I decide I’ve had enough of him avoiding why he’s here so I get up from my desk and slide onto my bed with ease and grace for someone as clumsy as me. He never lowers the book once despite me sat at his waist level on the bed so I do the only thing logical, I pull the book from his grasp and throw it onto my chair before turning my head back to him and my breath hitches at the blueness of his eyes. I knew they were blue but that shade of blue is the colour of the clearest ocean, depths of azure that captivate me. They hold a mixture of enigmatic allure and vulnerable longing, beckoning me to explore the uncharted territories within him. It's as if the colour of his eyes holds secrets of a world beyond our own, a realm I'm eager to discover but would never admit out loud. 

“Every member of the pack has visited me at least once except you, why now Creeperwolf?” I ask, bringing my face dangerously close to his, feeling his breath fan across my lips that has my tongue darting out to wet them. The nickname rolls off my tongue, a teasing reminder of the reputation that precedes him. The words hanging in the air, carrying an unspoken invitation to reveal the truth behind his unexpected visit. 

“Why didn’t you accept the bite? Scott offered it to you, and you would make a fine beta.” He finally replies, his voice carrying a weight of contemplation and a touch of longing. Each word is chosen with meticulous care, as if he's navigating a delicate path between vulnerability and self-preservation.

His hand rises, gentle and warm, to caress my face. His fingers trace a path over my lips, sending a shiver down my spine as I can feel the softness of his touch, a contrast to the underlying strength that radiates from him. His piercing blue eyes searching my gaze, seeking answers and perhaps a glimpse of the emotions I keep hidden. The question hangs in the air, pregnant with unspoken possibilities. I can sense the genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he's been searching for this conversation as much as I have. It's an invitation for me to reveal the truth, to share the reasons behind my decision. 

I open my mouth to respond but I’m unsure how to respond as I really don’t have an exact reason why I didn’t take the bite and instead spent months healing like a mundane. It leaves me momentarily speechless, caught in the intensity of his gaze and the unexpected tenderness of his touch. His grip on my wrist is firm, yet there’s a gentleness in the way he brings it to his lips. The gesture mirroring the intimacy shared between an alpha and their betas, a connection forged through the transformative power of the bite. Except Peter is no longer an alpha and I’m not a beta but it doesn’t seem to matter to him as instead of sinking his teeth into my skin, his lips press against the tender flesh of my wrist, creating a sensation that sends shivers down my spine. The warmth and comfort of his touch sweep over me, erasing any doubts or uncertainties that clouded my mind. 

“Peter.” I whispering, sitting back up as I realise just how close I still am to him but he follows me, sitting up too with my wrist still in his gentle grip. My eyes are drawn to the connection of skin on skin, feeling something completely different to that mothering instinct the other pack members give me. No, this is strong and I fear Scott can feel it through the Alpha-Pack Mum bond or pact or whatever you want to call it. We made it and I’m scared Scott is going to appear out of no where and tear Peter to shreds for even being this close to me. 

“Darling,” Peter’s voice is velvety and rich as he speaks, “You’re thinking too hard.” One of his hands cups my jaw, running his thumb soothingly over my cheek and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, sinking into the softness of his touch. With Peter's thumb still caressing my cheek, I close my eyes briefly, relishing the sensation and letting his words sink in. In his touch, I find solace and a respite from the relentless analysis of our situation. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us in this delicate moment and when I open my eyes I meet Peter’s gaze once more, finding an openness I haven’t seen before. 

“Thinking too hard.” I murmur, echoing him, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip and a real smile tugs at the corners of his lips. In this small moment, where the weight of the world seems to dissipate, I feel a surge of courage and desire welling up within me. Without hesitation, I lean forwards, closing the distance between us, and press my lips gently against Peter’s. The touch is soft and tentative at first, as if we’re both savouring the delicate moment. 

As our lips meet again, a current of warmth and longing courses through me, igniting a fire that had been smouldering beneath the surface. The kiss deepens, a blend of passion and tenderness intertwining as our mouths mould together in perfect harmony. It feels all too cliche, the kiss a dance of emotions and desires, a silent confession of mutual want and longing for each other. Peter responding to the kiss with a hunger that matches my own, his arms encircling me as he pulls me closer, one tugging my hair to angle my face to deepen the kiss. I’m sliding onto his lap effortlessly, as if we were always meant to fit together in this way and something in the back of my mind screams ‘mate’ and I know Scott feels it too as there’s a small surge of worry and happiness somewhere in the distance. It’s flowing through me but it feels so far away and detached from right now that I can ignore it in favour for sliding my hands up Peter’s toned chest and into his hair. 

A growl rumbles in Peter’s chest and I can vaguely feel claws pressed against my back and scalp but they’re in no way threatening and I feel safe. Peter’s lips are intoxicating, soft yet demanding, as they meld with mine over and over again. 

In one seamless motion, Peter flips us over, his body now pressed against mine, and the kiss momentarily broken. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him partially wolfed out, the now werewolf electric blue reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and apprehension. Yet, there’s an underlying trust that radiated from him, a belief that I would accept him in all his forms and he’s right. Without any hesitation, I reach up and cup his face, my fingers grazing over the soft fur on his cheeks, my touch gentle and reassuring as I lean up, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. A silent declaration that his transformation doesn’t change the way I feel about him, that I am drawn to the entirety of who he is, human and wolf alike. 

This kiss is a collision of desire and acceptance, an exploration of passion and longing. It’s a fusion of heat and tenderness as our mouths meld together, as if our emotions are bonded and I can feel him and he can feel mine. I find myself drawn to him, craving the connection even more now. 

As the kiss deepens, I become acutely aware of his hands, strong and possessive, as they roam my body. The touch of his fingertips against my skin sends shivers cascading down my spine, igniting a trail of sensation that dances across my flesh. I feel his claws, once sharp and threatening, receding, their presence fading into the background as his human touch takes precedence. His hands slip under my shirt, exploring the curves and contours of my body with a mix of urgency and reverence. It's a dance of desire and discovery, his touch leaving a trail of tingling warmth in its wake. I arch into his caress, craving the sensation of his hands against my bare skin, revelling in the intimacy of the moment. 

Lost in the moment, neither of us hear the front door open or the pounding of feet on my stairs until my bedroom door flies open and I’m shrieking in surprise, the kiss breaking. Looking over Peter’s shoulder I see Stiles and Scott standing in the doorway, Stiles trying to catch his breath while Scott lets out a warning growl when he realises who is currently on top of me. 

“PETER?!” Scott is suddenly yelling and I’m cowering slightly, “PETER IS YOUR MATE?!” his emotions heightened by the bond which has Peter on his feet and challenging the alpha in seconds. I’m groaning, climbing off the bed and stepping between them, my back pressed to Peter’s chest and I end up choking on my words as I feel something hard poking into my ass. 

“Scott,” I raise an eyebrow at him as his gaze stays locked on Peter like an unspoken warning still lingering in the air, “Scottie!” I’m saying again, using the bond and his expression softens, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and protectiveness as Peter wraps an arm around my waist. 

“You hurt-“ 

“Yes, yes, you hurt her and I’ll kill you, I know the whole script.” Peter is cutting Scott off with a bored tone to his voice that has me smacking his thigh lightly as he’s not helping the situation. 

“You’re the one who’s telling Dad about this.” Stiles chortles as he drags Scott back out the room, a shit eating grin on his face as Dad is the Sheriff and has threatened to put a few bullets in Peter before. Scott and Stiles make their exit, voices fading down the stairs, Peter and I are left alone in the aftermath of their abrupt intrusion. The tension in the room beginning to dissolve, replaced by the lingering arousal. Peter’s arm around my waist providing a sense of grounding and a way to push the bond between me and Scott completely out of my mind so he’s can’t feel anything I’m feeling. 

It’s as if Peter senses it because as soon as I’ve done it I’m being spun around and pressed against my bedroom door, my hands pinned above my head as his lips graze against the sensitive skin of my neck. A surge of electricity courses through my veins, reigniting that fire within me as his kisses are soft and teasing, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. With each gentle press of his lips, I feel the weight of his desire and the intensity of our connection. His touches becoming more deliberate, lips lingering over the sensitive spots that make my breath hitch and my heart race. I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, his exhales sending shivers down my spine. The anticipation builds as his lips venture dangerously close to where wolves mark their mates, the thrill of it heightening the intensity of our encounter. 

A soft moan escapes my lips, surrendering to the pleasure that courses through me, his thigh pressed between my legs. The world outside ceases to exist as Peter’s attention is solely focused on me, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of hickeys that I know Dad will question. He can’t mate mark me yet so hickeys will have to do for now and I understand and love him for the control he is having to exert. 

I can't help but arch into his touch, my body craving more of his intoxicating presence. The sensations overwhelm me, filling me with a mix of desire and vulnerability. Each touch, each nibble, feels like a declaration of his possessiveness. My pulse quickens, matching the rhythm of our escalating desire. The thrill of being on the edge, the precipice of giving in to the primal instincts that lurk within us, sends a surge of adrenaline through my veins but then Peter’s pulling back, blue eyes dark. 

“Sweetheart if we don’t stop now I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back.” He all but groans, a feral and needy sound following the testament and it just sends another wave of arousal pooling between my thighs that I know he can smell with his heightened werewolf senses, “Fuck, you gotta… shit, you gotta stop sweetheart.” 

“Or what?” I tease, pressing my hips down and the material of our jeans rubs just the right way that a moan is leaving his lips. 

“Don’t,” He warns, eyes glowing again, “I don’t wanna rush this.” A mischievous smile plays on my lips as I revel in the effect my teasing has on Peter. His warning only fuels the fire within me, igniting a desire that burns hotter with each passing moment. Yet, there's a sense of restraint in his voice, a reminder that we shouldn't rush what is unfolding between us. 

I press my lips just below his ear, my breath hot against his skin. "Who said anything about rushing?" I whisper, my voice laced with a mixture of playfulness and longing. "We have all the time in the world, Peter.” His grip tightens ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the power struggle between us. We stand at the precipice of something profound, where pleasure and connection intertwine. The desire in his eyes mirrors my own, an unspoken promise of what lies ahead. 

“All the time in the world.” He echoes. 

“Make me yours.” 

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

Teen Wolf Masterlist 

TAGS: Tag List Form

[i-heart-yellowstone]

50 - Similar than We Thought

( gif belongs to @forcestruck )

Part 51

Raised Fair Share of Hell

Tag list @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @whatelsecouldgowrong @lover-of-books-and-tea

Alissa’s pov

He turned nearly jumping out of his boots, noticing Kayce Dutton waiting in the hallway. “Jesus fuck!”

“We need to talk you and me, Tommy Norris.” The cowboy spoke in a deep voice, lifting his head up so he could see his dark eyes looking at him underneath the black cowboy he was wearing.

The two men walked down the quiet hallway with the only sounds coming from the different types of hospital machines that we’re monitoring other patients that we’re staying there. The two stubborn men entered into an empty room seeing nobody was there. “Thomas Norris my name is Alissa Dutton. My daughter is dating your son, Cooper.” The door slammed behind them where they saw Kayce’s wife standing in the dark corner.

The man named Tommy Norris wore a straw colored cowboy hat, white tea shirt, jeans and black boots. He had dark gray hair and a beard on his face. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you if the circumstances were different.”

“As do I but yet here we are.” I scoffed at the elderly oil manager.

The Texas man knitted his brows. “What did we need to talk about exactly?”

“We want to help you get revenge for your kid and our daughter. Our daughter was nearly on the verge of losing her mind when she found out what happened to her boyfriend. Nobody hurts our family and gets away with it.” Kayce strides up getting in his face, hands clenched together into fists at his sides.

Crossing my arms over my chest I tilted my head up death glaring into his eyes. “Just so you know even if you don't let us come with you we'll just go behind your back and do it ourselves.” This man from Texas didn't scare me. Tommy stared at us briefly nodding his head and we took that as a sign to follow him outside to our trucks.

Tommy, Dale, Kayce and I all pulled up in our vehicles outside the trailer we were looking for at the man-camp site. Getting out of the car Kayce cocked his handgun sliding it into the pocket of his jeans then pulled out a Yellowstone branding fire poker. I picked up a baseball bat that Beth had put inside the truck while Tommy and Dale carried smaller to conceal weapons. Tommy’s boots made a noise on the porch where we heard one of the guys inside attempting to whisper. “Don't answer. Make like we're asleep.”

“I can fucking hear you.” Tommy declared sternly.

One of the two guys opened the door letting us inside the trailer. “What's up?” Tommy shoved him harshly back into the wall before he hit the guy upside the head with the weapon in his hand.

“This seem familiar, motherfucker?”

“Hey, man…” The second guy slowly backed away where Tommy hit him repeatedly with the weapon to his stomach causing the one guy to fall onto the floor.

“You get on your ficking phone and call your friends. You know, the ones that you called that put my fucking son in the hospital.” Tommy pointed his index finger seeing the guy didn’t move so he glanced at his black friend who clearly was in charge of these two. “No? He don't want to call his friends, Boss.”

“Me and these two will take him in the back.” The black guy responded, eyeing my husband who grabbed the second guy up from the floor harshly.

“Okay, I'd appreciate that.” Tommy responded watching my husband drag the guy towards the nearest bedroom.

“Oh, we'll convince you, you little prick!” Kayce growled in his ear slamming him against the wall before the door was shut in my face.

