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fashionteahouse · 2 months ago

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out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the 1st part of this story 💜 Should I make this full blown story? Just lmk! xoxo <<prev >>next

“Mm. I don’t like the word bye. Tell me you’ll see me again.”

You look at him, surprised that he wants to see you again. Clearly, he enjoyed your company.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” you speak out.

He watched you go up your stairs and go into your house before pulling off. You felt so in a daze, you didn’t know why you felt this way. You replayed the day in your head when you showered.

You replayed it when you were trying to count sheep to go to sleep.

While you were getting ready for school, you had the realization that you were going to see him again. You made your way to the front of your house and opened your front door and Paul’s car startled you. It was so unexpected, you didn’t even have time to pump yourself up.

You walked closer and in front of the passenger side door and you wait for him to roll down the window, which he does.

“Get in.” he says like this like it was a frequent thing that you two do.

You take your time to get in, questions swirl your mind.

“Good morning. Thanks.” you tell him.

He nods in acknowledgment.

“So…you decided to come to school?” you ask, the silence after was deafening but come on, he came to school like it was an occasion.

“Yeah.” he just says and you just shift your backpack that’s between your legs into a more comfortable position. You choose to look outside and watch the trees and street signs fleet pass.

You loved these types of mornings. It was a slight drizzle but it was so relaxing.

“You look nice.” he said with a sentence and you look over, he was actually looking down at your outfit.

“Oh, thank you.” you say, your heart start to race.

You mentally face palm yourself for being so nervous and flattered. “He is only driving you to school.” you kept telling yourself. “He’s only doing a nice gesture.” you said in your head. You didn’t want to get your hopes up and assume things that weren’t like that.

It was ingrained in you to compliment someone back if they compliment you. You look over to see what he has on. Everything was nice. His entire outfit matched with crisp shoes, new shoes that you knew for a fact that recently came out.

“I like your outfit too.” you say and he grins, “Thank you.” He replies in a sultry tone.

You swallow hard. Everything he does is with ease. Cool without even trying.

The school building comes into view. You already take your seatbelt off and say your thanks. Before he could reply you pick up your pace in going into the building. You show your school ID, going in through bag checks, and going straight to your locker.

You get ready for your first class and only bring out what you need before putting your bag and jacket in there. You close your locker door and Paul was there.

“Oh shit!” you say under you breath with a chuckle, he came out of nowhere.

“Before you rolled out, I wanted to know if you did this.” He says to you and an over-folded homework sheet is in display of his hands. “Yeah, I did it. I can teach you, you know so you don’t have to keep copying. What happens when the test comes?” you say.

He glances at it and then back to you. “It’s boring.”

You were about to speak out but your best friend, Kim comes into view, giving you a hug. This makes you smile and chuckle, happy to see her.

You just reach for Paul’s worksheet, knowing he won’t have time to copy it all since the first bell was about to ring. “I’ll just do it.” you tell him and he plainly gives it to you and walks away.

Kim links her arm with hers and once you two start walking, she hounds you. “Why are you doing his homework? Can’t he do it himself?”

“He needed help. There’s no time.” you tell her.

She shakes her head and tells you ,”Be careful. He’s just going to use you just to pass. Who knows if he’s even going to pass this year.”

Your feelings were hurt even though she wasn’t talking about you. It felt like she was though. He wasn’t even all that bad from what you’ve been around. He just wasn’t strong in that particular subject, that was okay, school wasn’t for everyone.

You did complete the worksheet. You wrote it sloppier than your own handwriting, not knowing how he even writes. Plus, the teacher seemed to know everyone’s handwriting.

You two had the same lunch before history. You, Kim, and a couple of other friends put your book bags in the seats you all were claiming before heading to the lunch line. You seen Paul come down a stairwell and you make your way towards him. The paper you hand him was refolded and he stops to look at it.

“I did it. Just changed the answers around a bit.” you remind him. He nods as he remembers and chuck it in his back pocket. You were about to walk away until he says, “You eating lunch?”

You nod and he nods too and follows you. Kim and others were a bit ahead of you in line so you cross your arms and lean against the wall, waiting for your turn to pick out what you want.

Paul’s friends are now behind him, starting up conversation. As the line moves, you feel the fabric of his clothes on you, you pay it no mind.

Once you have your food, pay extra for a snack and juice instead of the milk they offer, you make your way to your table.

“Where you going?” Paul asks.

“To..my table.” you say.

“You don’t want to sit with me?” he asks, it caught you off guard how he was actually perplexed that you weren’t following him and his crew.

You shrug, not knowing what to say, and when you sit down, he slowly sits down at another table just watching you. The look on his face had a look of gloom, not even paying attention to his own conversation.

You try your best to keep your mind on the conversation that your peers were having in front of you. You kept in mind what Kim said. You didn’t want to be used in any way.

You made your way to history and the class dragged on. Paul came in late, lazily puts his homework in the homework bin, sits in his seat in the back of the classroom and goes to sleep. The teacher doesn’t even bother to bring attention to it, they didn’t feel like arguing with him and wanted to get through the lesson.

As the class was filing out, he was still sleep. Nobody wanted to wake him up out of fear. You walk over, shake his warm arm, not too hard to startle him. His bloodshot eyes meet yours. “Class is over.” you tell him.

He looks around, stretch a bit and scrunch his eyes. He gets up and you just make your way to your next class.

When the day was over, you went to retrieve your jacket, the rain from earlier being heavy now. You’re almost down the hallway, “Y/N!” you turn around. Paul dangles his car keys. “You want a ride?”

You definitely did not want to walk in the rain or get on the rowdy bus. You nod and thank him. You two walk in stride and you poke fun of him for sleeping. “I just couldn’t do it. I told you it’s boring.” he simply replies.

Seated in his car, his scent being all over the car, you put your seatbelt on. He yawns and asks, “Do you want to come back over?”

You had no plans on having afterschool plans, the teachers had no mercy and homework was piled up today. “I got homework. I have to tackle it before I feel like I won’t feel like it.” you reply.

“Cool. We can do it together. Plus you said you were going to help me.”

“I said I can help you. Not that I would.”

“Same thing.”

That’s how you two were sprawled on Paul’s bed, that he didn’t bother to make up. He even changed into his house clothes, which wasn’t much since it was loose basketball shorts and no shirt. You tried to not stare too much. Just peeked glances when he would turn away. You were only there to teach him some strategies that helped you understand the hardness of your work.

But it seemed impossible, he kept distracting you. Once you went to explain how to get a certain answer, he would rub his finger softly back and forth on the back of your resting hand. That would give you butterflies and it would make you retract your hand, due to nervousness. He found this amusing. It was as if he knew the effect he had on you.

“I want to take a break.” he decided.

“We barely put a dent in.” you say.

He sighs softly and looks around his room. “Want to play cards?”

“I don’t want to play go fish.” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He nudges you, “Come on i’m not playing that.”

You two shared a game of spades. As the game was still fresh, you two organizing your cards from highest to lowest rank, he makes a deal. “If you win, we can go back to our work.”

“Good.” you say and look at your cards.

“If I win…” he starts to say and waits for you to look up. He had a mischievous look on his face that makes you roll your eyes.

“What? If you win, what?” you ask.

“If I win…you have to…kiss me.” he says with an anticipation effect.

You shake your head and scoff. You knew if you two kissed, things will never be the same. That’s all you would have on your mind. You wouldn’t even look at him the same. Plus, this guy seemed to know the game better than you. He did have to teach you the rules after all.

“I’m not doing that.” you playfully say.

He nods his head to solidify that’s exactly what’s going to happen and hums a response. You zero in on the game you two were playing. You wanted to save yourself the trouble, so you were determined to win. It didn’t seem to matter, everything so far was working in his favor. He won trick after trick. You only won one. After scoring, he did in fact win.

You groan while he laughs in satisfaction. Scooping the cards up and puts them back where they belong. You lamely announce you have to go to the bathroom, standing up and make your way towards his bedroom door.

“Uh uh.” he says to you, clearly seeing through your excuse. “I won. So, where my prize?”

“It wasn’t a fair win. Before this game, I didn’t even know how to play.” you say.

“A deals a deal.” He says.

You stand there for a sec, too stunned, because since he did in fact win, you had to carry out the deal.

“What are you waiting for. Let’s get it over with.” you tell him when he doesn’t move. He gets up and is now very close in front of you, nervousness is seeping through your entire body. You’ve never been this close to him before, especially face to face. He hurt so much to look at him because he just had a face that anybody would go crazy for.

“I said you have to kiss me. So i’m ready when you are.” he says lowly and looks at your lips.

You would’ve never thought in a million years that you would be in Paul Lahore’s room, about to kiss Paul Lahote. You suck in a shaky breath and quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. He’s not satisfied and his face doesn’t hide it.

“That was not a kiss.”

“Yes it was.” you tell him.

“No. I want a real kiss.” he says and there’s no signs of him giving up. He knows you’re stalling, so he curl his finger in a ‘come here’ motion to hurry you up.

You slowly inch and inch and you just lay your lips to his. He then takes the lead because he doesn’t know when’s the next time this will ever happen. He wants to make the most of this. Head titled, he licks your bottom lip to get an entry and caressed his tongue with your own. His hand creeps behind your neck and you had no choice but to move forward close up on him.

The butterflies weren’t in your stomach this time, it was in your womanhood and you felt excited, even though this wasn’t your plan. He lets you go with a sensual snack and you’re breathing heavy. His eyes were low with swollen lips and it made you want to kiss him again.

You don’t even know what to say, so you two look at each other for a minute. You turn to sit down on his bed and look at the floor. You felt the bed dip beside you and glance over and he’s still looking at you, searching your face for something.

He opens his mouth to say something but a door closing catches both of your attention. He goes out to greet his father, who just came home from work. While he’s gone for that duration, you feel your bottom lip with your tongue and realize you can still taste him. You just simply can’t believe that just happened.

You get your school work in order and focus back into the academic mission that was originally supposed to transpire. You don’t even know if you can focus again.

“That was my dad.” he tells you.

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Can we…finish up?” you ask timidly.

He sits now and actually lets you take the lead in showing him how to solve the problems. There was a sense of tension but you pushed past it to finish. When you two are finished, it’s nighttime and you know you have to head home soon.

“Alright, hopefully you got the hang of it.” you say as you’re stuffing your belongings back into your backpack.

“I need your number in case I need your help again.” he boldly says. Your hands start to get shaky again. You didn’t know whether or not you wanted this to be a frequent thing. Your thoughts stop when he extends his phone for you to enter your number. You take it hesitantly and enter it and give it back to him.

You two make your way downstairs and Paul’s dad is sitting in his designated chair watching whatever is on the television.

You two greet each other and he just puts an arm around your shoulder to steer you out. You surprisingly like this gesture and you wish it could be like this forever. You two get settled in a car and before silence takes over he speaks.

“I want to take you out.”

“Oh..where?”

He chuckles as if it were an inside joke, “I mean.. How should I say this?” he thinks for a moment. The ticking of the turning signal fills the air. “I want to always do what we did. I like it. And I like you.”

You don’t trust your voice, you don’t even know what to say, so you just nod.

Your house comes into view and he says, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again.” You opened the door and before you lift yourself out of the seat, you turn to him and say, “I think…I like you too.” you say.

He gives you a smile that lets you know he is satisfied with your answer.

As you lie in bed, you were right. That’s all you kept thinking about. It got to the point where the night felt like it was dragging on. All you wanted to do was sleep it off but it seemed impossible. Every time you closed your eyes it seemed like you were reliving it over and over again. Your mind started to travel to different directions, thinking of what would happen if you two kept going and didn’t stop. All of the tossing and turning made your pillow warm and flipped it over to retry sleep.

The next day, you were a bit tired from getting only 4 hours of sleep. You tried not to think too much of your outfit, even though you couldn’t get out of your head of how he told you when you looked nice.

You said goodbye to the remaining people in your household who haven’t left yet and made your way outside. He was there as promised, with the engine running. You get in and tell him good morning.

He greets you back but more importantly he leans over and kisses your cheek softly with so much affection it almost seemed out of place for his hard exterior. Your face feels hot and a small grin creeps your lips.

You two make small talk and then you start to yawn.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you couldn’t wait for the day to already be over so you can jump in your bed and take a nap.

“Up thinking about me?” he asks cockily.

You roll your eyes playfully and don’t say anything. He just snickers at your reaction.

He pulls into the school lot and you already have your seatbelt unbuckled, he places a warm hand above your chest to hold you in place for a second.

“Not so fast.” he teases. You look at him in confusion and he makes it his duty to kiss you again. It was unexpected and it wasn’t a quick peck. He held your chin with his index finger and thumb.

After he pulls away, with you trying to catch your breath, he walks over to your side on the car door and lets you out. You walk in stride with him and he has an arm resting around you, pulling you close. People look of course but with him, it doesn’t feel embarrassing.

He walks you to your locker and patiently waits for you to put your belongings in there. He never brought a backpack. You don’t know how he survived this long doing such thing.

Kim comes into view but slowly decrease her speed in walking when she sees who’s with you.

“Hey Y/N.” she says to you awkwardly.

You say hi to her as if it was the most normal day.

“I’ll meet you in class.” she simply says and makes her way.

Paul walks you to where you needed to go.

Whenever you’re out of class, he’s right there. He holds onto you as if you’re going to run away if he lets go. You’re so absorbed in his company that you don’t even meet up with Kim and your other friends. You get your lunch together. He steers you to his table, not trying to repeat the same thing that happened the previous day.

Kim looks at you with a ‘what are you doing’ expression look on her face. You give her an apologetic look and Paul sit you down super close next to him. His friends sense the new company but they don’t say anything out of line because Paul is giving them all a look that could kill. He keeps one hand placed on the outer side of your thigh.

He softly makes conversation with you. Each vibrational wave of his voice raising hairs on the back of your neck, suddenly paying attention how attractive his voice is.

In history class, he’s sleep as always.

The day is over and he doesn’t even have to tell you that he’s driving you home. As the school is out of view, he’s not driving in the direction of your home.

“I’m tired, I want to take a nap.” you tell him, completely wiped from the school day. Mentally cursing yourself for not getting enough sleep.

“You can sleep with me.” he says.

You’re nervous again. Walking with him through his house and you sit on his bed while he changes out of his school clothes.

When he comes back in the room, he pulls his covers back and it looks enticing, looking like you’ll get the best sleep of your life from it.

“Come on. I thought you were tired.” he says impatiently.

You take off your jacket and place it in the chair that it’s in room and lay on your side. He lays down after you and pulls you to him and kisses you once more. When he’s done, you turn to get some sleep and buries his face in the back of your neck and you two drift happily into slumber.

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erwinsvow · 7 months ago

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I ACC LOVE UR ACC SMMM

Btw, can you pls do a bsf!rafe (who's low-key a little perverted) with shy, innocent!reader??

haha i feel like everyone looves pervy best friend rafe. this is like maybe if kook trio reader was actually shy reader

the boys were so nice, such good friends to you. you hadn't expected that a friendship between parents would lead to them inviting you into their exclusive boys club, the fourth in their trio.

but all of you got on surprisingly well—you could tell they were censoring themselves sometimes, maybe a couple less inappropriate jokes, drinking a little curbed because you weren't quite comfortable yet handling three drunk boys.

topper and kelce were nice, if not a little too polite. they never really bothered you, though they tried to include you in their conversations and make an effort.

no, it was rafe who really included you. he was everything a good friend should be—picking you up and dropping you off, never letting you walk home alone even if you guys were just hanging out at tannyhill down the road. he would get you your drinks and make sure you were a part of the conversation, never letting you sit alone or feel ignored.

he was being a great friend.. if not a little too much, too posessive. he didn't like when you talked to other boys, sometimes even if you were entranced in a conversation with top or kelce. sometimes it felt like he found reasons to drag you away.

and sometimes, though you thought you were imagining it, that rafe wouldn't actually do such a thing, you felt like he was touchier with you than others. he would often rest a hand on your knee at lunch, keep you on his lap at a party when you were too drunk and giggly to know better, to know this wasn't normal.

