#caine did him dirty

[kittykatninja321]

Defending Damian’s worst antics purely on the basis of “if you’re an experienced vigilante/combatant and you get murked by a child that’s a skill issue on your part”

[tainted-esau]

Woa

[galaxythedragonshifter]

Just watched TADC EP 2 And spoilers

NOOO GUMMIGOOO

POOR GUY

HED BETTER COME BACK I SWEAR 😭😭😭 CAINE CANT JUST KILL HIM OFF LIKE THAT-

[suna1suna1]

Gummigoo was cool :(

[lenkist]

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn’t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

[neighbourscat]

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑 , father charlie mayhew

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . priest!charlie m. X non-believer!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. for such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of christ: and no marvel, for the devil himself is transformed into an angel of light: therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness, whose end shall be according to their works. - 2 corinthians 11:13-15

+ cw. grandma thinks reader is troubled and sexually active :: ‘G’ in ‘God’ is lowercased. use of ‘y/n’, brief mention of pregnancy and abortion, sacrilege / taboo, blasphemy, abuse of authority, feeding that fantasy / giving into obsession / scratching that itch , religious shame / guilt || pússy drunk father charlie, he’s so vocal — dirty talk, overstim, “angel” petname, choking, unprotected sex / charlie rejecting two condoms, multiple creampies, charlie & his standing positions.

+ nali’s notes; charlie mayhew & those blood red cowboy boots. writing gratuitous smut to breathe / did not expect to write this much. wordcount :: 6.2k+

+ to be played: family tree, ethel cain. || alternative: church, chase atlantic + numb, rihanna & eminem.

MAKING A WOMAN OUTTA YOU.

in two swift motions, you refolded the pamphlet and shoved it into the large pocket of your purse — letting the sleek paper crumble and tear. your grandmother norrice sat beside you, scanning through her copy of the same pamphlet and grinning softly. “you new adults are lucky,” the elder had said, removing her thin-wire, rectangular framed reading glasses, “it’s so good for young women to attend these type of things; to keep their hearts and minds pure. if i had such opportunity at your age, i would certainly have my life together.”

your relationship with the church had always been strained, and belief in god, at least the way your grandmother spoke about him, never came naturally to you.

annoyedly, “grandma . .. your life is fine.” norrice gave a small shake of her head and pushed her grandma-glasses back into place. “my life could be better. i would have done more,” she said in a wobbly voice. grandma norrice had fallen pregnant with your father at the young age of sixteen, and since her parents ( your greats ) were opposed to abortion, considering such action immoral, grandma norrice was forced to adult much quicker. “look. look. come look at this,” showing off the pamphlet, pointing a wrinkly finger over a bolded textbook — “start over. rededicate yourself as a virgin,” she read.

grandma norrice lowered the pamphlet into her lap. “isn’t that amazing?” you sighed deeply, swallowing down the hysterical laugh that almost left your throat. grandma norrice could feel the aggravation that seamed off of your body. “hey . ..” again, she pulled those thin-glasses off the bridge of her nose. she placed a cold hand onto your forearm and squeezed lovingly, “i’m only asking you for one. one session, hmm?”

and on: “you go in there and you listen. you show up for yourself, right?” grandma norrice reached and hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head toward her. “you go in there and confess your defiance. you go in there and pledge yourself to be pure again in the eyes of the lord-“ there had been a misunderstanding between you and your grandmother norrice.

backstory: grandma norrice likes to keep her receipts. all of them. every last one. she had folders upon folders that divided her receipts by year and frequently shopped stores. she considers her an organizer, but she’s a hoarder . .. of paper. anyways, one day, way back when, she had read an advertisement in the town’s newspaper, that pretty much said: ‘good-day people of mississippi! make money off your receipts! one receipt for one penny!‘ the company had been active many years later, sending grandma norrice rolls and rolls of pretty brown pennies, but as the world aged and technology progressed — the company died.

and for some reason, even though she’s been told time and time again that that company had no longer been operating, she still collects and saves — waiting to reach her goal amount and cash in her receipts. she’s nearing a thousand receipts; it was like playing bingo and scratching lottery tickets for her. separating those receipts into their categories gave her joy.

and the short version of why you are here: as she was cleaning out a reusable shopping bag, she had seen a receipt. excited to store it where it belonged, her misty eyes scanned the slip of paper for a date. and though she found the date, she had also seen: CRYSTAL CONDOMS EXTRA VALUE , 4.99. a box of condoms was bought.

no, you weren’t sexually active . .. . but you were planning to be with this guy. and no, he wasn’t just any guy. you’ve been talking to him for a while now and he, surprisingly, has checked off every box in your ‘my type’ list. for the last four months it’s been cute dates and sweet hangouts, and after that makeout session last weekend, you were sure you were ready for it. you wanted to do it with him, badly. so bad that you started carrying two condoms in your purse, like a highschool kid, anticipating the next meet-up.