I heard the one guy in the room screaming and I knew more than likely Kayce and the other guy were beating the hell out of him by the way he screamed. “No. No, fuck.”

“Nobody said "get up," Manny.” The second guy that was left alone with me, Dale and Tommy, attempted to get up from the floor till Dale hit the back of his head and he collapsed on his hands and knees once more.

“Have a seat, Manuel. Here's how this is gonna go. Needless to say, you're fired. By noon tomorrow,you'll be on a "no hire" list for every fucking oil company in the Permian Basin. Sheriff's gonna be here in about five minutes, and he's gonna toss this fucking place. And I'm just guessing he'll add felon in possession of a firearm, possession of a controlled substance, and maybe possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute.” Tommy sat down at the small round table inside the trailer and the other guy sat down showing me a harsh bloody dent into the side of his head. Tommy threatened the man across from him while I clutched the handle of the baseball bat in my hands. “And any goddamn one of those violates your parole. And then you add on top of that shit, aggravated assault charge and kidnapping, 'cause when you shut the door on him, that's kidnapping. I ain't a goddamn mathematician, but that's, like, 30 years. That's what I do to people who hurt my family. You fucked with the wrong hillbilly.”

Hearing a siren I bolted forward yanking the guy up from the table swinging the baseball bat into gut repeatedly until he collapsed weakly onto the floor. “Manny, you listen here you asshole, his son is dating my daughter and you have emotionally damaged my child and for that you are going to pay. You messed with two wrong families buddy and you're gonna regret it for the rest of your life!” Grabbing the back of his head he winced when I pressed the bat to his throat, choking him with my knees on either side of his body, trapping him from escaping.

“I'm gonna take 30 years of your life away from you. And if you ever come back to this place, I'm gonna take the rest of it.” Tommy bent down on a knee forcing the guy to stand up weakly. The trailer door opened revealing the sheriff who must have been called by Tommy on the way here. “Have you met the sheriff?”

“Stand up and turn around.” The Texas sheriff pushes the guy against the wall handcuffing him.

“They're having a confession in the back room.” Tommy explained to the officer of law enforcement.

The back room door opened revealing his friend. “Tommy.”

“Did he have anything to say?” Cooper’s father asked.

“He gave up the names. Even wrote 'em down for you.” The man replied.

The sheriff asked him. “You think he'd repeat 'em to me?”

“Sure he would if you asked.” He responded.

Following the sheriff into the back room where I glanced over in the direction of my husband who was holding onto a bloody fire poker in his hands. “Would you confirm the names of the other assailants?” I didn’t even need to ask knowing my husband had a violent side from serving in the Navy. He knew when to correctly use it and when to not.

“You-you gonna take me with you?” The first guy was quivering in the corner bruised all over.

The sheriff put a hand on his other set of handcuffs. “Well, that depends. You gonna say something give me a reason?”

“I'll give you a reason.” He gulped minutes before the sheriff led him outside to his vehicle with the other arrested man leaving me, Tommy and my husband all standing in the small trailer.

“I gotta get my boy out of here before somebody kills him.” Tommy lit a cigarette placing it inside his mouth shaking his head eyeing his boots.

Spinning the baseball bat in my hands, turning on my heels and walking out the trailer door tossing the bat into the truck bed. “We thought we were sending our daughter to a safe state to experience life outside of our ranch. Apparently your son tracks trouble into her life.”

“There's something about that boy, just draws trouble to him like bugs to a light.” Tommy sighed, tossing his cigarette onto the dirt ground stomping out the last bit of fire with his boot.

Kayce tossed his poker into the backseat of the Yellowstone work truck crossing his arms over his chest glaring at the Texas cowboy. “He sounds exactly like I was when I was younger. I just hope he turns out better than I did and does it a lot faster.”

“He ain't mean enough for this place, Alissa. He just ain't mean enough.” Tommy slumped his shoulders running a hand down his face.

“Sounds like we have more in common than you would think, Mr. Norris.” Swinging opened the passenger seat climbing up inside of it before slamming it shut. “We ain’t heading back to Montana until we know as much about you as you seemed to want to know about my daughter.”

Tommy walked over knocking on the window so I pressed the button rolling it down. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re bratty teenage daughter called my son a bastard because I’m not his biological mother.” I glared at him sternly into his eyes. “You wanna know how I found out. I heard it walking into the hospital before my daughter got into a fist fight with yours who completely deserved it.”

Kayce got in the driver's seat closing the door, one hand on the steering wheel. “What would we find if we looked into your family hmm.”

“Follow me to the bar and I'll explain why I was looking into your daughter and I'll tell you whatever you want to know about mine. Deal?”

Kayce and I replied in unison. “Deal.”

[teecupangel]

Ok so because I was rewatching Disney and DreamWorks imagine if Ratonhnhaké:ton was in like a musical, kind of like Hamilton but in real life. I don't know how that will work and I'm slowly losing cells so yeah : P

“There is something you must know before you leave.” The clan mother, his grandmother, spoke solemnly.

Ratonhnhaké:ton stared at her and waited for her to continue.

She was giving him permission to leave their village after all. The least he could do was heed her warnings and take her words to heart.

“These white men have a curse placed upon them.”

“A curse?” Ratonhnhaké:ton repeated with a frown.

“Yes, they are slaves to the music only they hear.” She explained, “We know not why it is so but they would be taken in by the desire to sing and be unable to resist it. No matter the place or the time, when they hear the music, they must sing.”

She stared at her only grandson as she continued, “Your mother and I… we were worried that you have gotten their curse but not once have you ever shown to bear the same curse as they have. That might change once you walk among them.”

She must have seen the disbelief that he was trying to hide for she sigh as she said, “You must be careful, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Who knows what this curse truly entails. We can never be certain that this curse is not simply the inescapable call of music.”

“I… understand.” Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, “I will be careful.”

The clan mother knew that Ratonhnhaké:ton didn’t truly understand but she said nothing, only telling him to be careful.

He will understand soon enough.

.

Unorganized Notes:

So my idea is that the Europeans are the ones hit by this ‘curse’. They’re compelled to sing whenever they hear the music and it happens a lot. The natives see this and are like “???” but to the colonizers, it’s just… par of the course.

This does mean those who weren’t born or raised in the parts of Europe like Adéwalé do not sing. He does sing with the crew when it’s sea shanties but any dance number and such? Nope, he was the ‘straight dude’ in the Jackdaw.

This means that Achilles also doesn’t sing so he’s able to tell Ratonhnhaké:ton how it looks and feel like to give him a head’s up.

The Kenways, Edward, Haytham and even Jenny, usually sing very dramatic songs. It shows as the kind of “find my freedom and goal” uplifting songs for Edward, the whole “I want to be me” kind of songs for Jenny and the “villain song that is always the best song in the album” type of songs for Haytham (bonus points for Haytham having his own Gregorian chant backup singers to connote his Templar background).

Ratonhnhaké:ton does not sing but… he does hear the music.

If you want to turn this into a Hamilton crossover, go ahead. That means Ratonhnhaké:ton has to deal with Hamilton’s… everything whenever he has to talk to Washington XD

Whatever is making them sing sees Ratonhnhaké:ton as ‘part’ of the ensemble so you get scenes like Haytham singing a duet with Ratonhnhaké:ton but Ratonhnhaké:ton does not know the lyrics and would rather strip naked and run away from wolves all night long than sing.

The same thing happened to Charles Lee but Ratonhnhaké:ton was busy beating the crap out of him.

The whole confrontation with Washington, Haytham and Ratonhnhaké:ton ends with Haytham and Washington singing with some ‘dead spaces’ here and there where it’s clear that it was Ratonhnhaké;ton’s turn to sing.

The music in the homestead are always jolly (unless something bad happens) and they always include Ratonhnhaké:ton. Unlike the other times, they don’t try to make Ratonhnhaké:ton sing and Ratonhnhaké:ton just joins in the festivity more or less. Achilles takes the ‘I’m the grumpy one who doesn’t sing’ part in these musical numbers instead.

… Haytham definitely sang a very embarrassing love song that was meant to be a duet to Kaniehtí:io. Kaniehtí:io was amuse. Haytham was embarrassed.

Why are the colonizers singing? Isu BS. Apollo, Bragi and Meret got super drunk and fucked up the ‘latest’ batch of humans to be processed for shits and giggles. They ran away before Yaldabaoth saw them and he’s been so overworked that he just… didn’t give a shit and sent these batch as is.

[thefuzzzz]

Jasico Week 2024 - Day 3

Words: 2,002 Rating: General Audiences Type: Oneshot

Description: Jason Grace, ever aloof praetor, asks the new ambassador to spar with him. Nico isn't sure if this is a weird mating ritual or if Jason is going to murder him, but he has fun either way.

Sidenote: This fic was written for @jasico-challenges Jasico week 2024 event!

Full fic under the cut!

In Nico’s opinion, Camp Jupiter was pretty boring. Considering all the things he’d seen at Camp Half-Blood, this was a walk in the park. They were more organized and put together, which was both appreciated and vaguely disappointing.

One day, as Nico sat bored in a meeting with all the other senate members, he found himself zoning out. He rarely attended meetings but had been asked to be here. He probably should have paid attention, but gods this was lame. 

His attention was dragged away from its sharpened stare on the floor by a hand on his shoulder. He whipped around, instantly going into fight or flight. 

His shoulders dropped as he realized who it was. Jason Grace. The praetor. 

Jason flashed him a smile that looked more like a sad attempt at showing all his teeth. “Hello, ambassador,” he said. 

Nico shuffled awkwardly in his spot. “Afternoon. Praetor.”

Jason pointed to the seat beside him. “This spot taken?”

Nico shook his head, slightly less startled now that he realized he wasn’t in trouble for zoning out. Still, Jason freaked him out. 

Nico was well aware that he himself was a pretty scary guy. Jason, however, rattled even his nerves. 

He was just so untouchable. Nico often wondered if he had some kind of inordinate amount of human-to-god ratio that no other demigod had. 

He knew Jason was nice. He had experienced his kindness multiple times throughout his days at Camp Jupiter, but he just looked mean. 

Nico couldn’t blame him. He’d heard many stories about Jason’s upbringing, and how it was mostly done by Lupa. He’d probably be weird too if he was raised by wolves. 

One of the senate members started going on a rant that no one quite knew how to stop. Most people just quit paying attention. 

Jason leaned over. “Pretty boring meeting.”

Nico jumped again but recovered from his startle. “Yeah,” he agreed weakly.

Jason looked him up and down quickly, accompanied by the unabashed confidence only a man in his position could acquire. Nico yet again shuffled awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself. 

“Spar with me,” Jason said suddenly, eyes flipping back to Nico’s face. 

Nico sputtered before getting himself together. “Excuse me?”

Jason looked away. “You’re excused.”

Nico couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped his lips. “That’s not what I meant. It’s a figure of speech.”

The praetor’s head turned back to Nico, eyes settling on him with the same intensity of the sky before a storm. He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward just slightly. Nico resisted the urge to shy away and lean back. 

“What did you mean?” Jason asked. 

Nico took a beat to let his eyes wander over Jason’s face. “I meant ‘What?’” he explained. 

“I want you to spar with me,” Jason repeated, eyebrows furrowing. 

Nico couldn’t help but laugh again. He got that this guy spent the majority of his life so far either in the company of wolves or being trained for war, but come on. He also couldn’t help but notice the way Jason’s face softened when he laughed. He didn’t take time to ponder that, though. 

“No, no. I understood that part. I meant ‘why?’” Nico corrected, now aware of the few people looking at them, telling them to shut up. Oops. 

Jason lowered his voice. “Why didn’t you just say that?” he asked quietly. Upon Nico’s shrugging, he explained. “I’ve never sparred with you.”

Nico looked at him quizzically. Jason was like a puzzle no one but Reyna could really solve. He didn’t know much slang aside from what he heard every day, and he rarely felt the need to explain himself. Talking with him could be a task, but Nico always left their interactions feeling slightly—oddly— endeared. 

Jason watched him, waiting for an answer. Throughout his eager staring, the meeting was adjourned and people began filing out of the building. This included Reyna, who shot a curious glance toward Jason before shrugging and walking away. 

Nico decided that was enough explanation and nodded. “Sure.”

Jason smiled, slightly scary and slightly sweet. His smiles always were confusing, but it looked like he was really trying this time. 

“…right now?” Nico asked, standing. Jason nodded, just as eager as before. Something shone in his eyes, something Nico wasn’t used to seeing on him. 

Nico let him lead him out to the training area, following awkwardly. 

“Aren’t we, like, not supposed to be out here this late?” Nico asked, tilting his head to see the side of Jason’s face. 

Jason shrugged, though the act looked foreign on his stiff shoulders. “I’m a praetor,” he said as if it explained it.

Nico decided to let it go, following him onto the packed dirt of the coliseum. He pulled his sword from its hilt, standing in wait. 

Jason flipped a golden coin, which transformed into his own sword. Nico resisted the urge to say “That was cool,” deciding Jason already knew that. 

There was no warning or countdown, just Jason suddenly swinging his sword. Nico panicked and shadow traveled behind him, sweeping his leg under Jason’s to trip him forward. He poked the tip of his sword into his back as a sign he had accidentally won. 

“I didn’t say powers were allowed,” Jason said, though there was a hint of humor in his voice as he pulled himself up off his knees. 

“You didn’t say they weren’t,” Nico smiled back. 

Jason mimicked his smile, for once flashing one that didn’t look too threatening. Nico tried to keep his eyes from lingering too long, but he couldn’t help but notice how pleasant the setting sun looked on Jason’s face. 