"that girl was looking at me.." you tell rafe, seated next to him on the couch. he'd just had you in his lap, but you'd crawled off to go freshen up, returning to the spot next to him. his arm is swung around your shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"who?" he asks, glancing around. he doesn't see anyone.

"over there. she's been looking at you all night. i think we gave her the wrong idea, rafe-"

"wrong idea?"

"she's gonna think.. y'know. that we're together, or something." he doesn't even turn to look around, to see who it is.

"who cares, kid? let 'em think what they want." you look up a little confused, and rafe leans in to talk into your ear. "lions don't care about the opinions of sheep, right?" the way he says it, though any other day you'd smack his arm and laugh, makes your whole body shiver.

"yeah," you agree, not wanting rafe to think you disagree with him.

he spots kelce and top in the distance, walking closer, and he scoops you back into his lap with two strong hands on your hips. "gotta make room," he says while you squirm.

you settle in though, making yourself comfortable. he has to try hard not to keep staring down the front of your dress or moving too much—doesn't want you to know he's hard for his new little best friend.

yet, that is. no, he's gonna have you folded in half on his bed that he keeps telling you is perfectly fine to sleepover in, bent over in the back seat of the truck he picks you up in, pushed against the wall in the bathroom at the club where he takes you to show you around.

he's playing the long game, and he's enjoying it, a hand on your waist while you sip on your drink and talk to him about something, not kelce or top.

#sorry this isnt smutty or anything ugh im so bad at that #i hope u like babe ty for requesting #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

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pedge-page · 4 months ago

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Joel Dealing with Wife: The Duck Dilemma

Joel x F!Reader

Summary: a day at a local farm festival is all fun and games... until it isn't for Joel.

- - - -

He thought the little farm festival with petting area was going to be a good idea.( Like a dumbass) all the way up until Sarah, sitting atop his shoulders, actually sees the little enclosed area and the happy baby goats and sheep and piglets getting cozy around other little kids. Then she starts squealing and pointing excitedly, kicking Joel's chest and tugging his hair to move faster.

He sets her down right outside. You slather the complimentary hand sanitizer foam all between her fingers and up her wrists, and then carefully do the "Listening" chant so she pays attention.

"Remember, 2 finger pet. Veeeery gentle. Watch before you touch. No hands near mouths. And they do NOT need your kisses. Okay baby?"

She nods heavily once, seemingly understanding it all.

Then, you release her into the wild.

You and Joel watch from outside the gate as Sarah carefully waddles to each one in her overalls and little boots. She pets them gently, but they seem more interested in other kids with sticky remnants of food still on their fingers and mouths. Sarah looks so dejected, crossing her hands and waiting patiently.

Like the hero that he is, Joel motions her over and hands her a milk bottle he had somehow bought when you werent paying attention. She eagerly takes it with a smile and walks back to the center.

"Babas! Get babas!" Sarah shouts, holding up the milk bottle. Immediately all the animals come rushing to her.

You panic for a moment that shes gonna be trampled and eaten. Instead she's laughing as they all lick her cheeks and tongues wag in favor of the bottle. She even takes turns with other kids to feed with the bottle and they pass around the affection. Once she finishes up, she skips back towards you.

You slather more handsanitzer on her and wipe her with your pack of wipes.

You go from each circle, learning about the new 2 week old piggies getting milk from momma, the boat of ducklings under their heating lamp, a surprisingly impressive show of a squirrel on a mini jet ski, until finally wearing out for the day and walking back to the car with more cotton candy than you'll ever eat in your lifetime.

He can feel the question coming a mile away from you.

"Joel, can we get baby goat."

"No."

"Baby sheep?"

"No."

"Baby...baby duck?"

He holds up Sarah to your face. "How about this baby. Take this one home."

"Oh right. I do love that one." You hoist her into your arms so she can sit on your hip.

Car is loaded, Sarah buckled in a little too happily, and you indulge in some sugary goodness.

On way hone you two hear a peep from the back.

"What was that Sarah?"

"Nufin!" She says quickly. You turn and see her casually tossing her legs and looking around the car, blowing air through her lips pretending to whistle as if bored. Shrugging, you turn back to the front.

But you hear some peeping again, and see through the mirror that Sarah is kissing an emerging little bill in her jacket that is moving of its own.

"Sarah, WHAT IS that."

The little duck pokes it's head out.

You gasp, covering your mouth. "Oh my god..."

Joel whips around and widens at the stowaway duckling nestled into her chest.

He looks between you and Sarah several times before landing his mark. "YOU!" He accuses with a pointed finger at your direction.

"ME??? I DIDNT TELL HER TO TAKE A DUCK!"

"YOU BEEN BEGGIN FOR ONE--"

" I WOULD NOT INCIRMINATE MY DAUGHTER INTO STEALING. Sarah we have to take that back."

"No! Mine!" She holds the flightless little thing defensively to her chest.

"No Sarah, not yours. She has to go with her mommy.

"Ok." She holds it out to you, "Here Mommy!"

"No not me Mommy. Her own Mommy. Duck Mommy. Although it's really... cute. And soft. Probably wanting some attention from a good family...."

"BUT!" Joel snaps, mostly at you.

"BUT we are still taking her back!"

She sniffles and rubs it's soft head against her puffy cheeks, saying goodbye to the duck as you guys go back to the farm.

"Are we raising a kleptomaniac?" You whisper to your fuming husband.

You all apologize profusely at the farm.

"It happens more often than you think," the caretaker laughs. As Joel loads Sarah back in her seat, the handler pulls you aside.

"We're actually not very well funded as we used to"

"Oh I'm so sorry. That's such a shame, this was such a great event and helps kids learn so much."

"Well the thing is.... we don't have the money or staff to continue caring for the ducks once they're a certain age. So if youre open to a donation..."

Joel checks his watch as Sarah clears her tears in the back. He looks at the rear view mirror and you're returning almost with a skip, pulling begind you a wagon.

"What the hell is--"

6 baby ducks quack happily at him.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! WE RETURN ONE AND GET 6 MORE? HOW DOES THAT ADD UP! SHE DOES GET THIS STEALING FROM YOU!"

"please Joel please please please they need a home!!"

Sarah turns and reaches as far out her seat as possible to be able to see the bickering and cart, and she instantly squeals excitedly kicking her feet.

"You're REWARDING HER FOR STEALING"

"JOEL PLEASE! I never ask ANYTHING of you!"

Hes so bewildered by that statement alone, his jaw nearly snapping off and buring 6 feet under the ground.

He puts his hands on his hips ans taps his foot angrily. Between your teary eyes and clasped hands and checking on Sarah who had an equally powerful trembling pouty lips of begging, he has to take a deep breath to relieve the smoke billowing from his ears and nostrils.

A smile on both your and Sarah's face and 6 happy ducks quacking away in the trunk.

"I love you," you say sweetly.

He grumbles unhappily but forces his hand in your lap to hold, scowling with a tight grip on the wheel all the way home.

- - - -

Notes: idc if nobody asks for it but i already have a pt 2 for this at the Miller Household

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #last of us fic #tlou fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller fan fic #joel miller fluff #sarah miller #joel and sarah #joel dealing with preggo wife

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hereforthehitsbaby · 3 months ago

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Darkness, Imprisoning Me | Cooper Adams/Abbott x F!Reader

Gif credit to @billy-crudup

Synopsis: News reports of The Butcher leaving his latest victim across the street from your house wasn't enough to spook you, not even into locking your doors. In fact, you were enticed by the idea of him getting in. But is it everything you wanted?

Warnings: Dark!Fic, Angst, Mentions of Murder, Victim!Reader, Cooper is so cute then a baddie, Essentially what I would think would go down with The Butcher

Rating: R

Word Count: 6.2K

A/N: I promise to write fluff pieces with Cooper eventually, but this man has such a choke hold on me I cannot contain. It’s the parasite in me, I blame them. I need the angst, I need the hurt. Originally this was gonna be just straight up porn but, I didn’t want to burn out.

Tagging: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica

If you would like to be tagged for my fics, please fill this out

“The Butcher is a megalomanic, a typical wolf in sheep’s clothing. They’re meticulous and calculated. They are the perfect killer – and that is exactly why they slipped out from under the FBI’s nose.”

Calculated, that is the best way to describe most things in life, explain most passions as well. It isn’t a bad thing to be calculated, no, it’s a good thing after all. There is something about knowing that you are taking precautions and closing gaps before they can form that is rewarding. The endorphins it sends to the brain get mistaken for happiness and content. Calculated is good, calculated is safe. It means there are no possible tracks to follow or fall back on; A burned, fraying edge of a ribbon. It shrivels up under the intensity until nothing stands but a solid nub of what used to be. Calculated keeps the sanity flowing, for the opposing party that is. It brings a great sense of pride to the killer, knowing they are untraceable. Until they’re not; Their day of reckoning comes quick, quicker than they anticipate. They cannot run or hide anymore – they become infamous, they become hated. They become real.

That’s what your criminology professor used to say before she got on the case of The Butcher – what the media is dubbing him – a psychopath who likes to lure their victims into a sense of security, torture them, and then dispose of them in public places. The kicker? It’s never in one piece. All twelve victims so far have been cut into fourteen pieces, never thirteen. It made sense, thirteen being the unlucky number after all – it created a sense of bad luck for all killers to dwell on. But not The Butcher, they were clean. They clearly were not a loner; this was someone who could blend in at the drop of a hat. Disappear quickly if need be and never look back. Yet in Philly, everyone seemed that way.

Moving here wasn’t ideal for you, but Penn State offered you a great position as a first-year professor while you were pursuing your last year of your Masters. You’d be a fool to pass up that opportunity; The pay wasn’t awful but, it put you right where you wanted to be. Being the trainee of Dr. Josephine Grant was a dream come true, working under her and picking her brain about serial killers was exactly what you wanted. Since you were a kid, growing up watching all of those crime shows when everyone thought you were sleeping, you felt a connection to the field, like it was beckoning you. There was something about putting a psychopath away and finding out why they committed their crimes that intrigued you. What fired off in their synapses to where they thought killing was the only way to conduct their life. You wanted to make a change in the criminal justice field; You wanted to be that change. Philly happened to have a sociopath of their own running amok, and you wanted to be in the midst of the chaos.

Everything fell in line after that – your condo was bought at an extremely low rate compared to other mortgages in the area. You could walk to and from work and classes on the daily, leaving your afternoons open. Hell, it even helped that your grocery store was directly across the street, right across from the park. It was a sweet spot and one you felt like was too good to be true at the end of the day. But alas, you were not questioning fate as it saw you as its pawn. You were just living your life; Single, brazen, and ready to be the face of change in the field. Plus, working close with Josephine meant that you were right at the forefront of The Butcher’s ideas, patterns, schematics. Young, attractive; They all knew he was a male, and not a woman – especially with the craftmanship of the bodies.

It excited you, a man that dedicated to ending the lives of others. You wouldn’t ever admit it aloud but, being a young woman in your position was compromising. If you ever told Josephine your plan of luring The Butcher in to get more information, you’d be fired. But that was your plan at the end of the day – in hopes to uncover more. But truly, you were doing it to entice someone else. When your condo complex became the hub for the police, after another victim was found chopped up across the street from you, you wanted to lay a welcoming hand out for a certain someone. Which is why you stopped locking your doors, your windows, even barricading the deck door. Naivete got the best of you, you were most certain. But it was all for the cause, the further exploration into a serial killer’s mind. You hoped it wouldn’t be him who got in but someone else entirely, yet a girl can dream. As fucked up as it was to think; You were Grant’s pawn, a willing one at that. It was a stupid plan but, God it made you feel alive. The only other thing that did was off the table.

It's always easy to crush on the neighbor next door, not having an establishing factor caused you to admire from afar. Though it was hard not to with how thin your walls were – hearing everything that happened on the other side. It wasn’t provocative to say the least but intriguing. Nature documentaries, Golden Girl re-runs, even some mix ins of Robocop and Midnight Run to lull you to sleep. It was comforting knowing a person was there who happened to like the same things as you. But it only complicated the crush you grew to have. That wedding ring tended to complicate a lot of things – though you never saw anyone but him. It was weird to say the least but, you had no control over it. Pining from afar was the betterment of your time anyways, school took up too much.

The only time you ever talked to him was when The Butcher claimed yet another victim, tossing their remains on campus. It was obvious you were a student worker by your hoodie you always wore, showcasing the department and school. You were notorious for wearing your headphones in as you walked home anyways, which happened to spark his interest. “It’s not safe to do that nowadays – you wouldn’t hear anyone come up on you, sweetheart. I’m just looking out for you.” The sentiment of Cooper Adams’ words struck a deep chord within your body, not ever feeling something so live within you. Having someone car for you was foreign, especially with how your parents were growing up. But Cooper, he really was like a dad – if he wasn’t already. He was the neighborhood watch dog, only wanting what is best for everyone, if everyone wasn’t just you. His autumn eyes never looked away when you left or came home, they watched your every step with ease and precision – notating in case something happened. Cooper was a man, and you needed him.

”I respectfully disagree, I think The Butcher is sloppy and they know it. They keep fucking up and putting themselves on the line. I mean come on, who in their right mind leaves a trail of receipts behind them. For Lady Raven no less! The biggest popstar in the world has a serial killer coming to her concert I mean, it’s alleged but – the odds aren’t out on it, right?”

Grading papers and trying to finish the second of four halves of your dissertation on The Butcher caused you to leave campus late. A fifteen-minute walk down to your home was fine, but something about tonight felt off. October is a beautiful time to enjoy – the sweet and savory smell of pumpkin in the air, the crisp sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet. It was your favorite time of year, but you couldn’t enjoy it like you usually do. You ignored Cooper’s insightful thought to not use headphones on your way home, opting to listen to a podcast instead about The Butcher. Any new leads you could use for your dissertation you were taking, whether they came to full fruition or not. It helped to deepen your argument of what makes a killer, kill. You wouldn’t lie to yourself; The podcast was freaking you out with how soon the Lady Raven concert was coming up. Even if it was alleged, he was going to be at the Lady Raven concert, you didn’t want to take your chances. You knew how to blend in and keep an ear to the ground but, being a victim was not on your list.

Rounding the corner to your block, you saw that Cooper’s light was on in the living room – making you let a sigh of relief out. It meant he was up again watching you come home, keeping you safe as always. It warmed you heart and soaked your panties. It was a no brainer Cooper was extremely attractive; Beekeeping age to be exact. There was something about the power dynamic of an older man with you that lit you up on all cylinders, you couldn’t handle the thoughts. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t touch yourself to the thought of him – taking you soft and slow like you assumed he liked, treating you like a princess. It was what dreams are made of; he truly is prince charming in your eyes. No one is that perfect, that loyal to the job, or that kind. Beloved fire chief Cooper Adams, you wanted him.