“-you must desire to re-purity.” you have not had sex yet. “you must desire to be clean.” hearing the low clacks of flat-heels, you turned from your grandmother with a low groan — the quick distraction needed. a woman, looking around your age, had been coming down the hall, giddy and with a greedy look in her blue eyes. her blonde hair, seeming freshly curled, had bounced up and down on her shoulders.

you let your eyes stroll downward; seeing the pamphlet. her copy a nice, pastel green color. a more recent edition. and then came another young woman, she too hurried down the hall with a copy of the pamphlet. “-you need guidance,” your grandmother norrice had still been speaking ( to herself ). “do not let your desires lead you astray.” and as more young women came filing down the hallway, she silenced herself.

“i believe that your time has come for a cleanse,” grandma norrice said, watching as the duos and trios of giggling, beautifully polished young women gathered at the large, double dark-oak doors. she patted your knee twice, telling you to hurry up and along. “i will be right here waiting for you, okay? right here. go on now, hurry in.”

the basement of the church was cold, even in the middle of summer. the pearly fluorescent lights gave the room an almost sterile feel, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sunday service that was held upstairs much earlier. the chairs were arranged in a tight circle, creating an intimacy that felt more like confinement. you made your way down the creaky staircase, stopping at the bottom landing and staring at the misguided women.

the air smelled like old books and faint incense, but none of it brought the comfort your grandmother said that the church would. if you turn back now, you could hide in the bathroom — since whoever was leading this thing wasn’t in yet . .. . but you would have to pass your grandmother to camp out in the bathroom.

you dropped your shoulders with a deep sigh.

you clutched the strap of your purse and eased into the light — careful and observant. you settled down in between two white women who were holding hand-held flip mirrors and fluffing their shiny hair. honey blonde and deep brunette. your gaze shifted then and your curious eyes landed on two other women; spanish women who were re-applying their gloss. the air was heavy, thick with an uncomfortable silence.

one session, your grandmother’s words echoed in your mind: “you need guidance. do not let your desires lead you astray.” maybe if you had had sex, this could be useful. if only she were here to see all of these women in their makeup and neat hairstyles and sitting so proper to show off what they have in the front — and as a slam sounded, the women jumped startled and readied themselves . .. . their heads bowed low in what looked like guilt or shame. fake guilt and fake shame.

“welcome back ladies . .. .” the priest, father charlie maydew, now stood in the center of the circle, his hands clasped in front of him like he was leading a sermon, but there was an edge to his presence that made your skin prickle. eerie, he was. “i applaud each of you for returning this afternoon. i applaud you for wanting better for yourself, and for trusting me to guide you through this process.” he was a tall man, with a face that was just on the edge of a smile, but never quite reaching for warmth.

his collar seemed to cling too tightly around his neck, and his eyes darted around the room, landing on each young woman, one by one; hungrily, before lingering on you for a beat longer than comfortable — his expression unreadable. but then, one corner of his lips tipped upward. the honey blonde at one side of you noticed and for a second, she considered tackling you. but she took a deep breath in and out. in and out.

“thank you for joining us this afternoon,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, his attention making you shrink slightly in your seat — wanting to disappear. father charlie fashioned a calming, slightly condescending grin on his face.

the other women turned to look at you, some with curiosity, some with attitude, but all with fake sympathy. “why don’t you introduce yourself?” his tone was warm, but something about it felt performative, rehearsed. the tall priest took two big steps back and gestured toward the center of the center.

you remained seated — shaking your head no. “i don’t plan on comin’ back, so . .. .” your fingers twisting in your lap, “i don’t think there’s a need to, y’know . .. . know me. know my name. why i’m here.” you finished with a shy chuckle. no one laughed with you. no one cracked a smile.

a bushy brow of his lifted a bit. he noted how sure of yourself you seemed after that statement. father charlie decided to try again: “please, come. introduce yourself.” all eyes were on you . .. . and you felt like a teenager again about to give a solo-project presentation. “i don’t . .. .” a scoff and another nervous chuckle. “there’s no reason for that. like i said, this is an in and out kind of thing for me.”