He passed that off as admiration and let Jason come to his feet, readying again. He lowered his stance. Nico, again, couldn’t help but notice how good concentration looked on him. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he got into his own battle stance. 

“Powers?” Nico asked, not looking forward to a fight without his. 

Jason shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Nico let Jason advance again, shadow traveling behind him once more. Jason was able to anticipate it this time, swinging toward him. Nico blocked, forcing him to step out of the column’s shadow he had been standing in. 

Jason smiled, a cocky kind of smile that Nico would’ve been mad about if it was anyone else. However, he couldn’t seem to mind how the scar on his lip moved with his grin. 

Nico was forced farther into the light as Jason continued his advances. They were two skilled swordsmen, but without his powers, Nico often faltered. 

Jason had now figured out the trick to Nico’s powers and was about to show him his own. 

Electricity gathered on his arm in little bolts before shooting down his sword and onto Nico’s. It wasn’t enough electricity to actually hurt him, but enough for him to drop his sword and stumble. 

Jason held his weapon to Nico’s chest. Nico smiled, rubbing the elbow he’d fallen onto. 

Jason outstretched a hand, letting the gathered lightning fade away before offering it. Nico took his hand and stood. Their palms brushed for a second longer than they needed to. Nico tried not to think about that. 

They assumed their positions yet again, both formulating plans behind their eyes. 

Once Jason decided they were both ready, he advanced. Nico was not ready, but let it happen anyways, sword raising in defense. 

This time, he shadow traveled to Jason’s left. Just as he was about to kick him down, Jason shot electricity through his leg, effectively zapping Nico. 

Jason attempted to herd him out of the shadow again, but Nico knew better and evaded. He attempted to block another hit but was just zapped again. It seemed the two were at a crossroads. 

Well, until Nico decided shadow traveling above him would prove more successful, and set him up to do just that. 

He managed to push Jason to the ground with that method, catching himself mid-air to shadow travel just beside him. Nico had dropped his sword in the process, so he couldn’t officially end it. However, he stood triumphantly, taking the thud of Jason’s body against the dirt as clear evidence of his win. 

Before Nico could notice over his gloating, Jason reached out with his sword and zapped the back of his leg lightly, making Nico fall forward. He caught himself on his palms, one by Jason’s ribs and the other by his neck. His knees hit the dirt with a thud. 

He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips soon after, kneeled over Jason. Jason laughed too, though his was more of a refined chuckle than Nico’s out-of-character cackling. 

When he collected himself enough to realize he was currently on top of the praetor, he pushed his hands off the ground, kneeling beside Jason with flushed cheeks. Jason sat up, rubbing the back of his head. His cheeks were equally red. 

Jason tugged himself to his feet, outstretching his hand. Nico, yet again, took it, tugging himself to his feet. 

“I’ll walk you to Temple Hill,” Jason said, dusting himself off. Nico usually used the easy access to the underworld in the Pluto temple to his advantage but wasn’t aware that Jason knew that. 

Nico took some time to dust off his clothes too. “Thanks.”

He knew Jason was just doing it so he didn’t get in trouble for being out past curfew, but it still felt nice. 

They walked silently for a second. However, the silence seemed less awkward than before. 

“What do you call that, by the way?” Jason asked, clearly wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Nico looked up at him, noticing swiftly how Jason didn’t meet his gaze. “Call what?” he asked, eyes lingering on the hints of embarrassment on Jason’s face. 

“The teleportation,” Jason said, footsteps beginning to fall in line with Nico’s. 

Nico considered. “I’ve always referred to it as shadow travel.”

Jason nodded. His eyes traced over Nico’s hands, they were paler than usual—nearly transparent, really. He realized he might have used that ability a few too many times. 

“Is that a side effect?” Jason asked, pointing to his hand. 

Nico held it up to let Jason see. “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, it’ll go back to normal in a bit.”

Jason placed his hand under Nico’s to pull his hand closer to his face. Nico quickly looked away in a desperate attempt to hide his red face. ‘Gods, does he have any boundaries?’ Nico thought to himself. 

Jason ended the scrutinizing of Nico’s hand, dropping it. Their knuckles brushed in a way that was far from coincidental. Nico decided to focus his gaze on the ground. 

“You’re talented with that sword. What is it? I’ve never seen one like it,” Jason said, focusing on the sky. 

Now that they had their silent agreement of not watching each other very obviously blush, Nico felt confident enough to answer. “Thanks. It’s Stygian iron.”

Jason nodded, seemingly very focused on a cloud. “Interesting. Any special properties?” 

“It can evaporate ghosts,” Nico said, a little too casually. 

Jason nodded again. This dirt was really interesting. 

They found themselves at the Pluto temple. Nico was tempted to ask Jason if he wanted to come in but recognized that they probably shouldn’t go bending any more rules. 

Jason put a hand on his shoulder, flashing him the closest thing to a smile Nico had ever seen on him. “Thank you for indulging my curiosities, ambassador. I have enjoyed getting to know you.”

Nico nodded, doing his best to smile despite his fluster. “No problem. I had fun.”

Jason nodded. He looked behind him, looking at the setting sun. 

“Well, enjoy your night,” Jason said, starting to walk away. He didn’t give Nico the time to say, “You too,” so he mumbled it to no one. 

Nico disappeared into the dark temple and made a very sudden and awful realization. 

He had a crush. Godsdamn it. Not again.

[knivestothroats]

ITWS/ProVic Crossover Event Of The Century (part 2)

This is a crossover of In The Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez. Read part 1 here. Content warnings: Captivity, torture (beating, scratching, electricity, needles, knives, burning, strangling, stress positions, very mild eye stuff like not even gore)

"To demonstrate his uses tonight, Ladies and Gentlemen, we will invite a very special guest on stage. Please give a round of applause for Fletcher!" Caius led the applause, bearing the grin of the cat who ate the canary.

Fletcher raised their eyebrows. Those who knew them by name turned to them expectantly. 

Fletcher didn't like Caius' expression. It was too smug. He clearly thought he was winning some one-sided battle. Fletcher didn't want to play into his hand. But at the same time, refusing to take the stage, while maybe disappointing Caius, wouldn't paint Fletcher as the stronger of wills, only as too timid to perform for a crowd. Fletcher wasn't shy, and they wouldn't be seen as such. They threw back the rest of their drink and set it on the nearest table. Time to show everyone how it's done.

Fletcher walked confidently up the steps, passing Rory and Michelle with a nod. They stopped in front of Caius and folded their arms, waiting.

“You and Tommy seemed to be making a connection, I thought you should do the honors," Caius told them with a smirk. He waved a hand towards the table where the Cradle sat, surrounded by a variety of other painful-looking tools and implements. "Dealer's choice. Enjoy."

So he was that type of crazy. Fletcher took off their jacket, eliciting a few wolf whistles from the crowd, and thrust it into Caius's chest for him to take. They began to roll up their sleeves as they studied their options laid out on the table. "What are the limits?"

“Avoid arteries, for today. Or tendons. We have to bring him home alive, and in roughly one piece. Nothing severe on the vitals. Oh, and leave the hair, I'm growing it out. We just have to go a little easier than usual today. Arrangements can always be made for more later. But have fun. Take what moves you."

He spoke about the prone man with a wink and a little tongue-in-cheek. He was very comfortable in this space.

(Fuck.) Tommy watched as Fletcher made their way towards the stage. He had hoped for a reprieve after the Cradle, but it looked like he was about to be fed right to the wolves. This particular wolf had touched his face, had spoken to him, had almost felt like a real human interaction, but it had been a long time since he had found a connection that wasn't inspired by brutality. When he looked at Fletcher, he saw someone who tortured for their pleasure more than any dollar amount their clients could pay. This was someone who would take their time, who wanted lots of begging and crying and pleading for them to ignore. Maybe he could tough it out for the first minutes, see if he could earn some leniency with the groveling then. If he started right away, he wasn't sure they would be satisfied. His face flushed with shame as he watched them picking an instrument with care. He looked out at the crowd and saw the eager patrons hungry for a show. To be eaten alive by the wolf to the sound of a cheering audience, and all he could do was beg. He let one dry sob from deep in his chest, and waited for the worst.

Scalpel, box cutter, pliers, claw hammer, extendable baton. Fletcher picked up a cattle prod and tested it, facing the crowd. They saw Tommy flinch out of the corner of their eye at the crackle. Fletcher turned toward him, prod down at their side. Tommy looked up at them, head still sagging. There was no accusation in his features. He was merely resigned, like he knew this was coming. 

"Well-" his name got caught on their tongue. They pushed past it. "Tell us what we want to know." 

Fletcher jammed the prod against Tommy's ribs and lit it up. Tommy's body seized and he let loose a strangled scream.

"Does that hurt more or less than the cradle?" they asked when they granted him reprieve. 

Tommy took deep, rattling breaths. "Less. The cradle - hurts more."

Fletcher put their hands out to the crowd, as if to say, "How 'bout that, folks?" The audience cheered. They raised an eyebrow at Caius and tossed the cattle prod to the table. 

Fletcher loosened their tie, pulling it completely off. They wrapped the ends around their hands, and wrapped the middle around Tommy’s throat, standing behind him so the audience would get a good view of his face.

“No, no, no, wait, wait…” Tommy began to babble in a small, pitiful voice.

Caius stepped forward and leaned in to mutter to Fletcher, “Short intervals.”

“I’m a professional,” Fletcher whispered back.

Fletcher drew their hands apart, cinching the tie around Tommy’s throat. He let out a series of shallow gasps and creaking sounds as his throat struggled to move air through.

Fletcher slacked the tie, giving Tommy room to draw in haggard breaths. They waited a few seconds, then tightened it again.

“Wai-” Tommy’s plea was cut off with a croak. Fletcher extended the strangulation by a few seconds before letting up again. Tommy coughed hard, body rattling, trying to bend forward. Fletcher repeated the process a few times, choking Tommy until his temples pounded like drums and then loosening up enough to let him catch his breath before cinching the tie closed again.

Fletcher began slowly this time, giving Tommy a chance to beg before being cut off.

And beg he did. “Waitwaitplease, I can’t! I can’t go again, just please give me…”

Tommy ran out of time before the tie dug too deep into his throat to get the words out. Fletcher held this one the longest. Tommy began to twitch in his restraints, his legs kicking at the floor below him. 

Was this it? Could he make it through this? Caius would step in if Fletcher was going to kill him, right?

Tommy tried to look to Caius, but black splotches were beginning to cloud his vision.

Just like that, Fletcher let go. 

They unfurled the tie from their hands and unwound it from around his throat. Tommy coughed and hacked until his ribs hurt and spit dangled from his lips. 

Fletcher put both hands on the side of Tommy’s head and lifted it up, tilting it this way and that to examine his face. It was flushed red, verging on purple. His cheeks were dotted with burst blood vessels. The side of one of his eyes was a brilliant shade of bright, bloody red. 

Fletcher let Tommy's head drop. They draped their tie over their shoulders and returned to the table to go over their options. 

Fletcher picked up the box cutter. They extended the blade and turned it over to examine before setting it back down. Reaching into their pocket, they drew their own knife and flipped it open. Fletcher took hold of Tommy's chin and lifted his face to them. They made a cut below his hairline, across the temple. Tommy gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, but didn't make much of a reaction beyond a hiss of pain. 

"I like to start with the face," Fletcher narrated to the audience. "The head bleeds a lot, even if the cut is shallow. Freaks them out, especially when it gets in their eyes. Plus, if you're starting with the face, what are you going to escalate to?" 

As promised, blood was streaming from the cut, running down Tommy's face and dripping off his chin onto his bare chest. He had to keep his eye closed. 

"Forehead bleeds the best, with the veins up there. But as close to the eye as possible is good too." 

They wrenched Tommy's face up further. He struggled to get his legs steady beneath him. Fletcher lined up the tip of the blade with the inside corner of the unbloodied eye. It went wide with fear, eyelids twitching apprehensively as Tommy trembled in their grasp.

"What do you think, Caius?" Fletcher mused, keeping their eyes locked on Tommy. "Your boy said you had one of his limbs reattached. Does that mean I can take out his eye?"

Caius's smile wavered. "Not for free."

Fletcher chuckled softly. They turned the knife abruptly and cut a line down Tommy's cheek instead. Tommy gasped and flinched, but breathed with a certain degree of relief. Fletcher pushed their fingers into his cheeks, causing his lips to purse. Tommy whimpered as Fletcher's hand dug into the fresh cut. 

"You probably want to keep his tongue, too. Let the audience hear him beg. And..." Fletcher flipped the knife in the air, catching it by the handle again. "Was there a rule against stabbing?"

“No vitals - we don’t want to have to end the party so soon.” Caius’s calm composure was a front.

"How deep is too deep? You tell me when." 

Fletcher pressed the tip of the knife under Tommy's clavicle and began to push in. The skin held at first, sinking under the point of the blade until the surface tension finally gave. The first bead of blood pooled as the knife went in ever so slowly. Fletcher kept their hand steady and their eyes fixedly on Caius, waiting for him to break.

Tommy tried to squirm away from the blade, but couldn’t manage much distance before stumbling in the pull of the restraints and pushing it deeper. He whimpered as it bit into him with agonizing patience. "Fuck - it's deep, it's deep enough! Please, please, you don't have to do this!"

Fletcher pulled their attention back to him. 