Smiling to yourself, you removed your headphones from your ears, shoving them into your purse. The last thing you wanted was for Cooper to see that and think you didn’t heed his warning; in turn you did – the tail end of the trip anyway. Taking a deep breath, you let the weight of the world off of your shoulders, feeling safe again the closer you got to home. You knew it was silly to be spooked about this whole situation; The cleanup crew took the body away days ago and everyone trickled down from there. The caution tape still slapped against the barren tree trunks, shaking leaves from its head. But The Butcher moved on to another place and wouldn’t visit the same place twice you knew. Still though, the thought excited you of Cooper going into your home at some point to make sure you were okay. To reprimand you for keeping the doors unlocked, for seeing how innocent you truly were. You were begging for him, and hoped he caught along eventually.

You were thankful that the steps to your condo wasn’t too long, only a four steps to the front door. Hopping up each one softly, you gently put your hand on the doorknob, pushing the handle down with your thumb. The click of the stopped pushing back into its slot made you cringe, wondering how loud it was compared to what Cooper could hear. Surely, he was going to ask why he didn’t hear your keys tomorrow, and for that you’d had to think of a creative way to tell him. There was no way in hell you were going to come straight out and tell him why you left it unlocked. No, you needed to be smart about it. The heavy front door started to swing backwards for you, creaking at the hinges which in turn made you shy away from it, your heartbeat flooding your ears. The pounding in your head wasn’t helping your current situation, for every move you made was loud – causing your fingers to tremble. “Please don’t be awake,” you muttered to yourself, letting out a deep breath once the door was fully open.

The dark foyer of your condo made you feel safe, knowing once you get upstairs to the kitchen you could be okay – that nothing was coming for you. Letting go of the door caused it to fall back into place, clicking soundly when it is tightly shut. Reaching behind your back, you grabbed onto the top dial for the lock, turning it clockwise, then reaching up to deadbolt the top lock. Now that you were shut in tight – you didn’t have to worry about anything else. It was then the realization struck you; The Butcher couldn’t get into your house if he tried, if it wasn’t the front door. Your bedroom and kitchen were on the second floor. The deck stairs are padlocked shut – he would have to use a ladder. How you didn’t think of that previously was lost on you but – at least you had a good chuckle at the thought.

Grabbing onto the railing, you toed your shoes off by the stairs with a hum to your voice, showing Cooper you were okay – even if it didn’t need to know. Tiredness was setting in hard in your mind, causing a slight headache to erupt at your temple. Using your free hand to massage the tightened muscle, you made your way up the stairs; Every other creaking as you leaned forward. The strawberry cheesecake you bought yesterday was calling your name, all you wanted to do was cut yourself a slice, sit back on the couch and watching some Penny Dreadful. With the start of your weekend now commenced, you just wanted time to yourself to think. The closer you got to the top of the steps, the more you felt the sleepiness roll in behind you, wanting to curl up and snuggle the night away. A yawn released itself from your mouth, causing you to stop in your tracks. On the top step no less, you managed to press your back to the wall, so you didn’t fall, or topple down.

Shaking your head as the aftereffects of the yawn roll through you, you started to make your way into the kitchen to the fridge – feeling the draft of the windows behind opened cascading over you. With a thud on the countertops, you dropped your bag off with your phone – rubbing your eyes to ease the pounding. You didn’t realize how hard it had got to focus once you began, the feeling too good to stop. This was exactly what you needed to start – something brain numbing and desensitizing so you could continue on. You did have half a mind to sleep at the kitchen counter, everything else just seeming so far away. Just a little nap until your felt energized, it would fix everything for you. You dropped your hands at your side to stare forward, trying to let the stars in your eyes disappear before moving. Though, something was out of sorts.

Squinting your eyes in the dark of the kitchen, you strain to see what was at the far head of the kitchen table, wondering if it was just your imagination confusing you, or if there was someone sitting there. Your hand found purchase on the kitchen countertop next to your light switch, thumbing it on with a bright bulbed gleam. “Jesus!” You exclaimed out, jolting backwards into the stove, clutching your chest. There was a person sitting there, and surprisingly the one you hoped for. Your labored breathing echoed in the space as you huffed out a laugh, running your fingers back through your hair. The initial shock of seeing Cooper in your kitchen was starting to wear off, instead it caused you to be giddy. Finally, you thought with an internal smile. But it was clear Cooper did not mimic the same. Instead of looking like his usual sweet, kind, and caring self – he looks pissed off. The softness that laid upon his eyes this morning, we replaced with a darkened line of hard steel – ready to tell you off.

He was wearing that damned stripped sweater you loved so much, the autumn colors contrasting beautifully with his complexion. His biceps building as his arm crossed over his chest, his feet finding purchase flat against the linoleum. Cooper shot his brows up in a challenging way, as if to secretly say seriously. You couldn’t stare in his eyes as he looked at you, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks and neck, causing you to burn up. The tick in his jaw as he focused on you made your knees weak; Sucking down the moan threatening to escape almost broke you. “You didn’t lock your door.” Cooper stated in a non-bullshit tone, causing you to cower. If you looked at him, you knew you’d confess as to why you did. You promised yourself he’d never know about that, no matter the circumstance. “Two days the cops were here because of the body. And you didn’t think to lock your door when you went out?” The fatherly tone in his voice caused you to shrink away, jaw set in a hardened place.

Cooper shook his head back and forth with no change in expression, still so disappointed to see what you had done. “Windows open, doors unlocked. Have you forgotten there is a killer in the neighborhood?” That was the thing, you hadn’t. You left this as an open invitation for The Butcher to try something. Maybe, just maybe he’d let you live long enough to learn more, jot it somewhere or record so when you were gone, at least the evidence was behind. But there were faults in that, The Butcher wouldn’t give you time for anything. You’d be here and done in the next, depending on how long he wanted to play with you. “I’m sorry,” you squeaked, moving to the opposite counter, trying to get closer to Cooper. You could see it in his eyes he didn’t want none of that, he didn’t want an apology. The longer Cooper stared at you, the more his face shifted from annoyed and disappointed, to scared and worried. He must’ve realized how he was being and wanted to correct it before you thought differently.

“I wanted to see if you were up for having a movie night. Imagine my surprise when I see your door open and unlocked.” There was a fearful waver in Cooper’s voice, causing your stomach to sink. The one thing you didn’t want to do in your soon-to-be budding friendship was worry him or scare him for that matter. But there was a feeling of failure starting to weasel its way through your stomach, wanting nothing more than to console Cooper. He couldn’t look your way as he spoke, shaking his head away from you as he focused on the plastered white wall of your kitchen, counting the tiny specks of paint dots in my mind. “I thought…I thought The Butcher had gotten to you.” It was low, but loud enough to break your heart – tearing welling in the corner of your eyes. Your heart was plummeting, you needed to act fast.

Coming around the kitchen island, you stand at the front end of the kitchen table to face Cooper – your eyes silently pleading for him to look at you. His foot tapped against the floor in pointed rhythm with his fingers, tapping along the edge of the table as he unwound them from his chest. His thick fingers came up closer to the edge, grazing over the handle of something. Your eyes were curious, deciding to have a mind of their own as you glanced down to see the silvery glint of a sharp object – eyes going wide, breath going still. Sitting next to your thigh on the table was a meat cleaver from your knife set you just bought, the edge sparkling with attraction – wanting to be used. You understood that Cooper was scared for you, so he grabbed something to protect himself just in case. It was admirable to say the least, you felt your heart warming at the thought.

Cooper let his fingers cascade over the black handle of the knife, pulling it to him without a stutter in his step. Picking the knife up, he tested the weight of it in his palm, dragging the tip of his finger over the serrated edge, feeling it cut him a bit. You winced at the sight of blood pooling out of the small cut, your stomach doing flips. Blood never made you squeamish but self-inflicted wounds did. “I’m so sorry Cooper, I never meant to upset you with it. Honest to God, I forgot this morning.” You were lying through your teeth and Cooper knew, he fucking knew from a mile away. The saddened look in his eyes switched so quickly, if you blinked, you’d miss it. Placating a docile look to his own face, he stared at you carefully, making no quick movements or hasty decisions. He was giving you your chance to confess, and you fucked it up.

“I think you did it on purpose,” he called out, sitting forth on the chair so his elbows rested against his muscular thighs. He chuckled in a sinister way as he pointed the cleaver in your direction, waving it up to your face so you’d look at him, rather than the floor. “I think, you wanted The Butcher to come in here.” The heat sliding across your chest and neck made you feel sick, like you were exposed. A live wire touching a hot nerve ending; It was electric in a twisted way. There was no admiration or happiness but despair and darkness. He was calling you out so fast on your bullshit, it scared you. It made you feel weak just knowing he could read through you. Sweet, doting Cooper was a thing of the past as he kept going. “I think you wanted to catch him on your own and make yourself a hero.” Touch. Fucking. Down. It was the closest Cooper was going to get to the truth – he didn’t need to know the other half of it. Knitting his brows together, a light sheen in his eyes made the ember pupils go misty, your eyes letting the tears slip. “Is that true?”

“N-No, not at all!” It was obvious in your shifty tone that you were lying, that this was all bullshit. Cooper had it down to a tee, he read you like a book before you even stepped through the door. He saw you for what you are, a pusher. Cooper sighed as he lowered his head, shaking it from side to side as he stared at his boots. The leather tightened as he put his weight onto his boots. The stretch of them caused your pulse to shake, your feet moving back at the detection. You knew Cooper wouldn’t hurt you, he would even attempt to kill a fly, let alone a person. He was trying to get the point across to show you just how serious he was, but to you – he was a bit too committed to the bit. Tossing his head back, Cooper slid his calloused fingers through his hair, disheveling the length of it so it draped over his face.

“Monsters exist, you know. They’re everywhere.” He began, his tone dropping to a lethal level. There was a drop in your abdomen as you heard it, sounding like something otherworldly. It didn’t seem like Cooper had control at all, but something else. Was it aggression? Pent up stress? Months and months of rage he needed to express? He was never wound tight so you were taken aback. You didn’t know how to navigate it, because the second you would try, it would backfire by tenfold in your face. It was the fact that Cooper was almost talking down to you that made you upset – leaning in a little too heavy on the reprimand. “I-I know that.” You shot back without hesitation, ignoring the stutter in your words as you stared at him. There was a venomous bite to your words, to which Cooper was not a fan out.

Cooper began to stand as his body evened out, his six foot three stature towering over you. Gulping down the fight you had in your throat, you focused on his facial expressions, waiting to see what he was planning next. The way he looked down his nose at you made you shiver, dread creeping its winding way across your spine. “No, you don’t. Clearly.” Cooper stated, the bladed ended of the cleaver coming to rest against your side, creeping along your sweatshirt. You didn’t dare to break away from Cooper’s expression, knowing if you did – something bad was going to happen. But it already wasn’t it? He was the bad thing. In that moment, a lightbulb went off. Cooper Adams wasn’t just the fire chief, or a doting father. He is The Butcher.

The revelation caused your palms to grow clammy, balling into shivering fists at your side. It was too good to be true, you never would’ve guessed though. The secret condo, the overt fascination in watching you, making sure you were safe. Always needing to hear you, knowing you were okay. Hell, he played the caregiver role very well – you just were oblivious to the fact that it is because you’re working with the same people trying to take him down. If there is one thing Cooper wouldn’t have, it is that. For years he has gone undetected, twelve victims, bodies brutalized into bits and pieces. “…because you let the biggest one walk through your door. Sit at your kitchen table. Watch you make a fool of yourself, and you’re still turned on.” Cooper ended his statement, causing you to tune back in to what he was saying.

Wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize that Cooper had moved the cleaver to sit under your chin, the cold metallic feel against your skin caused your pulse to push. Anchoring you in your spot was Cooper’s free hand against your hip; A punishing strength you knew would leave bruises come the morning. With the cleaver at your throat, Cooper leaned down to whisper in your ear, letting his warm breath fan your flesh. “Don’t lie to me again, I won’t go easy on you.” Cooper growled out, his fingers driving into your hip deeper, causing you to wince at the pain. It was not a threat but a promise. A way of holding that control over you, to show you that no matter what – you were never in control of your life, for as long as he has been in it. You didn’t realize it but, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. The emotion on your face was feeding some sick, twisted passion of Cooper’s, causing his once evil scowl to turn into a bright, beaming grin.

Stepping hard in front of you, Cooper jolted a bit to spook you – pulling the cleaver back enough so you didn’t get hurt. A cackle slipped past his lips, causing you to press against the kitchen wall closest to the stairs. “How long would it take you to get your locks undone, and get to the corner store before I caught you?” He asked it as if it was a simple question, but it was a challenge. If he could tell you left your door unlocked on purpose then, he could tell you had a crush on him too. His proposition was to showcase loyalty; Would you run and cry like the rest of his victims, or stand your ground and grovel at his feet? In another world the second option would be the best one, but this is reality – not fantasy. You couldn’t, after what he did – what he wanted to do…you were not going to be a statistic in his book – you were not going to be an easy kill. You are a fighter.

“Want to find out?” You didn’t, you truly did not want to but knew it was your only chance. If you stood your ground, it would be bloodshed. At least if you tried a bit more, pushed further – you could stop him once and for all. I mean, that was your plan after all, right? Catch The Butcher, put a stop to his shit. Your plan, a dumb – yet smart plan. But it being Cooper made it difficult for you, like a lump in your throat trying to pass. You didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t in fact, but the more he let his guard slip the obvious it became. You didn’t respond, didn’t look away from his eyes either. You stared ahead and watched Cooper with intent, challenging him to drop everything and stay there. You didn’t feel your feet leave the ground; you didn’t notice your knees hiking up with a sprint. Hell, you barely registered what was going on as your vision went from Cooper to the halfway point of your staircase, the deadbolted door only a few feet away. Jumping from the fifth to last step, you landed right on your booted feet – bringing a shaking hand up to undo the first lock. As you slid the deadbolt out from its place, you reached for the doorknob – but not before both of your hands were pinned to your side.

“Too slow there, princess. Did you even try?” That evil laugh ran your blood cold, a pout evident on his face without even turning. You went to scream but, Cooper cut off your noises with his arm across your neck, your chin sitting in the crux of his elbow. Instantly your nails found purchase in his thick sweater; Tiny fibers coming up as you pull with roughened hands. Donkey kicking your way into his knee, Cooper grunted with an annoyed mewl, letting out a heavy sigh against the side of your face as he pushes you face first into the wall. “Seems like you wanted me to catch you,” Cooper snarled, lips pressed so hard against your ear you felt his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Fear is the biggest betrayer; When an escape comes your way, you take it. No second thoughts, you go. But alas, the fear of not knowing caused you to panic and stutter with the deadbolt. If only you had been quicker, you’d be at the police station, not at The Butcher’s mercy.

It hurt knowing this was Cooper’s goal all along, to make you lucky number thirteen in his black book of death. Just another name, just another victim, just another live lost because of the inadequacy of the police. Another pair of eyes snuffed out, another brilliant mind gone to senselessness. You know you are a survivor, you know you need to prove it. Placing a tender kiss to your temple, Cooper sways you a bit as he pushes his weight into your back, tightening his hold with a grunt. “Ask me why, come on. I know you want to.” The whisper was one of petulance, like he wanted to give you the reason before you became his thirteenth reason. It was your parting gift on this realm; To know before you met the others. You didn’t want to give in, you didn’t have Cooper Adams to have the upper hand. But the feeling of a small knife poking just under your right lung in the hold made tears fall, a gasp of sorrow spewing out. “W-Why!” You screamed, feeling the anguish and despair wallowing in the open air.