father charlie never had to ask twice. young women, such as those around him, moved whenever he needed something done. they moved as quick as possible, they never wanted him to lift a finger. any and every favor was complete without complaint or hesitation. though he never had to ask twice, for you, he’d give it a third go. “this is a safe environment. what is shared here will stay here. right in this circle. our small community.” as father charlie spoke, he stepped along said circle. the women smiled up at him as he passed, their hearts fluttering and their stomachs knotting.

when he landed, standing right before you, he held out his hand. “grab onto me . .. . and come forth.” his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. you felt the weight of the gazes from the other women — some surprised, their faces drawn in confusion and puzzlement. no one had ever hesitated to take father charlie’s hand. you could see the tension in their bodies, the way they sat stiffly, chests and shoulders leaned in, they were practically on the edge of their seats . .. . wondering if you’d keep denying the man or finally give into him.

but, they all swore that they’d rather be you right now; looking up at father charlie as he offered his beautiful hand.

“grab . .. . onto me.” fifth time.

you took a dekko at his hand — thinking.

and when your hand fell onto his, a collective sigh had gone up. father charlie clasped his other hand on top of yours and gave a pat; a pat that said: thank you, gorgeous.

you kept your hand in his as you took to your feet. father charlie’s palm felt nice in yours; surprisingly soft — he walked you to the circle’s center and released your hand, his fingers dragging against yours as he parted. “there is no need to be shy.”

you were annoyed.

“my name’s y/n, ‘nd, well . .. . i’m here ‘cause of my,” you cleared your throat, then trailed off abruptly, “my grandma.” the women stared amongst themselves for a second and then looked up at you again. you raised your chin softly, catching a glimpse of father charlie beyond you. not hovering, but towering perfectly. “it’s silly, really,” you had told the group, folding your arms over your chest protectively, “she does this thing . .. a-this weird thing, where she .. . like, keeps all of her receipts?”

you heard a soft hum come from behind your back. you wanted to look around, to look at father charlie, but you kept yourself from doing so. “it’s a long story . .. well, not exactly, no. it’s actually the shortest story in history, really-“ fast paced babbling. purely from the anxious energy that coursed and spun throughout your body. for some people, their brains lock up and they have trouble thinking of things to say. for you, being jittery filled your mind with thoughts, along with an urge to say them all. right now. as fast as you can. “-when she was much much younger and livin’ in mississippi, she was reading a newspaper . .. .”

and you rambled. and you rambled. and you rambled.

“‘nd she thinks that i’m having sex, which-“ you laughed at the thought, “-which i am not. i’m not.” directed to the women. “seriously, i’m not.” was directed to father charlie. “i’m here for no reason, honestly. i’ve been forced here on an assumption. a silly assumption. i’ve been carryin’ ‘round condoms, but that’s all-“ the embarrassing statement caught you off-guard.

with a hand, father charlie gestured toward your chair — clearly telling you to sit the fuck down. you hurried back. you dropped down and quickly kicked your purse underneath the seat; as if to hide the condoms that were already tucked in a zipper pocket.

“at least you’re having protective sex,” the brunette whispered over, not even facing you. you almost choked on nothing: “no, i’m not,” you answered too quickly. that didn’t sound right. “i-fuck. no, i’m not havin’ sex. but if i was, i would be protected,” you corrected. “that’s what makes this whole thing hilarious. i’m still a virgin.” the brunette looked at you. “then why are you here?” your shoulders slumped, “did . .. . did you not hear me?” you asked, pointing to the circle’s center. the brunette said no, “would you listen to yourself talk about your grandma collecting receipts? we all were falling asleep, sweetie. i was so tuned out, which never happens here.”

you shifted your weight a bit, turning your body toward her.

“wait, so why are you here, seriously?” she tilted her head.

you opened your mouth to speak and heard a finger-snap. “ladies . .. .” father charlie urged. he clasped his hands in front of him and continued, “you are here because of your struggle. each of you struggle. struggle with the desires of the flesh. desires that pull you away from god.“ he lifted a hand toward you, “she travels with condoms. can anyone tell me what that says about her?”

two arms had gone up and you so desperately wanted to leave.

father charlie called on tabitha, her loose waves pulled up into a high ponytail. her eyes sparkled. “it is clear that she is eager to engage in sexual intercourse with a man. it is on her mind and she is desperate for it. but if such dangerous thought continues to linger, she will eventually take action.”

you scoffed, “i am not ‘eager’ or ‘desperate’. i jus’ wan’a-“ father charlie raised a hand, shushing you from going any further. your lips shut, disappointedly. “that is correct, thank you, tabitha.” and she felt her bones rattled.

father charlie’s eyes slid back to you, his voice dropping into something softer, more personal. “these desires . .. these thoughts, like tabitha had stated, they are dangerous. but luckily, they can be controlled. with the right guidance.”

you felt the heat of his attention again, the way his words seemed to be directed specifically at you, though there were ten other women sitting in this circle. you lowered your gaze, trying to find comfort in your lap, but the room seemed to close in around you.