"Buddy," they said with a smile. "It's barely an inch in."

Tommy groaned as the blade slowly slid deeper, his muscles clenched tight around it from the strain on his arms. Fletcher gently rotated the knife, pushing underneath the bone, and Tommy struggled to stay up on his shaking legs. He was taking forceful deep breaths through his teeth, trying his hardest to stay calm.

Fletcher sank the knife in another inch before Caius cleared his throat and said, “No arteries.”

Fletcher rolled their eyes and blew out a breath. 

“Can’t do anything fun,” they said, pulling the blade back out much quicker than it had gone in. 

Tommy cried out in pain. It was clear he was only upright because of the restraints. Fletcher paced around him. Can’t do the nails through the hand trick in this position, but…

Fletcher reached up to where Tommy’s wrists were suspended and cut along the sides of his wrists, just above the cuffs. Tommy shifted his weight, trying to take pressure off the new wounds, but his arms were stretched as far as they could go, and he didn’t have the strength to hold himself up any higher.

“Cattle prod would work for this,” Fletcher said, examining the tools on the table again. They turned back and pulled a zippo lighter out of their pocket. “But let’s switch it up.”

The only preamble was the grind of the wheel before the flame licked his skin. The heat was sudden and sharp and overwhelming, burning the underside of Tommy’s exposed arm. 

He shrieked and jerked to the side, trying to get as far away from the flame as possible. The cuffs held steady as he pulled against them, only servicing to open the cuts along his wrists wider. 

Blood started trickling down his arms towards his shoulders, ruby rivulets of warm ichor quickly cooling against his pale skin. The burn was agonizing enough to instantly reduce him to tears. The rest of his body started to turn cold and he began to shiver, icy sweat beading on his forehead. Tommy’s head started to swim. (Don’t throw up in front of the crowd, Caius will kill you. Keep it together, don’t pass out.) He ground his teeth together, struggling to stabilize himself. Fletcher let the flame lick up his bicep, finally pausing to let the burn bloom. 

“You don’t - I don’t have anything to give you,” Tommy slurred out. “How much do you have to do to prove yourself?”

Fletcher turned the lighter over in their hands, thinking. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just putting on a show.” They flicked the lighter on again and drew it dangerously close to Tommy’s eye, letting the flame vanish just before he would start to cook. “You’re the magician's assistant today. You know how to play your part, don’t you?”

Tommy whined as the flame disappeared with a flash. He dropped his head, huffing while he opened and closed his fists to regain feeling. They were uncomfortably numb and swollen, while his wrists pulsed in pain. More blood was oozing its way down his sides now, finally beginning to tacky in the air. Under his arm, a raw stretch of skin had bubbled and started to char in the flame. The burn still felt incredibly hot, radiating a fierce heat as if the lighter was still making his flesh a kindling. 

Caius didn’t usually allow burns, unless he was administering them himself. Usually for cauterization. Usually. Tommy tried to sneak a glance over to Caius without Fletcher noticing - he sensed they very much wanted his attention to themselves for the moment. Caius was leaning back against the table, his face a familiar mask of indifferent amusement. He had perfected it for clients, but Tommy could feel some anxiety radiating off of him. There was an audience, after all. Tommy swallowed hard, his throat dry from gasping for air. 

“I know,” he managed to rasp.

Tommy’s attempt at subtlety failed under Fletcher’s sharp watch. Their eyes tracked his gaze to Caius, who had a carefully casual look that his eyes betrayed. A touch too tense around the edges, at the corners of the mouth. 

“Good,” Fletcher told Tommy, as they refocused on one another. “Because for my next trick,” they held up their pocket knife, flicking the blade open with a satisfying click. “-I’m going to make this knife disappear.”

Fletcher arced their arm down and drove the blade into Tommy’s thigh. 

It took a moment to register. The pain was like a ringing in the back of his ears, it took a moment to even realize where the signal was coming from. Just, pain, ow, bad. Just like Michelle's little speech, his body lit up in alarm. (DANGER. WE ARE IN DANGER.)

His leg jerked back in surprise, pulling the knife out just enough for it to start pouring blood. his whole body went stiff, all the fight turning into freeze. His other leg spasmed, straightening like a board to hold as much weight as he could onto one foot. He groaned, and his legs started to tremble. (Shutting down.)

Fletcher sidled up and closed the distance Tommy had formed by pulling away. They wrapped their free arm around his waist to hold him steady, and pushed the knife back in with force.

The rough cry it forced out winded him. It had been a long time since he'd had the touch of a client that really knew what they were doing. The pain started incredibly deep in his thigh, feeling the thick muscle there give way. He had no way of defending himself, his head hanging over in the only way he could curl up. His arms were pinned uselessly above him.

Fletcher pulled their hand away from Tommy's waist and snaked it up his back. They gripped a handful of his hair and pulled his head up. "Smile for the audience," they said in his ear. Then they twisted the knife.

Tommy arched his back in pain, and his weight dropped fully to his wrists. It felt like he was being split up the thigh. His wounded leg kicked out in reflex, once, before dropping like dead meat attached to his hip.

Caius was there in a flash, touching Tommy's shoulder. "That concludes your free trial."

Fletcher gave a single, easy nod and retracted the blade with a much more gentle hand. Not that pulling out a knife was ever painless. They wiped the blade off on Tommy's skin before closing and returning it to their pocket.

"You seemed to enjoy yourself. Will you be a client in the future?"

"Generally I get paid to torture people, not the other way around," Fletcher said. They eyed Tommy's limp form as he twitched in pain. "But then again, I make enough money to indulge in vices and now then. Who knows? Are you still going to be watching over my shoulder if I pay?"

“Yes,” Caius said firmly. “Have to protect the investment.”

Fletcher made a noncommittal noise. They didn't offer much else, just took their jacket back and walked off stage. The crowd began to disperse back to intermingling groups, people chatting and laughing and sipping cocktails. 

Fletcher paused to watch Caius address Tommy's leg. He had produced a med kit and packed the wound with a white powder before wrapping it in gauze. Tommy's only reaction was a slight grimace. His eyes mostly remained closed. 

The other wounds were deemed less crucial. Caius cut Tommy loose from the restraints and tossed him over his shoulder to cart off. 

Fletcher sorted through their feelings. 

Caius was petty and insecure, jealous in some way that Fletcher had interacted with Tommy despite willingly leaving them alone together. He had hoped to gain something from calling Fletcher on stage, whether it was to embarrass them or pit them against Tommy in order to destroy whatever relationship he was afraid of them developing. Fletcher wasn't sure what he wanted to happen, but they didn't like being played. Maybe they had gone overboard trying to get Caius to say uncle, embarrass himself in front of the crowd by having to walk back on the business model of you can do whatever you want to him, but honestly, Fletcher had done worse to others. Far worse. But it didn't matter if the others stayed in one piece, usually. 

Tommy was innocent, probably. Or if he had done something to cross Caius and the others, he had to have paid for it a dozen times over by now. But it wasn't beneficial to Fletcher to care about deserved. Deserved was a matter of opinion. All they needed was a matter of payment.

But Tommy was... fun? Intriguing. He had developed an impressive skill for reading people, surely so he could give the clients exactly what they wanted as quickly as possible. "Make dreams come true," as Caius had put it. 

He was also so well trained, while still not being a mindless marionette. He screamed, he begged, he bargained, he complied, he said he was perfect for this. 

Fletcher wanted to pick him apart, or at least have a long conversation with him. They also wanted to make him whimper and tremble again. And bleed. They really enjoyed making him bleed. 

But they didn't want Caius hovering the whole time. And they didn't want to invite any of them to their home. 

They glanced at their watch. There was time for another drink. And who knows - maybe their performance would help them make some contacts before the night was out.

@victimeyez @lonesome--hunter @desert-dyke @coldresolve @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @suspicious-whumping-egg @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump @thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @bloodinthemud @pretty-face-breaker @cursedandtired @morning-star-whump

[catmansquad]

The Thirst

Vampire Miguel AU? Why not. I will inevitably add this as a proper chapter in The Looking Glass, but this is the X Reader version. Typing on mobile is hard...

Earth 9962 (Iteration: 300)

The Unorthodox, London, 2022

The club had once been an old church, now it served another order of service altogether; aglow in vibrant neons, heaving with the pulse of music and life. Dancers lost in the beat on the shining floor, couples lost in each other on plush sofas on the upper levels and at least one or two strangers passed out in each other's arms somewhere in the shadows.

'The regular tonight, Mike?' The bartender spoke up to be heard over the pounding beat of the music, addressing the figure seated before him; Slicked dark hair, brown eyes, always mumbled when he spoke, always with a strange hunger about him, yet the guy couldn't be lacking in cash, for the pricy clothes he always strutted up in.

'Yeah, just the usual...' He took the crinkled note that was slid across the counter in response and replaced it with the strongest whiskey the house could offer. The whiskey would not soothe the ache in him, Miguel knew that, but this scene served two purposes: the first reminded him of what it meant to be human, to do things mortals did- like breathing, and drinking. For certain he could still eat and drink, hell he could even still get drunk if enough of a vast quantity passed his lips, but these were just simple pleasures, nothing would truly sate him. Then came the second reason; the club itself, the heaving bodies, the pulse of life. He could hear the heartbeats over the music, practically smell the liquor laced blood thundering through excited veins. He glimpsed at his watch, marking the time and raised the glass in a silent toast before taking a hefty sip. Here was to five-hundred years. Five hundred years since that night in old Mexica where his life had been stolen and his death denied.

It had been a long journey, of tragedies and wars, and loss. Eventually he had grown numb to it all, mortals did as they did, and eventually they slipped away and the next generation made the same mistakes. He had made mistakes, too. A frantic and young Fledgling who assumed he ruled and had quickly learned humility, of failed romances, of the fleeting fatherhood stolen by plague, of so many broken hearts. Even an Elder felt that kind of pain still. It was a blessing and a curse both, to be untouched by time, disease and death.

'What a nice surprise...' The scent of sweet perfume, the ghost of a hand across his shoulder, the beautiful vision in silken crimson cooed by his ear, her free hand clutching her bag tight.

'Another sweet night, my darling...?' Her voice was soft as silk in his ear, he merely took another sip from his glass, placing it back on the counter. If only the sheep knew there were now two wolves prowling incognito among them.

'Entertain yourself elsewhere, Christina, I am not in the mood for your games.' His response was curt, uncaring. Her charms would not work on him. Christina's smile was unfaltering, her icy blue eyes found his own inevitably. Once she had been a model, an actress of considerable skill, destined for stardom. Now she was barely half a century into her darker existence and had adapted far better than most. Miguel did not know who had Turned her, but the rare few who shared these streets with him knew one thing; this was his city, first and foremost.

'Aww, always a pleasure, sweetheart..' She purred with a playful wink, heels clicking on the floor as she weaved between the crowds, effortlessly drawing longing stares from man and woman alike, someone would find themselves going home with her tonight. Miguel shouldn't have looked, should have returned to his drink, but his eyes lingered as the crowds parted briefly, that was when he saw you.

High on life and booze, you had found yourself on the dancefloor, limbs twirling, uncaring for anything else as you and a friend lost all awareness for the outside world. It was only when the beautiful woman in red passed did you briefly falter, like the mere sight of her had hooked something into your skull. Then she passed by and the spell broke.

'You've got an admirer!' Your friend called out over the deafening thrum, and repeated themselves louder still as you held up a hand to your ear. You followed their pointing across the room to the bar; the tall, broad man sat half in shadow as if the light refused to cling to him, the feeling of hungry eyes upon you. Perhaps you'd get lucky tonight after all...

Miguel had drained the glass, uncaring for its burn down his throat and plotted his next move with patience. He could be very, very patient. You were aware of him, and he of you. He was content to wait, to see if you would make the next move. It would be so easy for him, just a touch of vampiric charm, a slight crook of a finger to beckon and you would be in his lap in moments, mind wrapped around his little finger. No. That would be far too easy.

He felt the atmosphere shift, something inside him bristled at the new presence; full of swagger, a young man had entered the club, dressed for a night out, for someone who desperately wanted attention. The eyes of every mortal on him, finding him irresistible. All Miguel saw was a troublesome Fledgling who needed to be put in their place.

He smothered the Fledgeling's charm with a strong arm across his shoulder, steering him away from the dancefloor- away from you, no sooner did they find a relatively quiet spot, did the troublesome new one find himself slammed against the wall with a hand at his throat.

'There are now three of us here. That is too much trouble to keep quiet. I also do not appreciate you so brazenly strutting in like a preening rooster, there is an art in charm and seduction that you wield with all the grace of a sledgehammer.'

The Fledgeling hissed at him, fangs bared, trying to amp up his intimidation through vampiric willpower. It was almost cute. Still easily keeping him pinned, Miguel stepped closer and returned the favour, fangs bared in a snarl, eyes ablaze crimson, letting the newly Turned vampire feel the full weight of an Elder's presence. He briefly relished the fear that followed realisation in those eyes, watched how he tried to shrink into himself, knees trembling.

'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Sorry, sorry..!' His blubbering was an inelegant as his charms had been.

'Get. Out. Do not make me regret what mercy I show you now...' He kept his voice low, but those sensitive ears would pick it up all the same. Miguel could just as easily break a man's mind as his body. Satisfied that the message had been received, he released his crushing grip, and watched the terrified Fledgeling hurry to the exit, sparing horrified glances over his shoulder. He blinked, eyes losing their furious crimson lustre as he scoured the crowds once more, ensuring you were still there.