Cooper took a deep breath as you spoke the words, fueling his ego with the emotion you were giving. The glimmer of hope he was snuffing out of you set him on edge, in the best way possible. Here you were, pressed against a wall with his arms wrapped around you. His knee between your legs to keep them open and his face melding with yours. Cooper and you were one in the same, a victim and killer creating a blinding situation. One where the only outcome is red. Running his nose along the backside of your ear, nuzzling into your skull, let out in a low tone: “Because I can.” It was straight forth, no mistaking what he said or the meaning behind it. Cooper was not one to fuck around about the kill, he took it seriously as he should. It scared you how quickly he shifted into The Butcher – there was almost no time to adjust. Now, he confessed. He can so he will, and you are going to be the sweetest one for him.

“Oh, was that not what you were expecting?” Cooper pouted as he asked, feigning innocence as he omitted a sad sound in your ear, causing the silent tears to erupt. Turning your head slightly to try and see his face in the glow of the pale moonlight, your eyes shone with disbelief and tiredness. His lips screwed up into a soft smile, using his free hand to caress your cheek. Every tear that fell, Cooper kissed it away from the back. He was mourning as well, mourning a soon-to-be friend, maybe a love interest, but all in all another brilliant mind. “No one expects me to take a life, and that is the thrill of it.” There was no hesitation, no gallop along bullshit to make you feel better. Cooper was direct, manipulative, psychotic. “I hold power over everyone, and they let me.” It was stated like a prayer, a true belief that it was making the world a better place. Cooper didn’t forget the accusatory stance when he spoke next, making sure you heard his words loud and clear. To know what a mistake this was. “You let me.”

A guttural, wretched wail leaped its way from deep within your body, ripping out through your lungs like a beast fully being unleashed. You dropped your knees slightly to try and get the advantage to slip away, groaning out in frustration as he locked his own. The knife slid across your sweatshirt like butter, not cutting your skin but sending the message. Cooper wouldn’t have gutted you in his sweater, no, it would be too dirty. The blade was dull, but the point was sharp. It was meant to scare you, to keep you in check. Did he think it would cut through cloth? No, but he knew it couldn’t skin. So, Cooper let you drop out of his grasp as the knife slid, backing up only slightly for you to scramble out. Yes, you exclaimed mentally as you crawled across the foyer floor.

Like a silent killer, Cooper turned around ala Michael Myers style and watched you – a blank expression making its way back to his features. He didn’t press forth, nor did he grab at you. Instead, Cooper watched you struggle like a stuck pig in mud, scurrying your way across the stairs and start to gain your balance. The first few steps were tough to keep your balancing, your boots sliding across the laminate wood. Halfway up you started to gain traction on each step, gripping the railing and not daring to look behind. But it was quiet, too quiet. You knew in your gut Cooper was planning something; You had no idea what but, this was something more than you. “You’re so pretty when you’re scared, it’s kind of hot.” Cooper drawled out as he slowly made his way up the stairs, smirking in the moonlight as he crept after you. Turning back around you kept the same speed to keep the distance between you both substantial. Slamming of boots coming from behind you, causing you to panic. But you were able to make it free of the stairs, and jet towards the deck door in the kitchen, thankful it was still unlocked.

As you moved forward on fast feet to grip the handle, a heavy hand came to the side of your head. The weight of it felt unnatural, otherworldly. The skin wasn’t warm on the palm, but ice cold. In a second, a simple blink, your eyes were unfocused. The world around you started to spin, and you reached your hands out, trying to find anything to grab onto. Instead, you felt the boom of pain on the left side of your head, warmth coating the skin as you fell. The floor, or table never came up – you landed in the arms of Cooper, who was now grunting and panting like a dog – perfect hair disheveled, mouth screwed up into an annoyed expression. “Sleep it off, you’ll be fine.” You dismissed off your feeling as he lowered you to the ground. Everything was in a daze, a glowing aura of red around your eyeline. No matter how many times you blinked or trying to focus your eyes, everything spun like a merry-go-round. Bursts of lights coated your vision, your wrists met with hard plastic as they were tied together. Your feet following the same fate.

You felt your body move, sliding down the kitchen floor. It was cold, dry, and yet warm all at the same time… then everything went black. You no longer felt a thing.

To Be Continued…

#cooper adams #cooper adams fic #cooper adams fanfic #cooper adams fanfiction #cooper adams angst #cooper adams x reader #cooper adams x f!reader #josh hartnett #josh hartnett fic #josh hartnett fanfic #josh hartnett fanfiction #trap movie #trap 2024 #cooper abbott smut #cooper abbott fanfic #cooper abbott fic #cooper abbott x reader #cooper abbott

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blueberryarchive · 10 months ago

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𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 & 𝒍𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒓

♰pairing; preacher!jk x reader x cowboy!jm

♰word count; 4.6k

♰genre; smut, horror, angst

♰tw; dead dove do not eat, drowning, heavy non-con, dacryphilia, oral, penetration, mentions of blood, depiction of religion, gruesome details of death, physical and verbal violence (jk has a serious rage problem), alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of jk wanting to have sex as a teen.

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"Love. Sweetheart, stay with me a lil' longer, please. Fuck, Jeon, she's dying on me." Jimin bellowed, a halo of violet light outlining his silhouette as dry cornfields passed by the sides of the truck, your body bouncing with the truck's turmoil from side to side.

You looked down and saw your numb leg, the dark hole of burnt skin that Park soaked with a misty liquor. His awake and worried eyes, the dried blood of your lusts on his lips, the new blood that the wound vomited out, covering his hands, becoming thicker and purer.

Your shoulders slumped, your head resting on the back window of the truck. The two men were fighting, but that was just as the murmur of crickets and moths.

The sky was infinite, domed with stars, all subtly arranged in the perfect position. You saw among the sequins of God, all your dresses and the damn heels in which you had to squeeze your growing body. How Miss Texas' adorable smile became a pathetic white plate without emotion.

And oh, you knew that the fall of a star was inevitable, but not even the flame began to die when you were already sunken between the rocks and the soft grass caressing the last spark, your first tears of acceptance. And in the grass, you dozed, feeling sorry for your own useless body, the plastic crowns, the gold, and the memories of the applause.

"No! Stay." A slap brought you back to the hard floor of a barn. The unknown man grabbed your cheeks and choked you with a long, bitter drink of homemade liquor.

The little light came in from a window in the wooden ceiling, the heat emanating from the hay and wool piled in the corner, leaving a strong smell, you groaned before vomiting to the side.

"Fuck, Jungkook. She's not a fucking animal, you're going to make her faint." Jimin pushed his partner. Jungkook swallowed hard. His pale, neat face was dirty with crimson droplets.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Park?" Jungkook pushed him back, and neither of them could believe it, neither the action nor the power in the voice.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Letting in a bunch of rapist shit-smoking hippies without a fucking cent to pay for their stay."

And then you thought about the rifle the father was carrying, about Sage and the others. A gasp from deep in your chest, the sob reminding you of your pain.

The rifle was pointed at you with anger pooling in his neck that didn't let him breathe. You screamed as you tried to stand up but it was useless, your wounded leg was your cross. Jimin moved as quickly as possible to cover your mouth, squeezing until it hurt.

"What did you do with the others?" Park's voice trembled, and his partner's eyes showed an open, bloody wound that would not close until a couple of demons ran away.

"I shot the boy in the shoulder, the two girls took the car and drove to California. I made them promise not to come back."

"You're a fucking psychopath." Your scream is muffled by the cowboy's fingers.

The rifle flew away in the hay, and the impatient sheep threw themselves to one side when they knew that it was not food they brought but danger.

"Jeon, stop!"

Jungkook was taller and heavier than his partner, so it wasn't difficult to lunge at you, grab your hair, and compress your chin until he felt every tooth. He was sweating with the smell of incense and wine, his thin lips spit in your face.

"It's because of people like you that I want to leave the church and buy a damn truck, pick up every son of a bitch on Route 66 who raises his dirty thumb on the side of the road, and bathe them in acid until they dissolve alive."

You didn't say anything, because you were pure meat in front of him, a mere animal for slaughter if you moved too close…

Two hot tears fell to Jungkook's fingers, and it was as if a flower had opened in his hand. A strange tickling in his throat left him passive, mute. He removed his hat with the respect the pained lady deserved.

"You're the Bell Ranch kid."

"Please tell me you didn't start shooting people in my house." Jimin interrupted, pacing back and forth impatiently.

"Jimin, she's the Bell Ranch kid-"

"I know, it doesn't matter now. You shot her and she's bleeding herself to death, Christ."

"I told you it was just a shot, they'll probably think it was to scare a coyote."

The cowboy crouched down and tucked his head between his legs, the alcohol rising into his veins.

"You're such an idiot, you know?" The father continued, filling the silence.

"What did you just say?"

"You really believe that these people come to enjoy rural life, to feed your chickens and fuck in the mountains."

"I needed the money," Jimin muttered stressed.

"The fuck you needed that money for?"

"To get the hell out of this place." He roared, standing again in front of Jungkook. "I'm sick and tired of Rivermouth and its moribund, corrupt town. It makes me want to throw up just thinking about having to see the fucking faces of the same people at Bee's diner again."

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows at him, seeing him as if he were a child throwing a tantrum.

"But everyone loves you, you're like a star here."

Jimin laughed, glassy eyes threatening to ooze saline waters.

"Do you know who else was a star in this town? Your dad, little church boy."

"Jimin." He warned you saw how his fists showed through his knuckles.

"And the star decided to have a summer camp for all the children, ended up in a human grill, and everyone thought that your dad fucked children."

It was so fast that you couldn't see Jimin's body fall to the ground, the dust hiding the blows that reverberated from Jimin's skull. The cowboy didn't lift his arms, instead, he let his friend vent until he saw Jimin's silver fang painted red.

Jungkook gasped like a barbarian, his arms trembled before he delivered the next punch and fell next to Jimin, overwhelming moans coming from his chest, stale tears, and babbling that only Jimin understood, but he didn't move.

Jimin closed his eyes, thinking about teenage Jungkook who was trying to get close to the burned body of his father, which Jimin never let him talk about or touch, for the funeral he locked him in his room even after protests and threats. He didn't know if he wanted to protect him, if because he was older than him, he thought about taking the role that that monument of a man had left behind.

He was as attractive as his son, charismatic, and an all-around good man. But his statue began to crack when some young people arrived at the church, a couple who convinced him that he did not need the God for whom he so praised and knelt down. But he was the deity, who with his wings would go far.

He had this idea of encouraging the little ones next to him, elevating them. He closed the doors of the old church, while singing with the children and bathed the edges of the windows in kerosene.

The screams were hellish, no one heard them. No one cried more than the little boy who saw his sister burning on the ground, no one screamed more than the girl whose dress melted into her skin, and no one trusted her father more than the youngest son of Father John I.

Jungkook's younger brother hung from his father's clothes, watching his friends burn with a sense of purpose, that this had to happen for his own good.

And like Icarus, the sun kissed his father's body without Jungkook realizing the changes until very late: the sarcastic laughter in the middle of reading, his constant absence, the misplaced and ambitious gaze.

His mother fell into the abyss. Died sitting in a rocking chair when her body seemed to disintegrate more and more every day. A rosary in hand, a tiresome prayer that licked away her sorrows.

"Come on, we have to think about what we're going to do with her," Jimin murmured, wiping away the trickle that ran down his nose. Jungkook gave him his hand and stood up. Both men hugged each other until the minor stopped sobbing.

The father looked in your direction, determined. You could feel the black socket of his eyes fire just once and not miss.

"We have to chain her before she runs away."

Jimin nodded. There was no time to lose.

A latent pain spread through Jungkook's head until a crown of pure anguish decorated his hair. Two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the phone rang incessantly on the other line.

One of the things that bothered him about Billie, was the way time seemed to run smoothly and leisurely through her fingers. It took her forever to analyze things, to choose what she was going to eat, even if it would always be chicken pot pie; and in this case, answer the phone.

The telephone booth where he was was dirty, it smelled of urine, and the windows were clouded with dust. He was still wearing his black shirt and pants, his collar pristine white, his old man's ring on his right hand being moved anxiously.

He couldn't believe what he would do in his free time instead of being with the girl he had decided to marry. But a letter arrived at his office at the church that afternoon, one of the children playing in the park had been sent with it. The letter was a simple piece of paper wrapped and tied with an improvised wildflower as a cord.

I'll be busy tonight. The sheep must be tamed and sheared. J.

When he read the words, he almost dropped the paper on the floor and sent the boy out with a dollar in his hand so that he would promise not to tell anyone.

He spent the entire mass having trouble speaking, gave averted glances, and cleared his throat like a sick man. The drops of sweat clinging to his chest, it was hell.

"Hello?"

"Billie, it's John, sweetheart."

"Why are you not here?" His chest sank as he heard the sweet voice of his girl. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"I must..." his voice trailed off. The last time he lied was so long ago.

It's not that religion made him feel guilty for telling a lie, sometimes a father must lie to people's faces with such solemnity that the devotee can only let themselves fall into the invisible hands of God and lie down on hope for a miracle.

"I have to take care of one Park's ewe. Poor little one it's havin' some trouble, and he doesn't want her to be alone until his show ends." Terrible, one of the worst lies he's ever made.

Silence.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Billie purred, almost in a plea. He sighed, he could see her pink varnished nail tangled in the phone cord eagerly. Trying not to wake her dad's ears with such questions.

Jungkook had her on the edge because he hadn't even kissed her. He knew he was cruel for that. It's not that he has officially offered either, but sometimes a man doesn't lie through words, but by taking her home, by looking into her eyes for a longer time when he gives her the host, by helping her learn to touch herself inside the confessional.

"It's better not to, pet. I'm sure it'll be an allnighter, the thing'll be crying for hours and I know how sensitive you are with animals."

"It's true, you know me so well, Jungkook."

He smiled. "I know, darling." He clears his throat before continuing. "But tomorrow you can come to the parish, and we will feed the pigeons in the morning. How 'bout that?"

One more lie, this time it was not the hands of God but the calloused and bloody hands of the young father. But she just giggled.

"Goodnight, Billie. Say hi to your mother for me."

"'Night, Johnnie. I love you."

A lump in his throat, and he thanked God because after saying that, she closed the call. His tongue turned to lead to say those three words back. He knew he did, he wanted to protect Billie more than anything and make her happy, but there was no need to say it, right?

Jungkook's shirt was unbuttoned, the shaking in his breathing causing an unusual tremor in the sound of the farm. It was a windy night, there wasn't much moonlight, so Jungkook lit several kerosene lamps on the banks.

The wooden tub was arranged in the center, the horses and chickens raising their heads every time Jungkook grunted, bringing more hot water. The sweat falling down his temples and over his broad chest, the steam had him suffocated in that silence, and you showed no signs of waking up at any time.

He approached the hay in the corner where the sheep surrounded your body curled up like a fetus, you slept with bloody clothes and matted hair. Your breathing is as soft as the wool around you, both hands and feet tied with rope.

You looked like a lost princess. A princess who devoured every man in her land, and now she rests peacefully to reduce her satiety. Your dry mouth and the remains of Jimin's blood fell to your neckline, making Jungkook's face boil, because he couldn't believe that his friend had fallen for such banalities. It made him want to take the same lamp in his fingers and drop it on top of your delicate body.

His boot touched your low heels, but nothing. He crouched down until he had his hand close to your shoulder, your skin tender under the shaking flames, curved and soft under the dress you were wearing.

You were disgusting, angelic, so terribly at peace in your state.