“lust,” he continued, stepping closer to where you sat, “is the most powerful weapon the devil has. it twists the human mind, makes you believe that these urges are natural.” father charlie had left the circle for a moment, their eyes following except yours. he had never left the circle before — he stuck there for every session. his hand rested on the back of your chair, and you froze. “but they are not. not one bit. they are sins. and we are here to free you from that temptation.”

“desires,” he said then, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “can be dangerous if left unchecked. they can consume you.“

a few of the women murmured, their voices barely audible. you remained silent, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. his fingers brushed against your shoulder, lightly, almost as if by accident, but you knew it wasn’t. the touch was deliberate, testing. father charlie leaned in more, pressing himself into the chair fully now. “god forgives,” his voice velvety, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment too long. “but only if you are truly willing to repent. to give yourself fully to him . .. .”

you stiffened, not sure if you were reacting to the feel of him or the fact that he was singling you out again.

you wanted to stand, to leave, but something kept you anchored to the chair. a combination of guilt, fear, and an unshakable sense that you should’ve never came.

father charlie moved away, continuing his slow pace around the group of beautiful women. he spoke about discipline, about submission to god’s will, about sin and repentance, but each word felt laced with something darker. something unspoken.

you glanced around the room, noticing the way the other women seemed to hang onto his every word, their eyes ogling and admiring how he carried himself. you weren’t sure what you expected from this session, but the way he spoke about desire — like it was something to be ashamed of — made you uncomfortable. sure, you had your own struggles, but was that really something that needed to be controlled like a disease?

this was something else entirely . .. . and it was confusing.

as the session dragged on, you realized that the shame you felt was from being here, in this room, where father charlie wielded his authority like a blade, cutting away at the parts of you that made you human.

at the end of the session, as the other women began to gather their things and shuffle toward the door, father charlie gestured for you to stay behind. you hesitated, but the weight of expectation pressed down on you, making it impossible to refuse.

you slung the strap over your shoulder and held the leather close, as if to comfort yourself.

and once the room was empty, he stepped to you, a smile creeping back onto his face. “thank you for sharing this afternoon. that was quite the story,” he said, his tone sickeningly sweet. “i know you said that this was a . .. . ‘one and done’, type of thing-“

you wanted to speak but nothing came out.

“but, i think we need to have a private conversation. just you and me. i can help you further. i would like to help you further, y/n.”

the bile rose in your throat, but all you could manage was a nod, the fear of what would happen if you said no silencing you. you quickly turned your back and left for the double doors.

you entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention, but the oak door creaked louder than you expected, making a few heads turn. you weren’t that late, just a few minutes, but it was enough to feel the shift in the room’s energy as you found an empty chair in the circle. the same chair you had been seated in last weekend. father charlie had made sure to leave it out.

“punctuality is important,” father charlie said smoothly, his voice breaking through the murmurs as he watched you take your seat. his smile was there, but it didn’t reach his eyes. you gave a quick nod of apology, shifting uncomfortably as you settled in, trying to brush off the feeling that all eyes were on you.

this time . .. . you were here by choice — you hadn’t told your grandmother norrice that father charlie had asked you to return. you knew that if you did, she’d throw a fit. she’d throw a damn superbowl party — it unsettled you, but at the same time, something pulled at you. maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he had made you feel just by looking at you, as if he could see something in you that no one else could. whatever it was, it brought you back.

there was a distance between you and the women, a sense that you weren’t part of their world just yet. a sense that you were special, and far more important to father charlie.

“but, i am glad that you’ve decided to return.” you gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “yeah, i . .. . i figured i’d give it another try,” you had said.

he nodded, as if he had expected nothing less. “good. very good.” father charlie smiled at you, but it wasn’t comforting. there was something behind it — something almost predatory in the way he seemed to hold his gaze on you, like he was sizing you up. then, he turned to address the group, but his words felt distant, again like they were just for show. you couldn’t focus on the session. your thoughts were too tangled, your mind too occupied with what he had said last time.

i think we need to have a private conversation.