'So many hot people here tonight, god!' Your friend called out, but you did not look, barely paying attention, eyes firmly on the man who regarded you still; tall, broad, stylish, and looking right back at you. When did it get so hot in here? He took his hands from his coat pockets, glancing at his watch before giving you a charming smile and beckoning softly with one curled finger.

You would come to him, he had almost grown fond of you. He would look after you, keep you safe from the hungry Fledgelings. Tonight, you knew you had gotten lucky. Little did you know you would feel the bliss of his aching kiss.

Part 2

[daisiesforkate]

I think the most important skill/quality you need to have to be successful in society is…Storytelling

Being a good storyteller. Seriously. Being able to tell a good, captivating story is the make-or-break skill in creating strong relationships in society in my opinion.

Storytellers are our mentors, guardians, parents, teachers. Our most famous celebrities are storytellers: actors, singers, artists.

Almost every greeting is a prompt, an invitation, for you to tell a story.

“How was your weekend?” Boom. Story.

“How was your day?” Story.

"I haven't seen you in so long! How have you been?” Story.

The first words we say to each other when we meet are rooted in storytelling. And it makes sense; it’s in our nature, our blood, and our history. It’s how we, as humans, taught lessons to our children, seated around a fire, listening to elders tell stories and not caring what was true and what wasn’t; or maybe truth wasn’t what mattered in those moments.

Stories were how we measured history, recanted wars- both great wins and devastating losses. It’s how we remembered our fallen brethren. It’s how we learned not to fall the same way.

Stories are how we explained the world. Our creation myths, the spirits in the trees and wind- stories of how those spirits came to be there and who they were before. We had stories to explain why the sun rose every morning, why it rained for days and days, why wolves howled and birds chirped.

We had stories for why we fall in love and what happens when we die.

Stories are how we protect each other. Women would tell stories of men in the village and it was how they knew who lied, who cheated, who beat their wife, who to avoid after sunset or when they were drunk. Stories made women powerful. It wasn’t just gossip, it was accountability. It was reputation. Stories were how we kept our daughters and sisters safe, how we influenced politics, how we crafted the morals of the next generation from the time they were in diapers. Women had no land, no money, no jobs, no vote; but through stories we clawed our way into society from the bottom up and gave ourselves as much influence over our communities as we could. We put fear into people’s hearts every time we whispered in each other’s ear.

Stories are how we kill each other. A frantic phone call to 911 with a rushed story of a black kid in a gray hoodie playing with something in his pocket. An accusation by a wife told to her husband of a 14 year old black child violating her in the grocery store. A lie about a jewish underbelly rearing up to wage war on the modern way of life. That’s not to say that these things happened BECAUSE of stories, there are many complex factors that contribute to any event. However, stories do play a big role in the mentalities of people who commit these atrocities and our reception to them. Especially when only one side of the story is/can be told, and especially when that side is passed through big news outlets and corporations before it gets to us. Stories have been used to propagandize and justify every conspiracy theory and outcome thereof. A story passed between two people over dinner can incite events that permanently shape the world; for better or for worse. Stories of boogeymen far outlast those who tell them.

Stories are how we connect. Stories of our pets over covid interfering with our work-from-home setup that helped us realize that even if we didn’t share language we did share something. Stories of my trip to London in summer of 2016, and a realization that the new girl on the frisbee team was there at the same time and “hey look at these pictures, we must have been 50 feet from each other.” Stories of our family, our parents when they were young, and realizing that maybe you got your propensity for hair dye from your teenage mother who dyed it orange in the 70s and pissed off her dad. Or maybe your typing speed is from your typewriter-wizard grandmother who gave up being a secretary to raise 7 kids.

Being a good storyteller isn’t just a measure of how entertaining or extroverted you can be because to say stories are just entertainment is a discredit to the versatility and impact of our words. Being a good storyteller means knowing the power you hold to change lives for better and worse. Being a good storyteller means knowing when to choose your words wisely, and when to be outspoken. Being a good storyteller means keeping part of each person you’ve met with you, maybe even remembering part of their life that they themselves have forgotten. Being a good storyteller means protecting those around you, passing on lessons, handing out knowledge. Being a good storyteller means tucking your kids in at night with a fairytale and a kiss on the forehead so that they can sleep without nightmares. Being a good storyteller means being able to distract your best friend from the terrible day they had and maybe even get them to laugh a little. Being a good storyteller means cherishing the relationships you make, being responsible with your words, and finding a story in everyone’s life to tell, including your own.

I’ve used some pretty extreme examples in here to get my point across, and it probably sounds preachy, but it’s an opinion I’ve held for a while. I try to take any opportunity I can to tell stories and further the skill, including being a better listener when other people are telling their stories.

Why Storyteller isn’t a job in today’s world I don’t know. It’s a failure of ours that the craft of storytelling is not as respected as it should be and HAS BEEN throughout history. The most important method by which we shape our children’s values is largely only distributed by multi-billion dollar companies pushing multi-million dollar movies, shows, and content. The methods by which we tell stories have been co-opted by capitalism and the demand for a profit. I think social media is bringing storytelling back, and small, independent creators and studios. Shows like Bluey gaining traction show that people still crave these earnest stories like those that used to be told thousands of years ago around the fire. They give me hope that my child (if I decide to have one) won’t derive their morals from a YouTube ad or AI generated content that only mimics the ancient tradition. I think many people don’t even consider storytelling to be a skill that one could have/not have. But it is. And it should be honed and crafted like anything else. Good storytellers are my favorite people. They are the people who I, and many others, gravitate towards. The ones who seem like they hold so much experience and make me excited to grow older.

Being a good storyteller is the most important skill to have to create strong, long-lasting relationships, and perhaps a stronger, longer-lasting society, too.

[jaewrotethis]

19- Dare...

T/W: SA

The ride back to camp was cold, even though adrenaline wouldn’t leave my blood. My exposed skin grew goosebumps from the icy wind touching it but I didn’t care. The rush of the treasure hunt still warm in my veins like a high I want to ride forever. The bright moon casted the treetops of the forest an ominous gray and blue, pitch black where the beams could not reach. The mountains behind the forest sit so quietly out there between the whispers of the night’s wind. I could see, way, way out there, passed the mountain ranges closest to us, a storm is brewing. In the taller and further mountains clouds are pulling together, wrapping around the highest point, blossoming in a black and gray flower. The winds around us drag towards the storm, leaving cold night air to drown deep inside my ears and throat. Numbing my finger tips and nose, yet the adventure fresh in my mind would never let me care.

Back at the tree house, Pan orders everyone to stay at camp until dawn before he disappeared, taking off into the dark sky coated in stars. Not a word of where he was headed or when he’d back, in fact not a word at all really. I’m not sure how they do it, but I know Pan and K communicate right in front of me somehow. I think they all might. They seem to obey to commands without Pan even saying anything. I think it might be how they all knew what to say to me when I was first introduced, how no matter which way I fished for information they all knew what Pan already told me and it was all they would reply with. It’s an irritation I’ve never known. A type of lonely and spiteful frustration.

I hadn’t known K would remain at my side when I hopped off his back after we arrived. I anticipated the jump too soon and I suppose my body language wasn’t readable because he didn’t let go of me for my jump. So I hit the dirt again and made him stumble on his landing. My cheeks reddened when the others landing around us snickered just under the night’s wind. I keep my eyes to the dirt when I get up and dust it from my pants.

“Hungry?” K asks me after his own recovery.

The hunger hits me like it did before. Like I hadn’t noticed until mention of it and now that I’m aware, it’s unbearable. I nod at K, swallowing the sickening famish now taking over my body. He cocks his head to follow him and from there he didn’t leave my side. Another reason to consider that they somehow speak without speaking. I know K’s sticking so closely is Pan’s doing, because though K has a tolerance of me, the heavy bags under his eyes and the drag in his step can’t hide his want to turn in for the night.

I follow him through the camp. Most boys are inside the tree house, the only ones left out are at the fires around the outskirts and at the cages in the west of camp. My attention is drawn to the commotion at the cages as K and I make our way to the tree house door. The boys over there are herding wolves. Big wolves, thick and beautiful. there’s four of them. Two gray ones, a black one, and white one. The boys are leading the wolves with just a gentle hand on their necks. No leashes or harness, nothing stopping those powerful beasts from bolting at me if they wanted to and tearing apart my limbs. The wolves are calm, their heads low like their sleepy and the boys take each one to their own kennel.

The black wolf raises his eyes to the sky then his big head, sniffing out something in the night. His big breathes intake and his nose shuffles left, right, round and round until his eyes find what he’s smelling, what he’s sniffing out. It’s me.

My whole heart stops beating and I stop walking. I freeze at the sight of those big black eyes on mine and K stops with me. The beast has a calm look in his eye, that big snout still sniffing at me. The boy leading him looks in my direction when he realizes the wolf is distracted. He click his tongue at the wolf, a calm wording of ‘don’t bother’ being spoken to the animal. It obey at the words and follow the boy leading him into his designated cage and K tugs at me.

“Come on,” he tries to coax me into relaxing.

“You,” I breathe out, “You guys have dogs here,” my hands are shaking from the fright as I watch the cage click shut and walk away with K.

He nods, “Those are wolves,”

“Their beautiful,” I clear my throat.

“They’re reserved,” “For what?”

K yawns into his words, “Hunting, mostly.”

“They look like pets,”

“There’s four in camp. Kanan and Trace own the white ones. They run most hunts with those big girls, all the long hunts ones anyway. The others belong to Hamish and Edwin. The brown one patrols with Hamish and Edwin is training the black one in battle,”

“They don’t have names?”

He shrugs, “Probably do,”

“You’ve never asked? Don’t you know them?”

“The wolves?” he looks at me.

I nod and shrug.

“The wolves only care to know who their bonded with. And I wouldn’t want to disrupt the training process they go through by asking for pets and cuddles,” he jokes with a nudge at my shoulder with his.

“So only those boys spend time with the them?” I look back at them one last time, the door of the hideout in front of us now.

He nods, “Those are their wolves,” he opens the door.

“You said there’s four in camp, does that mean there’s more somewhere else?” I walk through.

He chuckles at me, “I wouldn’t get any ideas about getting one. They’re a lot of work and its basically a marriage once a wolf picks you.”

“Oh, I- I wouldn’t, I mean, I couldn’t-”

“All you’re time is gone, all your focus goes to them and privacy, they say, is no more,” he chuckles again.

“I don’t think I could handle such a pet,”

He shrugs, “That’s why there’s so few of them, but they are extremely vital to our system here. Without them a lot of our pressure points would be exposed. We take a new ones whenever we can get one, but..it’s gotta be done right,”

He tells me of the importance of the wolves becoming part of their family here. It seems like such a serious process just to lock them in a cage all night. Though I suppose I don’t know that they’ll be out there all night. A couple of the boys that were with the wolves follow inside behind us. I recognize the one who was with the black wolf, though K didn’t specify what his name was when he spit all their names out at me.

K seems to drop the conversation and walks me to the bottom of the stairs to take a seat. The smell of food being prepared in the kitchen nook fills the entire room. The boys are hungry, their restless energy tells me they wait impatiently. Some of them wrestle and I can see their aggression building more than I’ve seen before. It makes me uneasy, the clear tension over taking the room. I touch my knees together and hold them, wondering if they really just need to be feed to calm down a little. A calm crescendo building up and perhaps it’s all in my head but it is growing louder, my nerves shaking tighter, the breathes of them all becoming heavier until I’m completely tense.

“Lotta questions tonight,” K snaps me from my shut down.

“Huh,” I look at him, relaxing from the loud noises that my head was exaggerating.

“Kinda reminds me of the questions you still owe me from our target game,” he smirks and cocks his head at the target board to our right.

He adds dry mouth to my list of symptoms from the hunger with those words, and I take a moment, “Um, yeah. Yeah,” I’m unsure what to say and not in the mood to try and figure it out.

“What was it? Six answers I get from you?” I get it now, he’s teasing me.

To this now I can roll my eyes and I do, over to the hot food being placed on the counter. I look back at him and jut my chin out at the counter. K turns his head to see and hops up rather quickly, eager to get his share before anything is gone. I almost giggle at his haste but sickness wouldn’t allow me. I sit there with my knees touching, my eyes drifting off of K, to the floor and my hands sliding from my knees, down my legs. My hand brushes over the bottle I took from the treasure hunt. My souvenir. I almost go to pull it out but something pushes me into uncertainty of allowing anyone to see it.

I squeeze the bottle from inside my pocket, wondering why I don’t want to tell anyone, and why they didn’t ask what I found. Then K comes bounding back to me with two plates. I glance up to him, bringing my hand up to meet his struggle and noticing the stampede that has taken over the kitchen. I take my hot plate from him and look to the now basically empty room. K follows my gaze and grows excited to see the thick rug on the floor towards the middle is now vacant. He urges me to ‘come on’, and takes off, rushing for the spot. Holding the cure to my hunger sick in my hands, I’m now able to giggle at his childishness and I follow him. My own haste of small excitement in acting silly with him.

We sit on the rug, and K is already digging into his plate. Others are retreating back now, just a few, finding places to sit and things to do while they eat. The kitchen area now the loud part of the room. I know K is waiting to ask those six questions I still owe him, either that or he’s about to. So, to avoid it, I ask to play another game.

“How about another game?” I play innocently with food in my mouth, as casual as I can think. K looks at me, “Another, huh?”

“Why not?”