Of course, upon his arrival at Jimin's house, the first thing he did was open your suitcase and touch all your belongings. Because, in the end, a woman is her belongings: she is the compact blush that she has worn since she was 19, she is the old leather necklace with the worn-out heart pendant and the empty perfume bottle.

Women feel this need to keep things that don't work or lose their value over time. Something that may have to do with how Jungkook sees them, how it's the opposite for him. How his father and his uncles also saw the women in his life. The brighter, the better.

Women, instead, have their daughters' teeth in their jewelry like yellowish nacre and love the same man from their fifteenth until the memories fade with their bodies.

Jungkook knew you would like something to remind you of home, where you truly belong. Not California, not New York, not even Austin; but Rivermouth, with its disproportionate mountains, the storm clouds filling the sky at all hours, and the same faces transferring from parents to children to grandchildren.

A place where nothing changed and that was the good thing. Even though things might end up bad.

He was sure your body was not leaving that barn, he had come to that decision the same day he saw you.

To recompensate, he decided to find you the most beautiful dress among your belongings, a delicate bow with which he would decorate your neck and a vermilion lipstick.

His hand squeezed your shoulder until you stood up screaming, his hand went straight to your mouth.

"Don't fucking do that, please." The way you looked around made Jungkook understand that you didn't remember anything, it was sad to see the weight lift your pupils towards his and still try to find an explanation. "You need to shower, your stench is making me sick."

He grabbed your bound wrists and dragged you to the edge of the hot water, a round, yellowish sponge and sulfur soap placed on a stool.

"Don't make a noise, you'll wake up Sweet Pea," Jungkook murmured behind you, the heat of his breath on your back.

Sweet Pea was a sheep separated from the others, sleeping between a bed made of hay and old coats. Her bloated stomach writhed with each ragged breath. She suffered with her mouth open and her woolly paws shivering with every squirm of the babies in her belly, she slept painfully.

"Raise your arms." The man behind you whispered, a sharp Swiss army knife cutting through the fabric of your dress like butter. The cold of his hands removing your dress let a gasp leave your lips. "Easy, there."

His tall, sweaty body leaned into your hands, his eyes evading yours, swallowing hard. Your breasts fell light and exquisite, your exposed stomach curved until it reached the plain of your pussy and Jungkook felt like the edge of his knife would slip from his hands as he finished tearing your clothes.

"Let's see the wound." He cleared his throat, sitting on the bench where he had a clean pair of gauze. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" You interrupted, raising your foot to the top of his knee.

"Have some respect. I'm not one of your little friends."

You rolled your eyes as the slender fingers removed the knot from the dirty yellowed gauze. You hissed, leaning your body forward. As a result, you placed your hands on top of Jungkook's jet-black hair, tightening the strands under your fingers in the last turn of the gauze. Jungkook took a deep breath, his fingers trembling gently as he examined the bruised hole.

"At least the blood stopped."

"Do you plan to heal my wound until I starve to death here?"

Jungkook was already getting tired of your words, of that shrill accent, and your lips always a little parted as if waiting for them to fill your mouth with-

"I plan to heal your wounds until I find a grave big enough to put you and all your things in." Your alert eyes made him laugh. He loved seeing the terror in them. Made you look more adorable.

He grabbed the clear liquor from among the hay and wet a piece of cotton. Your left leg was shaking from the effort, and you were weak, surely Jimin was stupid enough to not leave you something to eat before going to enjoy his fame.

"You're crying." Jungkook saw the tears falling to your breasts, you were quick to remove the ones that were flowing with your tied hands. Inhaling and sobbing like a little girl trying to be brave. You were terrified.

God and men knew why the statues of virgins were always portrayed as suffering. He wanted to run his fingers over your face, lick every salty tear, and say more chilling things to you to make you cry even more.

His hand rested on his lap and patted a couple of times.

"I know it hurts, stop being so stubborn."

You left your buttocks on his lap and placed both arms on your chest, covering your breasts. You were a mess, and you hated that you were crying, rivulets falling to the sockets of your collarbones. Jungkook focused on it, feeling thirsty as he cleaned the wound.

A hand rested on your bare waist to keep you from falling, calloused fingers unconsciously caressing the soft skin. Your back rose and fell with each whimper.

"I was kiddin', kid. For God's sake." He frowned, yet you continued. He grabbed the bottle again and grabbed your chin with his thumbs, long gulps of sheer force passing down your throat. "There ya' go. Stop the whining, now."

You coughed as you felt the alcohol melt your stomach with its heat.

"I hate you both. I wish I was dead."

"Me too, pumpkin."

The next step was to get into the bathtub. You closed your eyes as the heat engulfed your body, the steam cleaning your pits after crying your fill. You moaned softly as you snuggled into the soggy sheet.

On the other side was the father, sitting with both legs open while he slowly scrubbed the sponge with the soap. His hungry eyes were behind the whitish walls of hot steam.

"You're a virgin. Right, Father John?" Your light, sharp tongue asked, moving you closer to the edge of the tub.

His gaze went to yours, bold, fed up. He dropped the soap and poured water on your face and hair with an empty can of chickpeas. The slippery hair was easy to clench in his fist, the sponge in his hand rubbing circles on your back.

You pursed your lips as you felt the pressure you caused on him. Well, it looks like it was true.

"Don't you have a little girlfriend? It must be so lonely in this fucking town."

"I'll make you cry harder if you keep talking bullshit."

The foam was sliding down to your breasts, Jungkook tried to be as stoic as possible cleaning the area.

There was something quite submissive about him that brought out your worst thoughts. The worst part was that the alcohol made you dangerously flirtatious and you couldn't keep yourself in check. Not even when your life hung on it.

Between his long, slender fingers, over his broad back, and his soft, deadly voice.

You couldn't take it any longer as you moved closer to his body, the exact curve between his ear and his neck, and inhaled deeply. His hand under the water cleaning between your legs. You could feel his breathing become sharper.

"She gave it to you, right?" You sniffed closer. "You wear it to go see her, but now you have to bathe some shitty hippie you humiliated once in your teens."

"Shut up."

"Unlike your cowboy friend, you are a gentleman. You don't fuck 'em, then leave with your dick wet."

Jungkook chuckled. Silence.

He put the sponge on the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows.

"I think we're done." He smiled.

Your eyebrows furrowed as he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the tub next to you. A heavy hand rested on your face and you could only feel the water entering your lungs, the beat of your screams turning into bubbles among the grayish water.

Out. A gasp, your heart beating a mile an hour searching for air between the hardness of Jungkook's palm.

In. Your body arched, bound hands clawing at Jungkook's arm. The impenetrable darkness consumed you, the sound pressure of the water, the metallic taste in your throat.

Out.

Your purple face, swollen eyes, crimson lips.

"Breathe, breathe." His voice was soft, and his fingers went to your hair to support your weak body. You heard a metallic clinking sound, your eyes burning from the soap in the water. "Open your mouth."

His fingers separated your teeth to make way for his cock, the pulse of his veins massaging your lips. Jungkook hissed loudly, throwing his head back.

"Atta, girl. Open more, I know bitches like you can dislocate their fuckin' jaws."

Your eyelashes fluttered, looking for a way to look into his eyes and ask for mercy. But your eyes burned terribly and the saliva fell in streams from your mouth every time his cock came out and came back in with more force. You could only squeeze his wet pants and clumsily try to shake his thigh to make him realize you were choking.

"Mm."

"Don't trytta "mm" me. This is what you wanted."

For the first time, his cock came completely out of your mouth, drool falling into the water.

His arm supported your body and lifted your top out of the water, revealing how shiny and smooth your ass looked presented to him. The bottle of liquor was right next to you. You heard Jungkook take a gulp and how his forearm chained your neck so you could drink with him. For a few seconds, you resisted until you could do nothing but open your mouth or choke on alcohol.

"Shh, don't cry again." His fingers massaged your wet hair, his face pressed to yours as he slid his cock between your ass cheeks. "Such a crybaby. You're the one popping my cherry tonight, little buckle bunny. Ain't ya' happy?"

"I'm scared, please let me go." Your voice tore through your throat with torture, phlegm building up in your nose.

"No, can't." His cock found your entrance, the sting of the soap lubricating you, and the growl that came from Jungkook's chest made your body tense. "You need me, remember? If it was because of Park, you would have been dead a long time ago."

"I'm scared, please-"

"Shhh."

The lamps were going out little by little, leaving the shadows of Jungkook's body to engulf yours.

When your pussy began to make way and pulse around his cock, he felt sorry for not having done it sooner, for not having taken the first five dollars he stole from his father when he was fifteen and find a whore to fuck, for not having let Mandy, the daughter of his math teacher, suck him last year of school; of not having taken all the divine women in his church and instead of giving them the host, putting his cock in their mouth.

He thought about each and every one of them. He thought about Billie and the confessional, and fuck! How delicious it felt to have all your blood go to one place, leaving you dizzy and stupid like a farm animal in heat.

"Why don't we-" he moaned with tight lips, wetting his face to concentrate. "Why don't we pray, it'll make you feel better, make you less tight."

The lamps went out, leaving only one in the corner outlining Jungkook's profile. From his long oval nose, and swollen lips, from the dying steam.

So what if you said yes? If you intertwined your fingers while that monster attacked you. So what if you closed your eyes and tilted your head to Jungkook's lips to hear his spasmodic voice tell you to repeat after him.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," he whispered, and you repeated, drowning in tears.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." You continued.

"Keep going."

The water began to splash out of the tub with each crash against your ass, his arm hugged your waist and your chest. Soft, wet kisses from your ear to your back.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” You squealed as Jungkook trembled, his moans creating an ethereal song in the barn.

Between his babbling, he mentioned God, you, and all the curses he could think of. It was the birth of a Mephistopheles among the hay and the horses.

"Now and at the hour of our death. Amen." You sighed as you felt your body fall into the water on top of Jungkook's. Your head on his heaving chest, the pulsing pain inside you withering.

Jungkook's heart sounded like the pastures where your memories lie. The warmth of his hand holding you closer to him.

You were angry with yourself because your chest began to hurt and oh, how stupid you were, how stupid your mother had been for having raised you among pretty things and so many compliments.

"I brought you strawberry jam and milk for the night. Tomorrow I'll bring better things." He muttered, hot and his voice raspy.

And oh, how dumb you were for wanting him to wear the same perfume again when he came back.

#—📃: an ewe and the captive bolt #bts imagines #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x oc #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts x you #jungkook dark content #jimin bts #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin x reader

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prideprejudce · 4 months ago

Note

Also I always assumed the Alicent/Targaryans dynamics were supposed to be a metaphor for westeros and the targaryan take over- like the targs are not supposed to be in westeros with the dragons, they took over by force and held power via the dragons, but none of them are native to westeros and Dont Fit as rulers of the nation.

Alicent is the metaphor for westeros, and Aegon and Rhaenyra are two different targaryans who rely on targ exceptionalism, but arent getting what they want from her. Aegon will never be loved by Alicent like he wants, like a real son that she wanted, just like the targs will never be completely loved by westeros like true children of the country, bc they took it by force-just like Aegon was forced onto Alicent.

Rhaenyra on the other hand, can't marry Alicent, and cant get any closer to her bc they live by completely different rules, just like the targs will never be able to fully integrate their customs into the culture of westeros. Rhaenyra will always think of herself as a Targaryan closer to a God, and Alicent and westeros will always resent her for it.

I always assumed that was on purpose that the whole dance with Alicent/Aegon/Rhaenyra was a bit of a metaphor for the targs not able to really settle into comfortable harmony with westeros, always kept apart by something.

this is actually a great interpretation of the dynamics of the targaryens and the world around them

personally, I think the targaryens are a clan that were supposed to have died in old Valyria, like they were literally selected by nature to not survive the Doom and to be left into history and not at all apart of the rise in the new world of westeros. but since they have survived, they are now like relics of the past that have no belonging in the new world and are the black sheep of it (or platinum blonde sheep lol). ive even read some theories that say the targaryens are now forever cursed for going against nature and not accepting their original destiny to become extinct

I also always refer to the targaryen family as the snake eating its own tail, because that's essentially who they are. they remain in power and escape extinction through continuing to birth new targaryen members and dragons for generations, but they are also destroying their own family line by continuously inbreeding to keep the bloodline pure. this has, of course, led to targaryen members with severe personality issues and rumors of instability and insanity in the line. This also can show when some of their babies are born with "dragon like features" before dying. they are their own saviors as well as their own destroyers, with this being especially shown in fire and blood and hotd

overall i just picture them as old relics of the past being plucked out of their time and going against what nature had planned for them, and now suffer the consequences of being the odd ones out in westeros who are also rumored to be rotting from the inside out

that doesn't make me love them any less, they are my favorite family in ice and fire and the mysticism that surrounds them is the most compelling dynamic of the entire series

#answered #anonymous #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #hotd #fire and blood #like imagine if people from the lost city of atlantis just showed up one day and then ran for president #thats how i imagine how out of place targaryens are in westeros #targaryen family #rhaenicent #alicent hightower

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k8-marsh · 29 days ago

Text

songs that sound like chloe price sung them

okay so (naturally) i have playlists for most life is strange characters and i found a bunch of songs that sound like chloe sung them! :) it sounds more like her voice in 'before the storm' (rhianna devries) if anyone is interested. so yeah! i just thought it was cool! a lot of the songs also really suit chloe in their lyrics/genre too ^^

also i added photos to help you. visualise. hope you enjoy.

Sorority Girls - Mommy Long Legs

youtube

this one is so very chloe, especially with her hate for the vortex club (more specifically, victoria and nathan)

Hey, hey, hey, boys, let's go to the frat party The theme's white people, get your roofies ready Shoot their parent's money away And act like assholes every day!!!

I Threw Glass at My Friend's Eyes and Now I'm on Probation - Destroy Boys

youtube

honestly, for all of these songs the entire song sounds like her! this whole album in particular 'Sorry, Mom' is very chloe.

anyway i think this song could kinda be about chloe and frank ;

'Cause you're scary as shit, dude! Like I don't know really know what I can tell you You kinda freak me out, but we can be friends

Never invite me over ever again Just kidding, please do! I really wanna hangout with you

obviously NOT in a relationship way but frank was definitely a bad influence on chloe and someone she kinda looked up to. so i think it kinda fits!

Duck Eat Duck World - Destroy Boys (again)

youtube

okay... i'm about to put the whole album at this point, the singer's old voice really sounds like chloe!!!

this song seems like other people's criticisms of chloe;

Ever since you cut your hair You're so different, you don't seem to care Staying out late, X's on hands Since when do you like punk rock bands?

then this verse kinda seems like chloe talking about max leaving her -

I liked the girl with the long locks What's her name? I forgot Ten years and we haven't talked Well, there's a new girl on the block

and the 'new girl' is rachel!

Green eyes leaning in on me Green eyes, am I what you wanna see?

guess who has green eyes... that's right guys. rachel amber. are you seeing these links or what.

this analysis isn't, like, that i think that the artists wrote these songs about chloe, i just love thinking about songs in terms of chloe. as you can tell.

A few other songs from the same album that match chloe with their lyrics:

No Respect - chloe criticizing david!

You don't own everything I've been here for years Stop meddling in my affairs and I'll stop middling yours Get out of my face Such a typical dude Thinking that every tiny little thing is just about you

Goldilocks Spot

This one is kinda sad/subdued. I think this suits Before the Storm Chloe too, i mean she went through a LOT of shit.

My handwriting kind of looks like my dad's Tell me your story, it won't make me sad

...