“even if-when you don’t believe,” father charlie said, closing in behind your chair, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “god has a plan for you. you just have to let him in.”

you swallowed hard, fingers swiping along the smooth paint of your nails, unsure of what else to do. his hand found your shoulder for a second or three before he moved on, continuing his speech. the other women nodded along, their heads still bowed in what looked like submission.

as the session dragged on, you found yourself drifting in and out of the conversation, only half-listening. you weren’t here for the church, you weren’t here for god, you weren’t here for your grandmother, you weren’t here to be lectured about how your desires were dangerous if not properly controlled . .. . you were here for father charlie.

as the session wound down, the other women began to gather their things, exchanging quiet goodbyes. father charlie’s eyes followed them out, but he didn’t speak. he was waiting — waiting for them to leave, waiting for you. he caught your eye, giving you a knowing look. “stay . .. ?” he mouthed, the request felt more like a command.

tension.

when the last of the women finally left, the door closing softly behind her, the room seemed to shrink. the room felt different — charged. father charlie slowly walked over to where you sat, his presence looming larger now that it was just the two of you. his smile was still there, but it was different in this quiet space, more intense, more focused.

father charlie sat down in the chair right next to you. he scooted closer to you, grunting as he moved the chair with him — scraping it against the stone floor. his voice was soft, intimate. “i’m really glad you gave this another chance.” his dark eyes locked on yours with a strange intensity. “you know, sometimes the answers we are looking for are . .. . in places we wouldn’t expect.”

“like the basement of my grandmother’s church,” you had said mindlessly. father charlie gave you a gentle grin, showing you that he had been amused. barely. “yeah. exactly that. the basement of your grandmother’s church. but . .. . like i was saying-“ his hand brushed lightly against your arm, “-i think that you’re searching,” his voice a bit lower, like a secret was being shared. “-searching for something deeper, something that no one else can give you. i see it in you, the desire for connection.”

connection.

“i want to help you work through . .. . your urges.”

there was no mistaking it now — the way he said urges, the way his voice dipped, made it clear he wasn’t talking about faith or repentance anymore. “we all have them,” he murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was looking for something, some sign of compliance or curiosity. “it happens.” his hand slid downward. just a little closer they went . .. . fingers grazing the back of your hand, subtle but deliberate. “i can guide you through it,” he whispered. “let me help you.”

your pulse quickened, a sense of alarm flooding through you, but there was also a need.

“you have to trust me. you have to let me in.”

“i don’t . .. know. i don’t think-“

father charlie’s smile deepened, his hand gently squeezing your forearm. “sometimes, we don’t know what we need until we find it. trust me. you’re here for a reason. god brought you back for a reason, right?”

his words hung in the air, heavy with a meaning that wasn’t lost on you.

“i don’t know,” you repeated yourself.

you tried to look away, but his hand reached out, his fingers lightly gripping your chin, forcing your gaze back to him — like he was trying to hold you in place, make you stay in this moment with him. “i know what you’ve been feeling. i know what’s pulling at you. you want to give in, yeah? to feel something . .. .”

“sometimes . .. . we’re not meant to fight it. sometimes, we’re meant to feed it.” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“but yesterday, you said . .. .”

he chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, only a dark edge. “i know what you want. i know what your body wants, what it’s demanding from the world.” his hand moved, not to your arm this time, but to the small space between your shoulder blades. “and there’s nothing wrong with wanting and needing to feel pleasure. most times, we need personal attention to overcome and strive.

“i didn’t tell the others; but sometimes . .. . we have to allow ourselves to feel these things in order to rise above it. that’s how we control it.” his fingers slid down your back slowly. “desire can a gift — one that can bring two closer to the truth of who we are. allow me to help you feed it.”

. .. .

“are you going to let me help you now?”

. .. .

“yes.”

and he wasted no time bringing a hand up to grab the zip of your short-sleeved hoodie. he pulled down carefully, the plump cleavage of your breasts peeking. his other hand smoothed along your curly slicked back hair, “thank you,” he whispered.

and though you were prepared for something like this, the contraceptives in your purse went unused. when charlie had seen you flick it out — showing off the metallic dark green wrapper, the imprint of the condom bold — he refused, immediately: “no.” simple. flat and cold.

charlie plucked the packet from your perfectly-manicured fingers and tossed it across the floor, dark eyes boring into you. you looked at him as if he had lost his mind. just as you were about dig into the pocket for the other condom, charlie gripped your wrist; the pressure gentle but firm. “what do you mean ‘no’?” you asked — though you knew exactly what he meant.