“What game?” “Mmm, you tell me.”

He drops his rib bone on his plate with a challenged smile on his face and wipes his hand on his shirt. He brings his hand to the side of his mouth to holler and calls to one of the other boys I know, W. From up above on the balcony, W replies with a loud and complaining ‘what’ and I am able to locate him. He leans on the banister with his own plate in his hand, food in his mouth and fingers greased. He seems to have gotten his food a while ago, maybe before anyone else.

“Let’s play a game,” K tells him from down on the ground.

W releases the bar with his sticky fingers to scoop up the last bits on his place and brings the plate to his mouth, shoveling the rest of his dinner in his mouth. He chops down on his bite and tosses the plate behind him, bringing his sleeve up to wipe his mouth as he takes a one step away from the railing. His hands grab a tight hold tight of it and he climbs over, smoothly lowering himself close enough to the ground then he lets go to land swiftly in front of me and my plate.

“What game,” W says once he stands upright again, only to sit down comfortably beside us. “Let’s find some more players, see who has an idea,” K answers him.

I didn’t intend to spend more of the night playing games with these wild boys, actually I had thought turning in for the night waited for us when we returned but the idea to avoid K’s questions spiraled out of my control. So soon, there’s an entire new group of boys sitting in our circle, Slightly, being one of them. Slightly’s swooning behavior picked up right where it last left off yesterday. He seemed to enjoy the new clothes I have on more than I do, which in turn made me dislike them.

It was his idea to play another game of truth or dare, and since the first game ended up with such a fun adventure in store, I felt a little excited to play it. Round and round the turns went, exposing secrets that the boys would wrestle over, making one another do stunts all around the room. Never did it seem that the boys wanted to have me chose a dare to do or to tell a truth as I was skipped every time. I begin to think they didn’t want me on the next adventure after the last one went. Although I thought the last one was absolutely thrilling.

I slowly back out of the circle with each passing turn, no one noticing, not even my babysitter, K. Before long, I’m completely out of the circle, close to the wall, watching the front door. I wonder if I got up and walked out of it, if any of them would stop me. If Pan would come searching.

My wonders are interrupted by a question.

“Wasn’t playing a game your idea?”

I look up to see Slightly.

How’d he know a game was my idea?

“No one seems to wanna play with me,” I say looking back at the door. “I do,” he smiles and sits next to me.

I let him sit, feeling lonely, even though he sits much, much too close.

“I wouldn’t,” I tell him, scooting away.

“Why not?”

I shrug, looking to my knees that have been pulled to my chest.

“Truth or dare,” he says to me.

I look at him, mouth closed and jaw tight. His hopeful eyes wish me to open up a little. I look at the boys of the room, I’m the only one not having a good time.

I lick my lips in an exhale and pick “Truth,” since none of the rest are present to gawk at my choice. “How did you win that fight against Chris last night?” I smile because he is the first person to ask me this and I’m still so proud about it, “I, honestly, couldn’t tell you,” I giggle, “I don’t know,” “How could you not know?” he laughs back with me. “I, just, closed my eyes, and I copied what he did in the fight before,” I shrug, still smiling, “when I opened my eyes, he was, right where I wanted him,” I bring my hand over my mouth to silence the hard laugh produced from thinking of Chris’s face when I opened my eyes.

“Sounds like magic to me,” he nudges me. I shrink away from his touch, closing up “That’s what Pan said,” “What else would it have been?” “I can’t do magic,” I lie as the memory of those flashes leaving my fingertips sits behind my eyes. “Anyone can if they believe,” he smiles again. “So I’ve heard,” I roll my eyes at him. “Truth or dare,” “Go on, hit me with your best dare,” he says.

I bite my lip, thinking hard, until I realize there is nothing I want from him. There is nothing he could offer me. I shrug, winging it.

“Dare you to give me a weapon. A real one.” “What would you do with a real weapon,” he teases me, laughing. “A dare’s a dare,” I push.

He looks at me with a closed smile then nods his head. He pulls a long and twisted dagger from his belt. It’s silver and heavy when he hands it to me. It’s cold, as if sitting out in the night. I grasp it and already feel so much safer than I’ve been.

“Thank you,” I say with sass and a tilt of my chin upwards, then I impulsively nudge him back which he takes too much notice to, “Go on,” “What’ll it be, Miss Jane, a truth or a dare,” he perks up. “I take it back I dare you to never call me that again,” I hand the dagger back over. “No, no, no, that is yours,” he laughs, “no take backs, so what’ll it be?”

“Dare.” I say boldly.

He smiles very small and leans in so he can whisper. I tense up, my shoulders caving in, his mouth close to my ear.

“I dare you to let loose a little.” he smiles again, leaning back.

“How?” I ask him.

“For starters,” he puts his hand for me to take while standing up, “Lets get outta here,”

I look at him, unsure.

“Come on, a dare’s a dare” he mocks my words.

I take his hand, intrigued by the mockery. I would like to see what he is going to show me, my wits hoping for another adventure like the treasure hunt. And I can’t ignore the opportunity of being alone to find more answers. Answers about why Pan brought me here, about ‘Talent’, about gaining magic. Perhaps, being isolated with him would get him to release information I don’t already know, despite how much Pan stretched to not ask about Talent.

His hand feels rough, but warm when I take it. I think I feel a type of security, that I like. He leads me through the room and to the stairs. I look to the door one last time. I had thought he was taking me outside. My eyes direct towards K sitting in the circle I abandoned. His back is to us. I wish he’d look my way and give the ‘ok’ I’m looking for in following this Slightly boy upstairs. But he just doesn’t and we walk up the stairs quietly. My eyes click around the room to see any sort of reaction of anyone, any type of indication that going with Slightly upstairs is a good idea. I only notice few, very few, other boys in the room taking turns of judgmental glances our way. I second and third guess the decision to follow this boy, my eyes finding K once more when we reach the top of the stairs. He still doesn’t look. The whole group doesn’t.

Slightly is gentle in his steps and maybe that’s why I continued to follow, his hand was not squeezing mine as if I could let go and he wouldn’t even notice, and maybe this is what kept my hand in his. Into the dark hallway we step, the magic vibrates through my brain, dizzying me. We appear in front of a door just alike all the rest that line the dim hallway. He opens the one we stand in front of with a creak and I see it’s a bedroom. Confused, I pull away from him and out of his hand.

“Is this, um, your room?” I ask him. “Sure is,” he walks inside, causally.

I hesitate, of course, I hesitate. Following a boy into his room is the brightest red flag I’ve ever seen, even with my little experience with such boys. I take my arm in my hand, looking down the hallway for someone, anyone. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and chew until my eyes flicker back to Slightly in his room. The door wide open, as if he hasn’t even noticed I’m here. It’s a slightest been calming and I take a step into his room. Not out of faith but something is catching my attention. The loads and loads of information, or gospel all over his walls.

“This is where I plan most of our hunting routes,” he approaches his desk, and I come up beside him.

The desk is full of maps and sketches, manuals and lists. The wall above it and the ones around us are covered in more maps and pictures that dissect different plants and animals. Images of the same map, perhaps. Zoomed in different places, highlighting different wildlife and vegetation. One particular map focusing on the north of island, revealing a field of roses that seems to stretch for miles and miles behind mountains. The few villages of the island are captured in some of the posters, others are ocean routes and ship trails. I stare the images, absorbing all the information before it’s taken away.

“This is my favorite route, it takes us passed the lagoon, through the scenery,” he points to random lines on a random map on his desk. I can only glance down for a moment before stretching my eyes back up to all the knowledge all over the walls, “Neverland is so big,” “Yeah it is, takes a special kind of mind to navigate through all of it,” he boasts with a smile. I’m too invested in his mistake to show me all this land information to roll my eyes, “This is a lot of information,” I look to the wall covered in genetics. “And Pan trusts you with it all?”

“Of course, I was a hunter of a tribe once, long ago,”

I pause by how ghostly his voice went, “You mean, on earth?”

He laughs, “That’s one thing to call it. What do you think of it all?” he turns to face me, planting himself on the desk.

“Of your work mess?” I gesture to the desk.

“Of Neverland, the Lost Boys, how we do things here,”

“Oh, I’m,” I stutter, “It’s all, so..”

He waits patiently.

“I have had fun,” I spit out, thinking of the treasure hunt.

“But?” he drags it out.

“I don’t know, it’s just, all so strange,”

“At first, but after a while-”

“How long is a while?”

“Hey, I know Pan takes some getting used to but-”

“Takes some getting used to? He’s a maniac.”

Slightly pauses, raising his eyebrow, “Alright, tell me how you really feel,”

I lick my lips on my intake of breath, “I just don’t get how you can...serve him. How any of you can, how every single one of you can just bow down to his word. He runs each one of you in a dynamic I can’t understand, I don’t understand,” “I know you don’t,”

“He’s evil. He is an actual deranged person, why?”

“Why is he the way he is?” he laughs.

“Why do you obey him? Why is he in charge?”

Slightly laughs some more with a shake of his head, “You really don’t know a thing about him. And you can say you know enough because of whatever it is you guys have in the past but you haven’t stopped to think about HIS past. You have no idea what he’s done for us...all of us,”

I exhale, irritated and deciding to drop the conversation before he angers me. I return to the original opportunity of finding answers. I look back over all the imprints on the walls and the desk, hoping some of it stays in my mind when I look away to say,

“It’s my turn,”

“Sure,” he smiles, getting off the desk to walk the room.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,”

“Dare you to explain Talent to me,”

His eyes glance at me with a bored sass, and he sits down on the edge of the bed. “I wonder why the new girl wants to know so badly. Seems suspicious,”

I shrug, “You think its unwise to find the weakness of your enemy?”

“Pan doesn’t have a weakness. Talent can’t be used against him. And he’s not your enemy. So...truth or dare?”

“If I do your dare will you tell me?”

“Yes,” he says really fast.

My eyebrows glitch into a knot then relax again, “Alright, dare.”

“Play a nervous game with me.”

“A what?”

“A nervous game,” his smile creeps from sweet to underlying, “one tries to make the other nervous.”

“How?” I ask, not understanding the game or the point of it.

“I’ll show you,” he pats the bed.

“You want to play a game in our game?” I roll my eyes at the stupidity of these Lost Boys here on Neverland.

His teethed smile nods at me as I take a seat beside him, hands on my knees.

“If I make you nervous, just say stop and that means I’ve scored a point. Then it’ll be your turn to try and make me nervous for your own point, the first to three points, wins” he smiles.

“Alright?” I say, letting my brow knot, now confused. “And if I play this game, you’ll explain Talent to me?” He laughs, “If you can score even one point, I’ll tell you all about her,”

Her?!

Her?

“Her?”

“My turn first,”

He puts his hand out to show me he’s going to place it on me. Instantly, I shake my head and lean away, the meaning of the game becomes ever so clear. I jump away from his hand, feeling betrayed at his intent. I stand but he grasps my wrist in his hand stopping me.

“Hey, it’s alright, you can say ‘stop’ anytime,” he assures me.

“I did not know you meant a nervousness like-”

“You want to know about Talent, don’t you?” he says looking me in the eye.

I stare at his devious eyes with my mouth gaping open, seeing the real Slightly now. I clench my jaw at the idea of letting him get what he wants before I’m reminded that I can still get what I want. Without a clue of how I am going to make him feel nervous I sit there, seeing what is going to happen. So when he goes to place his hand on my knee I move hand away and let the game continue.

He slides his hand slowly, very slowly begins a route up my thigh and my eyes close as I exhale, trying to stay calm, trying not to freak the fuck out. I want to slap his hand away and run but the impulse of needing to know about Talent is fueling all my cooperation. I’ve never been with a boy before I think I could have liked the sense of touch had it been a different situation. A different world with a different past. But in this one, it’s too much and it’s way too fast and he is disgusting for trying to fool me. Mid thigh I put my hand on his saying ‘stop’.

“Your turn so soon?” he smiles and winks.

I know all I need to do is give him something, just enough to score one point like he promised, and then I can get my answers. I don’t know how I am to go about making the emotion of nervous surface. I just know he wants me to give him romantic attention. I’ve never given this type of attention before. Scouring for what to do I think of what the girls in movies do, how they kiss a boys neck and bite softly, how they climb on top of a boys lap and let their hair fall to one side, how they always inhale dramatically and close their eyes, how they sink their fingers into the boys hair and claw on their backs. So I try it.

I raise my shaking hand to his eye level, unsure of how to even make contact. I place my hand down on his neck and scoot closer to him. My eyes don’t leave his as I search to see if I am doing it right. His eyes gleam with excitement and I find the conclusion that I must be doing something right. I’m hesitant to lean close to him, but the hitch in his breath tells me it’s working so further I lean into the crook of his neck until contact is made. And once it is, I’m confused about what to do next so I plant a soft fake kiss on his skin, nicely. I press my lips, pursing them the way I imagine it is supposed to look like.

He might’ve known it was fake when no sound rang out but it doesn’t stop his breath from catching in his throat and I begin to think he is nervous and my turn is, thankfully, done. He says nothing. So I fake another. Still no words, so another and another. Fake kiss after fake pursing, again, and again, and again. I try it longer, slower, warmer, still nothing. He doesn’t tell me to stop and it frustrates me. I’m disgusted that he is receiving what he wants and pissed that I’m not. I exhale irritated and pull away. He doesn’t dare give his attention anywhere but to me.