I don't wanna talk about it anymore I don't wanna talk about it anymore I don't wanna talk about it anymore I don't wanna talk about it anymore So I won't

Junk

The title just gives me junkyard vibes, which is totally relevant to chloe :)

My car exhaust clinging to the base Shiny and lost with onion ring remains Precious flowers lost within the hour I guess you can say they were written to decay

Long and gone Long and gone, long and gone, long and gone Lost my junk again Lost my junk again

B.F.F (Actually from a later album!)

This reminds me of Chloe's breakdown in the junkyard. you know when she just started smashing everything. you can draw a correlation (fancy) between the title and max...

Nails through my baseball bat I'm telling you to step back girl, step back You're dead, you're dust, you're sewage now (< william!!!) You dug your grave and then you asked me how

edit: you thought i was done? absolutely not. i completely forgot about ashly burch's songs!!!!!!!!! MUAHAHAa.... okay. these are usually covers/parts of a show or play so they don't have as deep meaning. but obviously i'll find a way to relate it to chloe.

(Cover) Black Sheep by Metric

youtube

I love the second video so much, it's animated by this totally awesome dude on reddit (https://www.reddit.com/r/lifeisstrange/comments/3nzxhc/animation_of_chloe_price_ashly_burch_singing/) but the video is private so I attached a different youtube link in case anyone wants to watch it.

Who's The Princess Now? (from Muzzled: The Musical)

youtube

The scream of 'who's the princess now, BITCHES??" is... very chloe to me. a little context, this song is from a very peculiar youtube musical episode series thing that ashly burch stars in, i watched it a few years ago and it's definitely something. it's actually got a bunch of popular youtube-musical people (like Joey Richter from Starkid) if anyone's interested. you can watch it here!

Song Battle (...also from Muzzled: The Musical)

youtube

okay. so for some reason i really love imagining chloe having a rap battle against victoria for this. someone please make it into an animatic. maybe i will.

How Do I Look? (you'll never guess where this one is from...)

youtube

i can also imagine chloe having a sick makeover and like chloe and rachel helping her. or something like that... anyways. rad.

Anyways. That's it for now, i hope anyone who remotely wanted this enjoyed it!!! i hope it helped if you wanted to create a playlist or animatic or anything or just have a little chuckle.... um. please let me know if you have any more ideas because my chloe playlist can never be long enough.

#life is strange #lis #chloe price #max caulfield #rachel amber #before the storm #lis bts #life is strange before the storm #Youtube

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mistystepmoonbeam · 6 months ago

Text

Reborn into BG3: Chapter 11

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 11: It's time to visit Auntie Ethel and thank her for helping you out with your hand. It's only polite. Hangovers, redcaps and monster hunters won't stop Tav from thanking a kind old lady!

Word count: 4.1K

A/N: The word count really got away from me on this one.

The next morning you can’t remember too many specifics about the night. You have the blurry picture of Karlach laughing, sitting by the water with Wyll, and someone laying in a pool of blood. You shiver at the incomplete memory.

Despite your hangover you’re chosen to go out with Tav, Astarion, and Wyll to go visit Auntie Ethel. No amount of protests are able to keep you at camp, because Tav assured you there was no fighting and you were just going to thank a kind old lady for her help! It’s only polite!

Halsin still had things to clear up at the grove so rather than wait around for him you were volun-told to make the trip. And since you couldn’t say what Auntie Ethel truly is, nor warn them about the Gur bounty hunter…you went along.

As you walk down the hill beside the blighted village you’re expecting to see the hag on the road with Mayrina’s brothers. But they’re not there, and neither is the basket of poison apples.

The illusion of a beautiful sunny land isn’t there, either. Instead you find yourselves in the swamp, the smell of stagnant water and algae strong, as well as blood. It would be easy to miss, you’re not sure how you can tell the scents apart yourself, but it’s there.

“Not quite what I pictured when she said to visit her teahouse,” Wyll says. He’s looking at the dilapidated bridge and debris spread around.

“Seems like a good point to turn around,” Astarion suggests. “I’d prefer not to get my boots wet.”

“It’s just water.” Tav starts moving through the deeper water that flows through the swamp before the broken bridge that leads to the island. Begrudgingly, the vampire follows.

Wyll steps into the water and offers you his hand to help you across. You take it gingerly and step forward, only to be met with solid resistance from what should be liquid. You both look down, your foot atop the water.

You put more weight on it, adding your other leg and letting go of Wyll’s hand. “I guess Gale was right about the enchanted boots.”

Walking on water seems excessive for someone from a city like Baldur’s Gate. But after a couple more careful steps and a few jumps you laughed. For a brief moment your worries and hangover are gone as you hop around on top of the little creek, fascinated by the murky gap between you and the earth. You spin in a circle then quickly steady yourself, dizzy, but also because you notice the three men you’re travelling with are grinning at you.

You clear your throat and cross your arms, heading to dry land. “Sorry, that’s just…cool.”

There’s a certain sparkle in Tav’s eyes that tells you he desperately wants to do the same. You tell him, “I’ve seen your feet, they won’t fit.”

His sparkle fades at the same time his tail dips towards the ground.

“Braaaaagh.”

The sound makes you flinch. On the little island are the redcaps, apparently still thinking they’re disguised as sheep. Two are atop the rocky hill in the middle, while a third wanders near the water. It makes another strange sound that’s supposed to be a “baaaaah”.

Tav approaches it, squats down, and with complete seriousness lets out a loud, “Baaaaah!”

Wyll hides a snicker behind one hand and that’s when you finally notice it. He has horns and a red eye.

“You have horns!” you shout thoughtlessly.

“Well, you were properly thrashed last night, weren’t you?” Astarion questions. “And even this morning? Or are you just blind?”

“I, uh, sorry Wyll…” You’re about to ask when Mizora showed up but think better of it. “What…”

“I wondered why you didn’t ask last night,” Wyll says. There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice, but the sadness over his change is still there. “I was tasked with killing Karlach, and since I haven’t, I’ve paid the price. My patron Mizora…”

You’re given a quick rundown of Mizora visiting him when he was with Lae’zel and Shadowheart.

At the end of his story you ask, “So last night you had…”

You gesture at his face, and maybe the innocence of the question is what makes him smile. “I’m afraid so.”

“I am so sorry,” you repeat. At least you had an excuse for not noticing last night, but you were so used to seeing him in game you didn’t give it a second thought this morning.

“It’s not your fault. It was my decision.”

“No, I mean—well I’m sorry for that, too—but I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m so selfish, I was moping over nothing while you were—are—in pain.” You bite down on your thumb nail and try to remember talking to him by the water but it’s so blurry now. Not only were you moping over imaginary problems, he went out of his way to make you feel better when he had very real, life altering things to deal with.

“I appreciate that,” Wyll tells you.

“But—“

Wyll holds up a hand. “I have seen enough to know that you truly didn’t notice. Not because you were too selfish but because you…”

“Because I…?” you ask.

Wyll shifts uncomfortably.

“Because you’re naive,” Astarion says. “And I say this with love, darling, a little—oblivious.”

“Astarion,” Wyll warns.

“I didn’t say dim this time.”

“Astarion!”

“I am not stupid!” you shout. The redcap startles, hollow eyes on you. “I just don’t…I don’t know things about…things.”

You frown. They’re talking about you when you’re not around? You hadn’t considered that. Of course they did—they talked about each other, too, so why not you?

“To clarify,” Tav adds, “only Astarion called your dim.”

“You did jump in front of a loaded crossbow for a goblin.” Astarion arches a brow at you, probably thinking how you had called yourself stupid at the time.

Your frown turns to a pout. You grumble something about moving on from the subject in hopes of never having to discuss it again. You begin to walk around the redcap with a wide gap, eyeing it warily.

“Now you’re afraid of sheep?” Astarion asks.

“No,” you reply. You look at the vampire quizzically. “But that’s clearly not a sheep.”

The men exchange confused glances. You’re very tired of getting those looks.

“It’s a redcap?” you say to them. “Isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that’s what they’re called.”

Wyll studies the redcap—or sheep as he sees it—as it moves towards you. It lets out an awkward sound between a growl and a bray, but when you don’t reply it’s sneer deepens. There’s a shift in the air, a static shock that stretches around the area in what you can only guess is magic.

“Ohhhh, a redcap,” Tav says. He takes two steps forward, pulls his right leg back then thrusts it forward to kick at the creature. His boot connects with its middle and despite the weight of the redcap it soars through the air.

It goes so far you only hear a distant splash of water. Astarion claps at the distance.

The other redcaps are not quite as entertained by Tav’s actions. They screech from the hilltop, one jumping down while the other moves its hands in the air. Roots tangle around yours and Tav’s legs, locking you in place. The one now on your level charges towards you only to be sent flying by a red bolt from Wyll—eldritch blast.

Astarion lazily throws his dagger at the one on the hill and when the blade lands in its eye socket the vines around you shrivel and die. You step out, shaking each leg of any remaining debris.

“So you saw through the illusion,” Wyll states.

You survey the area, that static ring gone. All you can offer is a shrug—you passed the perception check you guess. But you can’t tell them that.

Tav loots the bodies of a small amount of gold and alchemical ingredients while Astarion retrieves his dagger. Wyll offers theories as to how you were able to see the redcaps, but it all comes back to the enchantment on your clothes. Whatever protection they gave you from harm could be linked to the fact you haven’t had to clean them yet—they still appear pristine despite the blood and dirt you’ve lain in. In fact, you haven’t felt the need to even wash the sweat from your skin. Powerful enchantments indeed.

Tav leads the group forward to Auntie Ethel’s house, all of them a little more suspicious of the old woman now that the swamp is no longer disguised. After the elation of walking on water you’d forgotten about the Gur waiting around the corner. As you approach the bottom of the hill he’s waiting on, you grab Astarion’s sleeve between your index finger and thumb. “Maybe we should wait here.”

“What’s wrong?” Wyll asks. You don’t let go of Astarion’s sleeve even when he tries to pull away. You wet your lips, eyes darting between the vampire and the direction of the Gur. Just a few more steps and he’d be able to see you; he can probably already hear you.

You tug on the sleeve again. “Ast—you should stay here.”

He finally yanks out of your grip and smooths the sleeve where you’d been holding. “And why should I do that?”

Because there’s a hunter around the corner looking for you and he might actually recognize you. Because things are slightly different than in the video game I remember in my past life where you’re a character and not a person.

Because I don’t want you to have to remember how you died and that you can’t escape Cazador, not yet anyway.

You can’t find a reasonable answer.

Astarion huffs out a sigh. “Is this one of your weird feelings Karlach was going on about? Am I about to die if I take another step?”

You flinch back. “What? No, I just…what are you talking about?”

“You seem to know when death is coming,” Astarion explains. “The goblin, then Arka—who confessed her suicidal plan in a drunken stupor last night by the way, to her friend right outside my tent. Ugh, I had to send them away just so I could get some sleep.”

You look at Tav and Wyll, the vague image of Arka laying in a pool of blood coming to mind.

Astarion adds, “You sniff out death like a bloodhound.”

“I just have a bad feeling,” you finally mumble.

“It’s okay,” Tav says. “If anything tries to hurt Astarion I’ll take care of it.”

You smile as he gives you a thumbs up, wishing you could believe him invincible.

“Let’s go see if we get to kill something, now,” Astarion says excitedly.

“Perhaps some precaution is in order,” Wyll suggests. “Tav and I will take a look first and signal if it’s safe. Agreed?”

Astarion rolls his eyes but nods. “Don’t have all the fun without me.”

Tav and Wyll move ahead and around the corner. You hear their voices as they speak with the Gur, but can’t make out the words. Then, Tav’s head appears around a rock and he waves you over. He’s smiling at least, which probably means he wasn’t told anything about what the man is hunting.

You keep yourself a step ahead of Astarion as you follow Tav. Once at the top of the hill the Gur hunter nods to you as greeting.

“He’s a monster hunter,” Wyll says to you. Like that is going to somehow comfort you, even if you didn’t know what you know.

Astarion questions what terrible creature he’s hunting and the scene is triggered. You gulp as the Gur says he’s hunting a vampire spawn named Astarion, and you can’t help but notice the look Wyll sends you. It’s a mix of apologetic, confusion, and concern. Concern for you or Astarion, you aren’t sure.

The hunter mentions he needs Astarion alive.

“Well here he is,” Tav says, waving a hand at the vampire beside you. “This is Astarion.”

“What?” You and Astarion shout the word at the same time, gawking at Tav. You step to the left and in front of Astarion.

“What are you doing?” you question.

“Yes,” Astarion agrees, “what in the hells do you think you’re doing?”

“It can’t be…?” the Gur says.

“But he is looking for you,” Tav says innocently. “And he wants you alive.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” you shout. You grip your staff with both hands, ready to hit someone—and that someone might be Tav.

Your fury at the tiefling in that moment almost overshadows the phantom limb as it reaches out into the swamp behind you. Almost. Something…twitches. It’s not you, nor that strange feeling in your head, but something moves. You can feel it, slow at first but getting faster as feet drag through mud. You feel grimy water on your skin, the need to follow orders—your orders. It’s not you feeling this, someone else is, not unlike the connection the tadpole gave you.

The Gur pulls his crossbow from his back and tries to aim at you, or Astarion behind you, but he isn’t given the chance when something launches over your head and onto him. He screams as the creature bites his jugular, blood squirting—squirting!!—from the wound. You shout and jump back only to collide with Astarion. He sets his hands on your arms to balance you, and then pushes you out of the way as he watches the Gur get killed by—

“Didn’t we kill those little things?” Astarion asks, pointing at the redcap that tears into the hunter's body. It’s moved on from his neck, now clawing at his stomach. You watch on, eyes wide and unblinking, breath held in your chest. Another redcap, this one missing an eye, hobbles past you and joins his companion.

“We did,” Wyll confirms.

You’re holding your staff in front of you, still ready to whack someone until the Gur stops struggling. You let out the breath you were holding. When you finally blink you see that the eyes on your staff are glowing a lovely violet.

The redcaps grunt, facing you now that their task is complete. Your eyes dart between the staff and them, and back again. “Please tell me I didn’t do that.”

“I think you may have,” Wyll says. “And it seems you may be a necromancer of some sort; you didn’t even need to utter a word to bring the redcaps here and do your bidding.”

“That,” you say, pointing to the corpse, “is not my bidding.”

But you can’t deny that you feel a string of connection to the redcaps now—puppet strings. Your strings, using them like marionettes. And you can’t deny the way the redcaps watch you like they’re waiting for your next command. You want to drop the staff, but your body won’t listen. Because it has to be the staff, right? It’s cursed or enchanted to let you raise the dead! Finally you let go of the wood and let it fall to the ground with a clatter.

But the redcaps stare on.

“It’s okay.” Wyll tries to comfort you but you’re having none of it.

“No, it’s not okay!” you yell. You point at the body again. “I just killed that guy!”

“And for Astarion, no less,” Tav chimes in. His voice brings you back, somewhat grounding you from your hysteria.

“And you!” You point to the tiefling. He flinches back at your fury, having the gall to look innocent with his wide eyes and tail tucked. “Why did you tell him about Astarion?”

Tav doesn’t get to answer when one of the redcaps launches itself at him. He’s quicker to react than the Gur and grabs it before it can claw or bite out his throat, and uses the momentum to swing around and throw it about as far as he kicked the first one.

You picture a string between you and the redcaps, and then a pair of scissors snipping them away. There’s a moment of hesitation in the remaining redcap, but it soon falls over. Dead, again.

You sniffle, holding back the burning tears that begin to line your lower lashes. “He was going to hurt Astarion.”

Maybe Tav had a plan and that was why he told the truth. Or maybe he just can’t help but be honest, thinking he could bargain with the Gur into leaving Astarion alone. But you can’t wrap your head around it. And rather than focusing on the glowing eyes of the staff, that have now faded, the fact you just killed a man with two undead redcaps, you focus on your anger at Tav. It’s so much easier to be angry than sad.

You step towards him, pull back your foot, and kick him in the shins with all your might. He has leather boots on, and he’s a barbarian, so he probably doesn’t feel it much, but you kick him again.

He hops away on one foot, grabbing at his minor injury. “I’m sorry!”

“He was gonna take Astarion!” you shout. You step towards him only to feel two hands on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

“Perhaps this argument can wait,” Wyll says. He doesn’t let you go when he looks at Astarion. “Why did he want to capture you, not kill you? He said it was a sacred duty from his people—that’s no small task to be given.”

You shrug Wyll off and cross your arms, facing away from Tav. Tears slip down your cheeks as you regain control of your breathing. You rub at your face with one sleeve.

“How should I know?” Astarion asks. He’s putting on a front, you think. “He was most likely sent by my old master, Cazador, to bring me back to Baldur’s Gate.”

They discuss the possibilities—why a Gur was sent, what Cazador would want with him rather than just kill him. You keep your arms crossed, determined to hang onto the anger as fear creeps along the edge of your senses.

“Weren’t we here to thank a little old lady or something?” Astarion questions, hurriedly changing the subject. “Perhaps we should move on, before any more hunters show up?”

You are more than happy to get away from the corpse, but the closer you get to Ethel’s the more your anger ebbs away and is replaced by fear. There are so many things that contribute to that fear, so you hold onto the fury as tightly as possible and refuse to even look Tav in the eye, despite his many attempts at getting your attention. He flits around you, begging you to say anything to him, sic another redcap on him even, but you’ve quickly come to realize that the silent treatment is the best punishment.

That anger takes you all the way to Ethel’s door, where Wyll knocks before entering.

Though the tea house is a little decrepit and sitting in the middle of a swamp, it doesn’t smell like it. There’s a scent of a spicy tea in the air, and when you enter you find Ethel sitting where Mayrina is in game, sipping on a cup.

“Petal!” she says, a smile crossing her features when she sees who’s visiting. “I was worried you might not find the place.”

Ethel stands and approaches the bottom of the stairs, waving the group farther inside. “Come in, come, would you like some tea?”

You do your best to hide the fear that creeps along your spine. In the game Ethel could be a difficult battle, but that was only triggered based on the actions against Mayrina and her brothers. With none of them there you couldn’t predict how things would go.

From the corner of your eye you can see Astarion watching you. He doesn’t stray too far from the group, but he’s never more than a foot away from you. Maybe killing his hunter endeared him to you? You should have gotten a few Astarion Approves from letting him drink your blood alone.

While your eyes had wandered around the tea house Ethel and Tav had begun their conversation. He was also only a foot in front of you, and when you came back into the conversation Ethel was offering her deal.

“That sounds like a poor deal,” Tav says. He thrusts his thumb over his shoulder towards you. “Apparently they can fall out after getting hit in the head hard enough.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” Wyll says. He steps a little closer to you. You’re starting to feel claustrophobic with all of them keeping so close to you so you take a step back.

Ethel eyes the men and then you. There’s recognition in her features but it doesn’t feel quite the same as when Raphael had stared you down. “Your god must really love you to get rid of that little wriggler.”

You perk up, maybe too much and give away your eagerness. “My god?”

Wyll casts a warning glance in your direction. Don’t act desperate, it reads. You wet your lips. “How do you know it was my god and it didn’t just die?”

Ethel laughs. “Let’s just say you’ve got a glow about you. You all do. You Chosen.”

The air freezes. Everything slows…slows…stops.

Necromancer.

Chosen.

Control over the dead.

Necromancer-Chosen-dead three-Myrkul-

You whirl on your heel, fall to your knees, and throw up the fruit that had been forced on you earlier. You manage to get it into a nearby basket, but the purge doesn’t stop your stomach from turning. Those words—chosen, dead three, necromancer—keep swirling in your mind. You hiccup and release more into the basket.

You tremble. You’d never thrown up from fear before. Motion sickness, sure, flue, totally. But fear? The shaking doesn’t stop, nor does the urge to keep vomiting. All you can do is sit there on your knees, breathing heavily as the small dot that is your vision spins round and round and round.

Your head starts shaking. “No, I’m not—I’m nothing. Nobody! I don’t matter. I’m—”

You can’t be anyone connected to the main plot. No. You can’t be one of the dead three or a chosen, because you did have a worm in your brain for a while, and you were on the ship and—and—

“Take a breath,” Wyll says. He kneels beside you, hands out and ready to wrap around you but only hovering above your jacket.

“I’m not…”

“Just take a breath,” he repeats. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

He seems so sure, you think. So solid, just like last night at the party. How he can be so certain of anything right now is beyond you, and you know what’s coming.

You do as he instructs, your next few breaths are shaky but calming. You wipe at your mouth with your sleeve, watching as the spittle soaks into the fabric then disappears completely. “I need to—go somewhere. Not be…here.”

You stand quickly, ignoring Tav as he calls to you. You’re on the front porch when you feel something wrap around your ankle and nearly topple you forward. You come to a stop and turn. Tav’s tail is wrapped around your ankle and even when you stop it doesn’t loosen.

“Please, wait.”

You try to take a step forward but his grip is too strong. “I need to go.”

“I’ll go with you.” His tail tightens, desperate to keep you there. It pulls, trying to bring you closer to him even though it’s barely two feet between you.

“I want to be alone.”

“I’ll…I’ll be quiet.” Gods, he’s giving you that look that makes it feel like you just kicked a puppy. As much as you try to stay mad it’s fading into nothing but anxiety and fear, and a desperate desire to let him comfort you. But you need to think, somewhere without distractions and far away from a literal hag. Even if she hasn’t shown her true form.

“Tav,” you begin, pleading just as he is. You look at him. Really look at him. You take in the black scleras that surround the dark blue of his eyes, the beginnings of wrinkles around his mouth from where he’s always smiling, the slight indent of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His white-gray hair shifts with the breeze, but his horns stop anything from getting into his eyes. You wish it would cover his eyes–they’re far too teary for the light-hearted man.

Wyll sets a hand on Tav’s shoulder. “Let go, Tav. It’ll be fine.”

The tieflings lips press together, his tail unmoving.

“Tav.” Wyll isn’t making a suggestion. With one last desperate look at you Tav finally releases his hold on your ankle.

You take the steps down into the dirt. “I’m just going back to camp. I’ll…see you there.”

Tav opens his mouth then thinks better of it. Whatever he was going to ask goes unspoken. Most likely another plea to get you to stay, or to allow him to follow.

You turn and start walking through the swamp.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt @pebble-bb @v3lv3tvampir3 @mrow-kat @jeneralmischief @notsaelty @runaway-17 @aoirohi @tinswhimsy @xxgrimripp3rxx @kemonocat-blog @thetiredtoad0-0 @sleepydang @iwannabealocalcryptid

#reborn into bg3 #reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #astarion x reader #tav x reader #auntie ethel #fanfic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #you should really look into that other bag of yours reader

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christinesficrecs · 1 year ago

Note

Any recs where Talia or the hales absolutely hate stiles or disprove of their relationship? I’ve already read the searching ceremonies.

hedwig221b (don't feel awkward! 🩷) also had a fic that matches this ask. So, go read that as well if you're a fan of the angst.

The Happiest of All by Hedwig221b | 32.5K | Explicit

“It’s every wolf’s dream. To find a perfect mate, to procreate. It’s a necessity, it’s healthy. It’s in our blood; akin to the moon in the sky, a wolf belongs to their mate. And humans don’t have the capacity to become a mate.”“But I love him,” Stiles whispered, begged.Talia stayed silent for a couple of minutes.“That’s why you should understand it’s not healthy for him to be with you,” her words were simple and clear, like a piece of glass, but sharp all the same. “He will not find true happiness with you. You’re wasting his time. Preventing him from having a future he deserves.”

Also, compromised-emotionally suggested this one.

Down By Contact by standinginanicedress | 117.4K | Explicit

Lydia looks over her shoulder to look at Derek Hale again, then back to him. “He’s an asshole, you know.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Stiles is confused, furrowing his brow. “I’ve only spent the last ten years of my life fighting with him.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, he’s an asshole,” she draws the word out nice and long, as if it takes on a different meaning depending on exactly how she says it. “No one who has ever dated or hooked up with that guy has ever had anything nice to say about him after the fact.”

“What do I care about that?”

She looks at him. It’s that all-knowing, all-seeing gaze, like the eye of Mordor. Stiles feels tiny under its wrath, so he looks away and stares down at his beer can, traces the design with his thumb. “I know you, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Not really. We only dated for, like, five months.”

With a snort, totally uncharacteristic of her and something she would never do sober, she rolls her eyes. “Gee, I wonder why.”

Hmmm. Not really, but here are a few.

Divided We Stand by KouriArashi | 156.7K

Derek is being pressured by his family to pick a mate, and somehow stumbles into a choice that they didn’t expect and aren’t sure they approve of….

A Pair of Shoes by ReedMeme | 5.7K | Explicit

He was the human boyfriend. A lot of them don't really approve. Of course his boyfriend had to have a huge family. Which makes sense with the whole Werewolf thing, he supposes. But once in a while, Stiles still wishes he knew that before falling abso-fucking-lutely head over heels for Derek Hale.

Hello, Heartbreaker by astoryaboutwar | 18.4K

Stiles and Derek have been fuckbuddies for a while when Derek loses his memories of the past three years - and them - in an accident.

Talk Me Down by SylvieW | 26.3K | Mature

After the Hale family narrowly escapes the fire, Derek moves to New York to escape their lingering resentment. There, he meets Stiles, and feels an instant connection to him, but their relationship, and Derek’s self worth is tested by the hurdles Derek’s pack throws at them

I Would Fake Forever With You by Halevetica | 53.9K

Derek Hale is the black sheep of the family, always has been. That’s why he moved to Seattle. Now he’s got a job he loves, a nice apartment with an incredibly hot and endearing neighbor, Stiles Stilinski. One night when Derek’s overly large and demanding family shows up early for their yearly visit, they run into Stiles, who is accidentally introduced as Derek’s boyfriend.

Taught by Experts by unpossible | 29K

“Let me get this straight,” Stiles says. “You’re going to be publicly dating someone else.”

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #the hales dislike stiles #black sheep derek

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter Two

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, references to physical injury, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

a/n: all i have to say is thank you for reading, and i'd love to hear what you think

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Oh, come child

In a cross bones style

Oh, come child

Come rescue me

'Cause you have seen some

Unbelievable things

Crossbones Style by Cat Power

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Not comfort. Not exactly ease either. Familiarity maybe. Both of them settling into a routine configured around the other. She likes to help with the animals whenever she can, getting up as early as him, no task too daunting or dragging for her to say no to it. Just the other day she helped him trim back the sheep’s hooves, not even flinching when one of the girls tried to give a jerky kick underneath their ministrations, all shush and soothe in her flicking ears as Joel got the job done. She understands flight and freeze like that, at least in the animals.

They get done what chores they can in the morning before she has to get changed for work, the requisite light blue dress with the buttons down the front, an apron snug around her waist. She had made a joke about the fucking fifties the first time he saw her in her uniform, surprising him with the quick, crass humor, her half-grin as she got into the passenger seat of his truck.

He drops her off, heads into town or to the station, whatever needs to be done, and usually is done around lunchtime. He’s supposed to be watching his cholesterol, admonished by the one doctor in town two years in a row now. So he orders a salad with a sigh when he stops into the diner around noon, though Dolores will often tuck a few fries onto the side of his plate, a quiet smile when she sets it down in front of him. Maybe he’s been leaving bigger tips than is appropriate, maybe he made sure that the money in the jar on the counter would be going to her at the end of the day, a quiet conversation with Sal while she was in the back of the kitchen.

He lingers. Always an endless to-do at home, ignored in this instant, stealing a little extra time sitting at the counter, watching her flit and flicker around the regulars. She’s good with people, big, bright smiles that don’t quite round her eyes, laughs light as air, and as empty too. And he sees the quick slump of her shoulders when the customers aren’t looking, when she’s passing through the swinging door to the kitchen. Turn it on and turn it off.

But there’s someone new eating lunch at the diner today. One of those climber-backpacker types, all wired-down, tan muscle against shock-white teeth, flicking back his sun-bleached flop of hair, putting on a real show for her when she drops off his burger at his booth. It’d be rude to just keep looking, to turn around on his stool and stare the man down, so he listens instead.

“Thank you, sweetheart. Can I ask you something?” Like something small and slight being held in a fist, close to breaking or bursting, a cracked chirp of her answer, clearly flustered when she says um, yes, yeah.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a town like this?” That same sound, like she’s trying to make a laugh happen, though it comes out more like a held breath that finally gasps into an exhale.

“That’s kind of you, but I need to get back to work, excuse me.”

“Oh come on, where’s that midwestern hospitality you all seem to have?”

“Do you– can I get you anything else?”

“How about a smile, sweetheart? Just a little one, for me?” For a moment, it’s silent. Joel curls his fingers in a fist, over and over, flex and extend, his back still turned. Something hot and tight closes up in his throat when he hears the man sigh, and then laugh.

“There you go, prettiest thing I’ve seen since I left Denver. I’ll be thinking about you while I’m climbing this afternoon, sweets, thank you for that.”

“Shouldn’t be climbing in the afternoon.” He says it before he can stop himself, turning around on his stool, a thick flare of hate, maybe meanness, when he sees the uncertain curl of her shoulders and the slanted smile on the man’s face.

“Excuse me?” The man slings one arm over the back of his booth, body splaying and slumping toward Joel, trying to take up more space than he’s worth. A little bit of preening, a little bit of plumage.

“You’re likely to get yourself caught in a storm up in the mountains this time of year. I’m surprised such an expert man like yourself didn’t know that.” Arrogant, artifice, the man grins, eyes swooping back over Dolores as he picks up his burger with one hand, a wolfish bite that he tucks into the side of his mouth, the slow roll of his jaw as he focuses back on Joel.

“I don’t mind trying my luck. I usually come out on top. But thanks for the tip, pal, appreciate it.” He takes one more bite, half of his burger gone in two gnashing mouthfuls, all bright white teeth. With that, a quick clap of his hands together, fast heat rubbed between his palms, he pulls out a wad of cash from the front of his pack, leaving a crumpled fistful on the table before he stands with a sigh.

“Better head out. Thank you for the smile, sweetheart, I’m gonna remember that.” He tucks a smaller fold of bills into the pocket on the front of Dolores’ apron, and Joel can see the way her stomach tenses, curling back from the suggestion of touch. The word no flashes big and battering in Joel’s mind, though there’s nothing to be done, the man already shouldering his pack and sending a slippery slide of a smile his way before he’s swaggering hips-first out the door.

“You alright?” She doesn’t quite meet his eyes, even when he ducks his head down to try to catch her beneath her lashes. All he gets is a nod and a pointed sniff, and then she sets herself back into motion, ducking into the kitchen to pick up someone else’s order.