Frustrated and growing to the point of anger I stand quickly and throw out my last cards. The worst of things I am pulling from the movies I’m using as inspiration. I put my knees on the bed on either side of his legs sitting on his lap. I pull my hair to one side and lean low closing my eyes, just as the pretty girls in the movies do. And when I still don’t hear a command to stop I bring my fingers up to run through his short hair, pulling dirt clumps and tangles from it. He is getting worked up. He is breathing out loud now and finally,

“Stop,” he breathes through a sick smile.

I exhale out of relief and instantly pull away. Away from his skin, from his touch, his sick body warmth. About to jump off of him and get my answers when he says,

“My turn.”

He grabs my legs in both of his hands and flips us over. I ram into the mattress hard, going a little dizzy. I gasped out when he grabbed me which makes him growl as he climbs over me, getting comfortable. I feel immediate fear, I can’t stand how heavy and warm he is. He is too smelly, too rough, too close, it’s too much. I feel surrounded but so, so alone at the same time.

“What are you doing? You said one point.” I fight against him.

He presses his mouth on my neck now, biting me and I wretch away. “Stop!”

He whispers against my skin, “Come on, baby girl, don’t be such a tease to me,”

“What-?” I say as I struggle to get my arms under him so I can push him off. “I said stop, Slightly-”

His hand clamps over my mouth where I half scream under it. “Sh, let this happen, baby,”

I scream in his palm.

“I can be gentle,” he softly whispers with his lips on my ear.

I yank my head aside, away from his mouth but I can’t stop his other hand exploring my hips. He squeezing hard and grasps me roughly. I shove my hands under his chest and push him away, hard. He releases my mouth to grab both my wrists.

“Get off me!”

He grabs both of my hands and puts them in one of his. He pushes them back up over my head. It hurts my shoulders, I cry out.

“Slightly, please...” I whimper now, under his cold grip, “Stop,”

He shoves his face in mine, forcing his wet tongue in my mouth. I cry-scream down his throat, turning away to break the disgusting excuse of a kiss and he only nudges a knee between my own, spreading them and fixing himself between my legs. I begin to cry then. Hot tears squeezing out the sides of my eyes. His free hand goes for his pants lace.

“Stop!” I say between sobs.

I clutch my eyes shut tight, feeling his breath warm on my face. His pants becoming looser as he pulls the string untied, and his grip on my wrists grip tighter. I wiggle and squirm away but he shows me he likes it. He smiles when I buck away and seems to almost laugh when I try rolling out from under him. His demeanor is growing stronger with his confidence of watching me writhe, he’s enjoying every last bit of it. I feel sick and stupid, hopeless and damned.

Then I’m alone on the bed. My shirt pushed up a little bit, pants messed with and hair a mess. I sit up on my elbow.

Shit.

“Get the fuck out of here.” he says.

No, not Slightly. Pan. He drops Slightly from the hold he had on his neck against the wall. Slightly falls to the floor, coughing and whining. His face reads pure terror. He stares at Pan with panic as he runs from the room holding his untied pants up. I scramble off the bed in embarrassment. Pan slowly turns around to face me. I swallow back tears as memories of the alley flood my mind. I hug myself. Pan’s fists are closed, his jaw clenched. I don’t move, full of fear and lonesome.

“Couldn’t have waited for me?” his smirk appears.

I relax just a little.

“Settling for a rat like that, I’m hurt,” he jokes.

Are you kidding me?

“You can’t be serious,” I say.

He laughs and walks over to me, “I wasn’t even gone long, love. Could’ve waited till I got back, you’d have found much more pleasure in me than in a boy like Slightly,” he smoothly says as he takes a seat on the foot of the bed.

I look at the seat next to him, forever going to be reminded of that scene. His jokes comfort me just a little, I feel relieved that he finds humor instead of blowing it up. He makes it seem so little already and brings no awkward tension at all. He places no pity on me, and I am grateful for his reaction. I blink at myself, puzzled that feeling comfort could be so important, and even more puzzling, it is Pan that just gave it to me

I haven’t felt this in…

Wait.

I stop and think when the second voice speaks. I know he could never make me feel comforted. My eyebrows knit as the questions begs ‘is he faking it’. There must be a reason he cared enough to help me, to stop Slightly, a reason he stayed after to try and make me smile. My gut tells me he’s playing a game with me. He’s trying to make comfort seem so far away and so long ago just to bring it back when he says so. Unsure of what to do or what to believe, except to play back just in case he’s faking and set this whole thing up, I play along.

I fake a small smile, “I guess, I got too excited,”

He didn’t expect that, and I’m closer to believing he’s faking now. So I play harder, wanting to make him admit it if he did in fact set that twisted shit up.

“Couldn’t wait for a real man,” I sit next to him, finding much fun in the look of astonishment on his face, I let my voice fall all girly.

He recovers and plays my move back at me, “A clever man, who knows how to take care of his woman,”

I settle right beside him, determined to win this and make him never play with me again, “That is exactly what I need, isn’t it?”

He comes close and I know I’ve won. “Too bad there’s nothin’ but boys on Neverland,” I grab his hat gently and slide it down his face.

I bury his face in his hat and shove him back at his shoulders. Laughing hard when he hits the ground in a ‘thud’. I actually laugh as he lands on the floor, so much that he must’ve let me shove him off the bed with that dramatic fall. I get off the bed to watch him catch his hat. He busts out a laugh with me as soon as he hit the floor and I feel the comfort again. Maybe I haven’t won. His childish laugh matches mine perfect. That felt fun. That felt comfortable.

“Hey, come on, that was just getting good,” he says through his laugh.

“Oh, I bet you enjoyed that,” I hide my smile from him as he gets up walking out of the room with me.

“Perhaps, learning a thing or two could help with things like that?” he asks politely.

“There you go again trying to get me to use magic again, just as K did,”

“You’re in Neverland, after all,” he drags it out like I’m dumb.

We walk down the hall and I realize I owe him gratitude.

“Th-thank,” I stop, choking on the words. My stomach boils and my throat burns hot. I shake my head, “Thank you,” I spit from my mouth.

“A gentlemen always helps a lady need in, after all,” he says.

He offers a finger out to me. I look at it confused then glance back at him and his smiling face nods to his finger. I hesitate and offer a finger back. He touches the tip of his to mine and we shift through space. We appear on the balcony in the front room.

“What kind of gentlemen is a vicious killer?” I joke to disguise a real ponder.

“You know what?” he says.

I look at him.

“I think I like that depiction; vicious,” he smiles and hops down the stairs.

I watch him, excited to sort through all this new emotion and information. The things Slightly spilled to me. The way Pan just tried to play me, tried to make me believe I could trust him is amusing me so. I am driven by the fact that he thought I wouldn’t see the act. I know he was not expecting me to play along and he is scrambling right now. That’s enough to give me confidence in the ‘seduce and kill’ plan. If I can keep recognizing his moves and blind siding him to mine, I can win the ultimate game and kill him.

[felikatze]

genuine q, is triangle strategy good? I couldnt get past the name and wasnt sure if it was worth the investment ;-; pls sell me u seem like u know

FUCK YEAH IT IS

triangle strategy is a top-down srpg from the team behind octopath, as you can easily tell by the phenomenal spritework

the story follows serenoa wolffort, new lord of the wolffort territory after his father falls ill. when the duchy of aesfrost suddenly declares war on the kingdom of glenbrook, of which serenoa is part, the people of house wolffort suddenly find themselves the last line of defense against the invading enemy.

joining serenoa is his fiance, frederica aesfrost, the younger half-sister of aesfrost's duke. she was set to be wed to serenoa as a political ploy to strengthen the bond of the two countries, but finds herself stranded in another land after her brother has thrown her to the wolves.

the other major character is roland glenbrook, the second prince of glenbrook. with his father and brother both slain, he's now heir to the throne - a position he never expected to fall on him, and he now struggles as the main target of aesfrost's attacks.

there's a ton of others with these three and four more as the central cast of seven, but they're the most important.

the story is fucking fantastic. roland's guilt at the death in his name, frederica's struggle to find herself and what she believes in, serenoa's stern upkeep of his duty as lord wolffort - man, i love all of them.

the story's main gimmick are the scales of conviction. at many points during the game, serenoa is faced with a choice on how to advance, and he asks the other characters for counsel. so, all the characters vote. you, as serenoa, cannot directly decide which path to take. you have to convince the characters to vote in your favor.

the story paths reconvene at specific points, so there's not a huge amount of branching paths, but convergence points actually still adjust dialogue to reflect your decisions. at the very minimum, two playthroughs will feel COMPLETELY fresh, and i'm speaking from experience here, i beat the game twice in a row, and the shit i saw was completely different. i beat my first playthrough without setting foot in aesfrost even once.

and let me tell you, the decisions are hard. there's no clear right answer. no matter what you pick, your actions will have severe consequences. characters all have their own opinions on what's right, and it's up to you to set your values. liberty, utility, morality - that's the core three paths of this game, with specific game actions raising your conviction, an invisible stat, in each. conviction stats don't matter that much. they influence when you unlock optional characters, and how easily your companions are swayed by your arguments following the corresponding conviction.

the character development reflected in the system, mwah. characters who start out with one alignment gradually shifting toward the other, fantastic.

that's as much as i'm saying on the story, for now.

as for gameplay, it's really good. there's three types of "gameplay"

first, is the straight cutscene. these are all rather short. you'll never find a scene above fifteen minutes without interruption, which keeps the story feeling brisk and moving. it's an easy game to pick up and play for a short while, yet still feel like you're advancing.

second, is exploration. you travel through small maps (which will inevitably be the maps for battle). here you can talk to your friends, find optional items, learn the layout of the map for later, and answer optional questions for extra conviction. exploration will also always feature before a decision. by exploring, you can find additional information to sway your companions with, so it pays off to keep your eyes open.

third, is battle, of course. this has been a fire emblem blog for a couple months, so it is somewhat similar, by virtue of being an srpg. though there's no "phases": a unit's turn in the turn order is decided by its speed stat. it also has a riff on octopath's boost system. you accumulate one point per turn, and spend points to use special abilities. additionally, maps have height, which affects damage and attack range. always keep the high ground, bucko. also, no permadeath, because jesus christ, if this game had permadeath i'd be fucked.

what this game has over FE is incredible unit feel. every single characters is unique in their abilities. weapons can be upgraded, but not traded, and special abilities are unique to each character. like, there's three archers in the game, right? but one of them is a flying unit who specializes in status ailments, one of them has traps and knockback, and the last one focuses on having the longest range in the entire game.

there is no such thing as interchangable units. who you deploy in battle is highly context dependant. a map with high cliffs? better deploy the guy who can build ladders. though he's kind of useless outside of that. it's raining? better pack your lightning mage for additional damage. even the three healers all work differently. one has straight up heals, one has regen over time, and one specializes in boosting items.

it's a breeze to level everyone up, too. never worry about taking someone underlevelled into the field! thanks to insane exp scaling, they'll catch up quick. but exp scaling works the other way around, too. you'll never be overlevelled. ever.

all around, it's an incredible game with a great story and decent gameplay. i admit, the story was what kept me hooked more than the battles, but they were fun, too! none of them ever felt too easy (though i hear hard mode is garbage). the variety in playable characters is amazing, which leads to a ton of different possible approaches for maps. if you die, you get to keep exp, so it never feels like a waste to struggle till the end, and there's never motivation to reset.

if the fanart has convinced you to give the game a shot, please do. i queued that fanart in march, but i still adore this game a shitton. there's a golden route following specific choices, but i'd still recommend going for one of the three base endings on a first playthrough. follow your heart. choose what you think is right. save a guide for later.

cuz, man. i never even finished the golden route, but the morality ending made me sob so bad. it's fantastic. the liberty ending is great in its irony, too. i never did the utility ending cuz i think it's dumb, though, lmao. but that's just my choice! that's the choice i get to abstain from!

genuienly, the choice system is fucking fantastic. you never really notice how the story converges because each path flows so naturally into it. again, minute dialogue adjustments to make everything smoother. and on my first playthrough, i became invested in the subplot following frederica and the roselle, so i just naturally slid into making decisions that further explored that path. on my second playthrough exploring other options, it was still all new and fresh. convergence points in the story are also incredibly short, typically only one sub-chapter, and then you're off to your next consequence.

other things of note: the voice acting cast of the game isn't exactly star studded. a lot of these people are new to the scene, and you can tell. i still love their performances, though, particularly serenoa and frederica in the ending sequence. though i think everyone does a well enough job, and that adds its own flavor of charm. play in japanese if you want but please give the english cast a shot, at least.

the first chapters are also rather slow. shit hits the fan in chapter 4, so you know when to expect The Good Stuff. the demo only goes up to that point, but the debut demo actually features a vertical slice from chapter 7. if that demo's still around, i'd recommend it over the other one if you're unsure and wanna test the game first.

i cannot recommend triangle strategy highly enough, even if its name is incredibly stupid

[superespresso]

Pages 214 & 215; Critters (Bestiary Entries)

Photo 1: (Left Top) - Wolf (Small), Gargoyle Cube, Modified Solider

Photo 2: (Left Bottom) Shield Soldier, Artillery, Ogre

Photo 3: (Right Top) Golem, Wyvern, Specter, Gargoyle Cube (Aerial)

Photo 4: (Right Bottom) Imp, Bomber, Golden Soldier, Giant Swordsman

As a note, not every creature on these 2 pages is translated. Why? There’s a metric. ton. I decided to hate myself and translate ALL OF THESE that are depicted above. I don’t have any good reason besides “less to do later if I pick this up again I guess.” These span 2 pages. All photos with angelic text have been blown up and sharpened as much as possible without quality loss, so if anyone does really, really want to convert them? Have fun. I don’t do that. I cannot.

Some of these are going by their Japanese names rather than their localized ones because I cannot for the life of me remember which is called what in the localization. If I’m missing anything major reach out.

I’m working from Top Left > Bottom Left > Top Right > Bottom Right on images.

Translation:

WOLF (Small) - Common Enemy

Characteristics: A small wolf that is capable of moving quickly around Zero and pouncing to attack. When a large wolf is killed, the pack will lose the fighting spirit and flee.

Countermeasure: In addition to fighting in large numbers, they will reappear due to the large Howling Wolf. Focus on the large wolves.

Gargoyle Cube - Common Enemy

Characteristics: Cube-shaped enemy that floats in the air. It will expose its’ core regularly to shoot bullets. When not exposed, the core is not able to be penetrated by Zero’s attacks.

Countermeasure: It’s difficult to hit due to floating in the air. Use the Special Attack of the Battle Wheel to attack from a distance to defeat this enemy easily.

Modified Soldier - Common Enemy

Characteristics: A solider created by Intoner Three who appears during ground battles. These are slow-moving and physically weak individually. However, they will appear in large numbers.

Countermeasure: Since you fight with Mikhail, utilize his tail or breath attacks. If there are a lot of them and get hit many times, the damage will add up fast. Don’t let them get nearby.

Shield Soldier - Common Enemy

Characteristics: This soldier holds up a large shield and blocks without dodging or moving. When Zero approaches he will attack with the shield. If the shield is destroyed, he will act like a swordsman.

Countermeasure: Attempting to jump over this enemy will be intercepted by a launch attach with their shield. Be careful. To destroy the shields use a spear.

Artillery - Common Enemy

Characteristics: Weapons manipulated to fire where Zero is from a long distance away. If the turrets are destroyed, the enemy will lose face.

Countermeasure: A red circle shows when the Artillery aims for bombardment. You can avoid the shot by moving away from the position. The Artillery itself has no combative power, so once you get close they’re easy to take out.

Ogre - Common Enemy

Characteristics: Evades with light steps while continuiously attacking with a club.

Countermeasure: All sword attacks are difficult to hit when it back steps/dodges. It’s more effective to use a weapon with long reach such as a spear. Attacking with the Ogre’s club makes the enemy raise an arm. Use this time to get behind the Ogre and attack safely.

Golem - Large Enemy

Characteristics: A massive enemy that attacks by beating its arms and shooting beams from its eyes. When HP is low, it will body-slam/hip-drop the ground to generate a shock wave.

Countermeasure: Beware of the hip-drop attack. By performing a jump-attack after dodging with a jump, you can deal damage to the Golem while avoiding the enemy’s attack pattern.

Wyvern - Aerial Enemy

Characteristics: Only appears in the sky and comes in two types. One flies in and shoots, while the other slings rocks.

Countermeasure: Wyverns who fire light bullets have low HP and are easily defeated with multi-lock-on attacks. The ones with rocks have higher HP, so use a powerful breath attack to defeat them.

Specter - Aerial Enemy

Characteristics: An enemy with a pair of scissors in their hands. They only appear during air battles. In-addition to firing a blade made of light, they will also use a rushing attack.

Countermeasure: Multi-lock-on attacks alone will not defeat this enemy due to its high HP. You can efficiently beat it by attacking with a multi-lock-on to deal damage and following up with a breath attack.

Gargoyle Cube - Aerial Enemy

Characteristics: Aerial-battle version of the Gargoyle Cube that can be encountered as normal enemies. These fly in formation, and when their cores are exposed/open they shoot green light-bullets to attack. Mikhail’s attacks are ineffective when the core is closed.

Countermeasure: HP on these is low, so one hit will kill it. When the core opens, aim for either a multi-lock-on or breath attack.

Imp - Common Enemy

Characteristics: Has the ability to fly. Will shoot bullets that track from a distance and perform rush attacks while gliding.

Countermeasure: A jump is most effective as it is a flying enemy. When hit it will fall to the ground, letting you focus on it at that point. Avoid the gliding attacks by either jumping or stepping away before a counterattack.

Bomber - Common Enemy

Characteristics: A soldier who appears mainly at the request of Accord. (Note: the JP for this is “Achor” which is the same name used for Accord. Sounds weird, but it’s what it says.) When the enemy is attacked, it will drop a bomb that will explode after some time. The explosion can deal a lot of damage to enemies and allies alike. These enemies do not attack.

Countermeasure: Using the blast of the bomb it’s possible to wipe these enemies out. Move out of the way so that you don’t get caught.

Golden Soldier - Common Enemy

Characteristics: Appears mainly in quest lines with the name “Payday” at Accord’s request. The more of these enemies you defeat, the better your reward will be.

Countermeasure: HP is very high on these enemies, so we can’t get rid of them in few attacks. Their attack power is low and their only attack is to slash with a sword. Learn the pattern and continue to basic-attack while guarding to nullify their slash.

Giant Swordsman - Large Enemy

Characteristics: This enemy is good at continuiously attacking with massive swords. After a certain amount of damage it will kneel and a chance marker will appear around its head. The head is its weak point.

Countermeasure: Continuiously dodge to avoid the unrelenting attacks, which will follow you around. There will be provocative actions from time to time allowing you to fight back and give you a chance to get inside its defense.

[xbrbdreamingx]

yeah as a born and raised PA native we’ve got it ALL - growing up I had a mountain lion AND her cubs that regularly would visit my backyard (appalachian trail type beat) and I’ve seen a few wolves - just…never trust the government, kinda goes unsaid

unfortunately I’m watching supernatural and someone on screen said ‘there are No Wolves in pennsylvania’ and I was like. what a bold incorrect statement. where did they possibly get that idea from. so I googled it…google is insisting there are no wild wolves in pa?? except I’ve Seen wolves here?? there used to be a wolf that would hang out in my backyard and roam around the neighborhood?? like Everyone knew about this wolf we assumed he lived on the golf course and would come to our yards if he got spooked by golfers (very quiet block). like we all thought he just lost his pack or whatever so people just gave him a wide space and let him chill, he didn’t try to break into any houses or attack any pets but this was definitely. a wild wolf. where. where did he come from what do you MEAN there aren’t wolves in pennsylvania I’m literally spiraling right now

[annwrites]

⸻ sons & daughters. cregan | winterfell outtake. ⸻

· pairing: cregan stark x velaryonprincess!reader · type: outtake from this series · summary: you & your husband, along with your three children, enjoy a cozy evening together. · tags: fluff · word count: 1,003

It is a most perfect evening. You lie in bed reading, gently cradling your swollen belly, while your twin boys, Luke and Jace, play together on the plush rug situated before the crackling hearth across from the foot of your bed.

Rickon is across the room, watching his father wheedle away as he creates the boy a new wooden toy.

He already possesses a number of wolves, and not so long ago, stated that he wished for himself a dragon.

It had brought happy tears to your eyes to hear.

As you watch the twins, however, thinking of their namesakes, it brings forth tears of a different kind.

You swallow them down, refusing to ruin the evening for all.

It’s just that…such grief would be made easier to handle if…if they’d only both been able to be properly laid to rest, at least. Instead, they are forever lost at sea.

You look to Cregan—little Rickon now practically seated in his lap he is so interested with the task his father works at with callused hands—smiling softly as he completes the finishing touches to your son’s toy before dusting it off and handing it to him.

Rickon takes it from him with glee. “Can we paint it tomorrow, papa?”

Cregan nods, giving him a gentle tap beneath his chin. “Whatever colors you like, my boy.”

Rickon then runs over to the bed, bounding up on it with excitement in his eyes as he presents you with his new keepsake.

“Like mama’s house,” he states, shoving the toy into your hands.

You smile widely, nodding while you cup his tiny, soft cheek. “And what will you name it, my love?”

He takes it back from you, looking it over before looking at you once more. “What was uncle Jace’s?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Vermax, little one. His name was Vermax.”

Rickon nods then, just once, before sliding off the bed and joining his brothers on the floor, raising his hand high in the air as he guides his new dragon this way and that, making quiet roaring noises.

“Dracarys, Vermax!” He cries, causing Luke to giggle.

Cregan pads over to the bed, seating himself before cupping your cheek. “Are you alright?”

You nod, your smile wobbling. “I just wish...”

You watch your sons. “Wish he could’ve met more than just Rickon. I wish that Rickon remembered him, at that.”

Cregan presses a warm, firm kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

You hold your stomach between your hands.

“How many more ghosts will we name our children after, I wonder?” You whisper.

He pulls you against his chest, tucking furs around you. “We needn’t if—”

You shake your head softly. “I want to. To honor them. To remember them. It is one way I keep them close to my heart. I just…wish there was no need to in the first place.”

“You and I both, my sweet girl,” he murmurs into your soft head of hair.

You slide a hand up his chest. “I want them with us tonight.”

There is a beat of silence, and then Cregan sighs softly. “If we allow them to make a habit out of it—”

You pull back, looking into his stormy eyes. “They will not be little forever. One day, they will be as old as we, and far too soon. And then this time will be gone forever. I will not waste it by keeping them distant from me. I am their mother. They belong by my side. And yours.”

His lip twitches before a smile settles onto his lips, which he knows there is no use in fighting against. “I should’ve known the first time I set eyes upon you I’d be reluctant to ever tell you no in anything.”

You smile warmly in return. “I much enjoy when you spoil me.”

He slides his hand along your belly. “I do not intend to stop until my last breath.”

He presses a kiss to your lips before leaning back against the mountain of pillows which rests behind him, throwing an arm over his tired eyes. “I keep letting you have your way, and we’ll be surrounded by young pups in our marriage bed.”

You snort, opening your book. “I let you have your way and we’ll have a litter of them indeed.”

He rolls his head to the side, gazing at you with a raised brow. “I seem to remember someone telling me once that she desires as many children as her body will allow.”

You glance to him. “You seem to be taking that comment quite literally.”

He grins. “I cannot help myself. It’s in my bloodline. I’m not to blame.”

You shake your head, returning to your book, even if you know you’ll not find concentration on the page before you now.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say with a laugh.

He wraps an arm around you, resting his head comfortably atop your stomach, shutting his eyes. “As if you do not always beg me for more of my seed when your womb is empty.”

You thread your fingers in his hair. “Not that that has been incredibly often.”

“I do not intend for it to be,” he states, snuggling against you.

Jacaerys stares up at the two of you with interest, his brothers eventually following his line-of-sight.

You motion with your hand for them to join the two of you before setting your book on your bedside table, deigning you shall continue it in the morn while breaking your fast.

Rickon crawls up first, lying down in the bit of space between you and his father.

Jace and Luke quickly follow suit, with the former pressing himself to your right side, while Luke splays out at the end of the bed, now fiddling with Rickon’s dragon.

You shut your eyes, a content smile resting upon your lips as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of a castle filled with babes that are equal parts you, and the other half of your soul.

[modcrnspirits]

Victor Gallagher

Info:

Face: James McAvoy Age: 45 Occupation: Pack Leader / Gang Leader / Criminal Gift: He is a werewolf - he can also control normal wolves Sexuality: Pan Position: Versatile (loves to bottom in secret, despite being conventionally an Alpha) Family: as far as he knows, all of them are dead. / he doesn't know but he is the son of Fenrir with a mortal werewolf. Gods Connections: Loki and Fenrir.

Body Type:

Cock Size: 7 inches (18 cm) / can grow when in wolf form Cock Shape: Normal girth, slightly to the left with a thicker part on the curve Type: Uncut Balls and Pubes: Hairy crotch Ass: Tight firm ass, round cheeks, fill up the jeans he uses Tattoos: The sons of a paramour tattoo: a simple circle around the belly button, unlike the one from the fathers, this tattoo looks to be made of special silver ink, almost invisible when not active. When active, it glows the same golden shade as their fathers. Body type: Lean but well taken care of, with muscle lines showing, despite a bit of fat on the belly and sides. Body hair: not super hairy, but a patch of black and white and red hair on the chest. Special attributes: when transforming or when fully transformed, his cock can get bigger and he can knot. / on fertile moments (especially with gods of gods' vessels, his ass produces a natural lubricant, that the gods call "honey". / during m-pregs, there are natural transformations (bigger belly, bigger tits, etc)

History:

Victor doesn't know his human father, and of course, doesn't know his father was one of the original concubines. He was raised by werewolves and because of that, he can communicate with them. His life has always been connected to crime, due to the pack he used to be in. When his adopted father was alive, he made sure to build Victor to be the next Alpha but also to be so big in the crime scene that he wouldn't be matched.

Still, when his father died, the gang broke apart and he couldn't beat the two Alphas that were tearing them all down. He ran only to come back afterward with humans, and wolves, and weres to exterminate the ones that hurt his family. Now he is the Alpha by all accounts. Except - sometimes he likes to bottom and he believes he can also be an omega.

The Fenrirs, as he calls his pack, are enemies of the mac Cumhaills, but they have worked together multiple times against demon invasions and other criminals in the cities they are in. As a peace option, Francis and his son come once every season to service a few chosen ones of Victor's pack.

In bed:

he likes knotting, breeding, puppy play, outdoor, domination, exhibition, public humiliation, bottoming in secret, feminization (his lovers dress up), musk, etc.