Dolores doesn’t like men, something he learned pretty quickly about her. The first time, when they went to the drugstore together and she wilted like a wan flower under Rod’s friendly conversation, that same curling up of her shoulders, that same drop to her eyes. It happened again when she met John one day at the small grocery store in town. She had been smiling, an easy conversation about palisade peaches being in season, quick to fall and fade when Joel introduced her to the man. Even John, with the disposition of a feckless golden retriever, had gotten that same reaction out of her.

She tolerates the customers at the diner, lots of nervous laughter and quick movement, her sneakers squeaking hard on the chipped linoleum floor. Warm with the few children in town, the women too. But no, she doesn’t like men. All uncertain angles, folding herself up close and tight and away. Honestly, it’s a small miracle she’s softened that snap, that shrink-back around Joel. Comfort in the known, he supposes. He’ll take it.

“Hey, you alright?” Again, he catches her on her way to another table, a quick flicker of her eyes and a nod, shrugging the trays held in her arms a little closer, already moving again. Softened, but still there, cagey, careful, and now coaxed up to a higher degree by that man, that fucking man.

Joel leaves soon after, not wanting to corner or crowd her. Back to routine. Back to the barn and the coop and the animals and all the things that must be done around them. Fall inches ever closer, a time that demands preparation. Work that promises completion and satisfaction when done well and right. Not easy, but simple. Maybe he’s careful to keep an eye on his watch, timing his drive back to the diner right before dinner, just as Dolores is stepping out of the storefront, her face furrowed down to the bills she’s counting in her hands.

“What’s this?” His turn to drop his brow when she gets into the passenger seat and holds out a thick fold of money to him across the console.

“This should cover the clothes, and that drugstore trip you made for me.” He stares at the money, his fingers curling tighter over the steering wheel. That was two weeks ago, nearly three now, and she’s already trying to make even.

“You don’t– I’m not keeping score. That’s yours.” Fast fall, flustered, a stuttered exhale, not what she expected, not what she wanted, her hand staying suspended between them, shaking the money lightly as if to entice him into taking it.

“But, I can’t. I–” What he’d like to do is reach out too, curl his hand over hers to close her fingers around that money, make it all hers. But she doesn’t like touch, even the accidental kind, something else he has learned. That quick tightness, that smalling if he brushes behind her in the kitchen in the morning, so he doesn’t. If their hands reach for the radio in the car at the same time, little fire passed between fingertips, and then her immediate recoil, so he doesn’t. And he doesn’t now either.

“You don’t have to. I was happy to, no score. That’s your money, Dolores.” Like she just swallowed something bitter, her face scrunching and then slackening as she nods, careful and quiet in settling her hand, and her money, back in her lap.

“Could I at least help with groceries?” A small compromise, for her to look at him again, if for nothing else.

“Okay.”

Here is what makes a town. Two blocks proper, a church at one end and a bar at the other. A second hand shop that sits slumped against the post office. A library that gets new books once every two years. A restaurant, the only other one besides the diner, the downstairs of a newly-established bed and breakfast that most of the residents have turned their noses up at. A police station that sits next to the simple steeple of the church, how fitting. And a grocery store, a small one, the nearest safeway a two-hour drive east. Joel had to look up what an IGA was when he first moved here.

And because everyone knows everyone, a trip to the grocery is never in and out, always getting stopped in the produce aisle, asked after while picking up a gallon of milk. Today, no different.

“Hey there, you two. Can I expect to see you at the little thing at the bar tonight?” The little thing Patty is referring to is the fact that it’s the end of the month. A peculiar tradition, not a party, just an agreed-upon herding of one another. Joel has thought to himself on multiple occasions that its real purpose is to make sure no one quietly died while people weren’t paying attention, a once-a-month census.

“I don’t know, Patty, maybe I’ll drop by, keep folks from talking too much.” Dolores’ confusion is clear, searching between him and Patty. Why he’s trying to keep this from her, he’s unsure.

“Well, I hope to see the both of you there.” Patty is a particular kind of woman. Here long enough for her word to have some power behind it. She lives above the secondhand shop alone, though Joel knows she has two sons, shown pictures of them, arms slung across her shoulders, that same slanted smile of hers on both of their faces. They don’t visit. And Patty doesn’t seem sad for it. She orders a specific kind of red hair dye once a month, Joel always seeming to catch her at the post office picking up the box with a distinct logo stamped on its side. Nice enough, a little brash maybe, but she’s always been open-armed with him. And she’s been kind to Dolores too. No questions, at least not to her, no staring or stirring, like it makes the most sense in the world that Joel suddenly has a woman staying with him that he has never mentioned before. So she doesn’t press now, leaves it at that, leaves them to the produce aisle, an easy greeting and goodbye.

“Are you gonna go?” Her hands are deft and discerning, cracking open and peeling back a pale green corn husk, a hoard of it on sale this year, fine silk tassels and that sweet, crisp, smell.

“Oh, probably not.” He holds open the produce bag for her, a quiet yeah when she asks if four ears is enough.

“I would go, you know, if you wanted to.”

“Do you want to?” She shrugs, the slight swing of the hem of her dress as she walks alongside him, zucchini and tomatoes.

“Patty seems like the kind of person who’s used to getting her way.” She doesn’t say it mean, only observation as she tucks two tomatoes down in the cart. He can feel a smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“She certainly doesn’t like the word no. We could stop by, if that’s alright with you?”

It is alright, and after dinner, summer spoils sweet and sated, he waits for her on the porch while she changes out of her uniform. It’s getting darker earlier, the sun already cracking and dripping between the mountains, everything hushing down orange and purple. Soon, it will be time for the sheep to spend their nights in the barn, and in the day too, during that deepest, tightest fist of winter. But for now, it’s quiet, save for the dull thrum of all the small, crawling things, air that’s only a relief in its coolness, not a worry.

“Ready?” Pretty, he thinks. Hasn’t seen that before, he thinks. Crisp white with fine little flowers embroidered along the neckline and the sleeves. The neckline, a new expanse of her sternum on display, the fragile flutter of it when he stares just a beat too long.

“Uh-huh, yeah.” Ready, dark enough that the headlights need to be flicked on, flooding yellow down the bare brush and scrub along the road. And then the bleeding neon glow of the bar on the edge of town coming into focus.

Shoes sticking in the syrupy grime of a few decades past, dim lights and a perpetual haze of smoke, something sad and slow drifting in on the jukebox. No pretense, no pretending that folks are here for anything other than getting a little drunk at the end of another day.

Patty is happy to see the both of them, offering a bottle that Joel accepts, and one that Dolores politely declines, though she still allows herself to be pulled along by the older woman, leaving Joel to make his rounds. The same questions, asked and answered, health and hearth and how are you. Fine, just fine. Except, a little distracted, quick glances over to the bar where Dolores is sitting. Patty still there with her, still getting her to smile, so fine, just fine until the next time he looks over.

Not Patty. Him. Big, bright shark tooth smile, fang and flare. Even more tan, skin tight and taut against quick-jumping muscle, all pumped and puffed out from his afternoon climb. A wiry arm slung around the back of Dolores’ chair, her whole body slanted and steeled toward the side as he leans in, lips pulled back in a sneer of a smile.

Whoever Joel was talking to, he’s no longer listening, no longer even feigning interest as he watches, trying to piece together whatever that man is saying to her by the way his jaw pulls with each of his words. Waiting, really, for any excuse to step in, to make this wrong right.

And then, enough, already in motion as he watches the man reach out, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her clavicle before she can jerk away. Gotcha, got you, gonna get you. All the ways the human body can recoil, say no, and all the ways it can refuse to listen.

He doesn’t catch the end of whatever the man is saying, words coming out on a quick bark of laughter that makes Dolores flinch harder, knuckles all curled up in her lap. He doesn’t care to know, a thick wash of no drowning it out. The thing is, Joel can get big, and loud, and mean, so mean. If he needs to. He can roll back his shoulders and set his jaw in a hard grind. He can make a fist and then make contact. He can make a man get small and get gone. But not in front of her. Another body to account for, a shivering down small body, a body that cannot bear any more violence. So he must settle for something else, a quiet heat, an expression on his face that he hopes is no enough.

“Is there a problem?” The man glances over his shoulder, all smile, all teeth.

“Hey, pal. No problem here. I was just telling this pretty thing about the climb I got in, wasn’t I?” He asks it with a duck of his head, trying to steal her gaze that she keeps on her hands in her lap. A habit of hers, the skin around her nails picked and pulled raw, soon to bleed with the way she’s worrying at them now.

“I don’t think she’d like to hear any more of what you have to say, pal.” A flicker of something animal, the man sucks his teeth, mouth screwed to the side before he sighs. Fire needs fuel, and he’s not getting any, certainly not from her. Something that sounds like not worth it as he sways himself out of the bar. Joel knows this kind well, blown in and out in a day, maybe two. Not a problem, not really, and he won’t let it become one.

“Thank you.” She gives Joel her eyes, a quick nod as he sits down beside her. Careful distance kept between them, space for her to spread back out, to unfurl, and she does, leaning back in her chair, a quick roll of her shoulders like she’s trying to shake off that shiver.

“I have no patience for people like that. Think they’re hot shit for hiking up a mountain when they’re just a nuisance.” Maybe he said too much, tempering his words with a swig of his beer, though Dolores seems to receive it, turning slightly toward him so he can feel the ghost of her knee brush against his.

“I just don’t like men like that.” He sighs, because what could he say to that? What hasn’t already been said in the slow fade of the bruises on her arms?

“Drink?”

“Yeah, please.”

It’s quiet between them for a while, each nursing a beer as the din around them lulls and lifts. He drums his fingers against his thigh, something steady while he tries to work a thick flood of words into something that might make sense, something that won’t make her recoil.

“Can I ask you about it?” She doesn’t look at him, focused on her thumbnail working the sticker off her bottle. But she does nod, lips pursed, long sigh like she needs to make room for what she’s about to say.

“All of it?”

“If you’re okay with that, yes.”

Yes, she’s okay with that. No, her husband wasn’t always the way he is now. He was kind until he wasn’t. Quiet until he wasn’t. The first time, silly. That’s what she calls it. A silly, stupid thing. The windshield of his car had gotten chipped while she was driving it. And she saw black with the way his hand guided her skull into the wall of their bedroom when she got home. Silly, she says, a wave of her palm like, no big deal, because not the worst of it. His stomach slurs and sickens.

She was a teacher, her lips curling around the memory like it tastes sweet. And then he told her to stop working. Command, not question. Gave her a careful fold of money each morning, like a child’s allowance, like a leash choked close and tight. What friends she had left told her to leave him, lovely sentiment, with what money? With what, with what, with what?

And then he got a gun. Waved it around like a second dick. A strange swagger, what the weight of such perfect destruction does in a man’s palms, slung on his hip, never far.

“Did he?”

“Once, right here.” Two fingers pressed to her temple, her eyes unblinking, expressionless. Though it’s gone just as quick, her fingers flexing and curling into a quick fist before settling back in her lap, unmaking memory.

She left then. With what, with what, with what? Nothing. A book in the passenger seat and a vague conception of the west meaning something like hope.

“You like to read?” Anything else will come out too harsh, too big with anger, so that will have to do. She seems relieved for it, shoulders settling and smoothing.

“Yes, I do.”

“We can get you a library card, if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

…

They go to the library the next day, and the man who works there just seems happy that there’s anyone new to give a library card to in the first place.

Dolores has already begun reading the first book in the small stack she checked out, quiet in the passenger seat the whole drive home. And later, when he leaves for his overnight shift, she’s on the couch, already halfway finished, lips parted and moving with the page.

“I’ll see you in the morning then.” Still startled by his voice, quick to shut her book and look at him, and like so many other times, he wishes he hadn’t said anything, had let her stay suspended in that ease.

“Alright, thank you again.” He’s still not very good at accepting that from her, a nod and a shrug of his shoulders, out the door.

Lately, these shifts have gotten tinged sour. Something anxious, something angry. Waiting, maybe. Willing. Wanting that car to come zipping past him on the black strip of the interstate. Wanting to chase it down. Wanting to do something that he shouldn’t want to do. He’ll come, he thinks. They always do. Men like that won’t give up the thing that makes them feel big so easily.

For now, Joel hunkers down in the car, radio off, quiet, waiting with all the other languoring animals for something that will sate. He replays what she told him in his mind, lets something dark curl around it, poison thoughts. But he has to ask himself why. All this care, all this concern, and all this anger, why? For a perfect stranger, who’s not really a stranger now. Been living around each other for nearly a month, so no, not a stranger anymore.

He likes her. An answer both simple and devastating at the same time. And is he just as bad as any other man? Finding a scared thing so very pretty. No, he cannot like her like that. He cannot like her like watching the rise and fall of her sternum, and he cannot like her like stealing glances of her every chance he can get. Because that is the last thing she needs. But care is allowed. Making something wrong the smallest bit right is allowed. A friend, a familiar thing, a comfort. All things he can do for her.

…

The sun is just starting to heft its golden belly over the mountains when he gets home, pale blue light and mist rising cool and shy in the brush. Usually, at this hour, she will already be up, making breakfast for the both of them that he always feels a bit bashful accepting.

But it’s quiet in the house this morning, still. Her book rests on one side of the couch, a rumpled blanket beside it. He doesn’t hear the old pipes groaning with the task of running water, the floorboards crackling with the fact of shuffling feet. And he shouldn’t but he does. Panic like a tight fist, like a heavy stone in his gut.

He knocks on her bedroom door, a quiet call of her name. Nothing. And he shouldn’t, but he does. So careful, so quiet in cracking open the door. Nothing. Bed still made, untouched. She must have spent the whole night on the couch. Why does that make his heart kick and quicken in his chest? The thought of her reading right through the darkness, the singular glow of the lamp tendriling out into the night.

Not here though. Did she? Could she? Would she? He feels drunk off this reality. But scared things have always been known to flee, haven’t they? To pretend at fragile trust until they find an opportunity to escape. Did she feel like she needed to escape from him? His palm tries to rub that thought out of his chest, real ache, real pain at the idea.

Fresh air, because his skull is already starting to throb with this. He steps out onto the porch and tries to imagine all the ways this leaving could have been done. He hates every possibility, every phantom flight that he can conjure. But no time to let it sting or steep, because laughter, a sudden, foreign peel of it. Hers, he’s never heard hers before. But there she is, rounding the corner of the coop, a few of the chickens following close on her heels, already their favorite between the two of them. And she’s talking to them, quiet murmurings from behind a smile, another quick burst of brightness.

“Hey, good morning.” Saying it to him, smiling at him, the biggest, best relief. He joins her, only a little grumble at the way the chickens squawk at his sudden intrusion.

“You figure out names for them yet?” One eye dropped in a squint in the brash wash of morning light, still smiling.

“I have some ideas, yeah.”

She’s here, how wonderful. And how awful, how quickly his heart seized and shuttered itself up at the thought of anything else. He can’t think about that too much, what that means. What danger that creates and threads through his ribs. So he focuses instead on breakfast, close in the kitchen, coffee for her with cream and a spoon of sugar, how he has found she likes it, silent sliding it across the counter to her where she’s stirring eggs in the pan. Always a thank you.

The table in the kitchen is so small that he has to keep his chair scraped back so his knees won’t brush against hers, making space for her to spread out.

“Thank you, for letting me stay so long. I know it’s not– you’re probably–” She stops herself, a sigh, chin tucked down. He could almost laugh, because here she is thanking him for what he was so afraid she didn’t want.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you’re here, for as long as you’d like to be.” Trying to make it clear that this is not a cage, though the words still feel thick and foolish coming out. She swallows a careful bite of her breakfast, not looking at him, and again, he finds himself bracing for flight.

“I like being here.”

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