“i have something real to give.” in other words, he would not be spilling his seed into some rubbery latex. there was no blocking him out. “i need you to feel everything. okay? you need to.” you couldn’t oppose him.

and here you were: holding onto his forearms. his arms had prodding veins for days. from his wrists to the tops of his large shoulders. he was so built, you weren’t at all expecting it. “. .. ready, angel?” you nodded down at him sweetly, hands sliding up to his flexed biceps. “wan’a be yours already. please ..” charlie had you right where he wanted you. there was something so nasty about the smirk that grew across his face, “god saved you for me . .. . wanted me to have you.”

“mm, think so?” came quiet and soft.

“know so,” charlie muttered, stroking himself messily. “i know so.” he reached down for you, carefully lining himself up with your heavenly entrance. “taste me.” his words are sweet, poison laced sugar. you kissed him, letting your eyes close as you did so.

and when he slipped inside, spongy and slimy, it was like his own personal hell. you were so much better than he could’ve imagined. charlie had gone completely silent, choking on air — like he was just punched in the gut. there’s no comparison, no feeling in the world . .. . he couldn’t form a single, coherent thought. you were gripping him just right, massaging his cock like you really were made to have him as your first. like he was made to stretch your hymen.

“fucking shhit,” charlie’s head gradually tossed itself back. he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, couldn’t keep himself from hiccuping and mumbling your name and calling you ‘angel’. “f-fuck. fuck, fuck, hang’on, f-please . .. hang on.” charlie had to pause halfway, huffing out an overwhelmed breath. he’s drooling — he couldn’t quite fathom how amazing you felt on the inside.

you sighed, and sighed again as his nose brushed your throat, as he guided your hips — slowly and tediously, pulling you up and down. your jaw hung open desperately, toes curling with each vein he gradually dragged so rigidly along your walls. “i’ve got y-you . .. . i promise, angel. i’ve got’cha,” you were taking him so well despite the pain, making it harder to resist the urge to pound into you.

your cunt readily accepting the priest’s dick as it oozed against your insides and spreads the flame of desire.

he’s making your pussy his own; shaping your cunt, molding you into the perfect cocksleeve. pretty much carving his name into it. and he was trying his best. trying so hard to be as gentle and as slow as he could possibly be, fighting every bad thought that so tightly pulled and demanded he go deeper. charlie did well, swallowing those thoughts down . .. but it was tiring.

it was exhausting. so fucking exhausting, especially when your desperate cunt keeps sucking and swallowing him in deeper after each and every pass. charlie kissed and licked at your neck, blankly trying to distract himself — which gave nothing. your cunt would not let up. nothing would give. not like this. there was no way. there was nothing in this world strong enough to pull him away from you and your warm cunt.

charlie’s guiding your hips so slow that it was painful. he’s trying to make every thrust connect — he’s groaning and struggling to keep his dark eyes open. you're smothering his entire cock with nothing but your slippery slick, hearing the filthy clicks ring from in between your sweaty thighs — he’s so lost in the sounds of you.

you are secured to him; fingers tangled into his brunette hair, gripping strands and raking your nails along his scalp, eliciting a satisfying moan to slip past his pretty lips. you blinked away, only for a moment, and stared down at his glossy lips. covered in his spit, your toes are curling. your tummy is doing cartwheels — butterflies no longer butterflies but pterodactyls.

“y-you’re .. . .. ‘t’s so deep ..” charlie gave a gentle smile, one hand slipping up and caressing the curve of your back. “i know i am. i know. i can feel it too, angel.” your sleepy gaze remained on his smiling lips. you licked at your own, almost leaning in to capture his. “i can feel everything . .. .” and you felt fan-fucking-tastic. “everything.”

you bit back a smile.

charlie winced lowly, his thighs starting to rattle. “hurts to .. to keep goin’ this slow ..”

it felt like he was worshipping you — that you are the sacred body here, two bright candles flickering in the corner — he’s worshipping you, you’re sure of it, with tongue and teeth and cock. it’s messy, and he’s not shy, those lips that could stir a congregation with their sweetness, his golden tongue .. . “nngh-wait,” you pleaded softly. “w-wha’?”

clenching around him so tight you could feel the outline of his prominent veins, the sensitive spots along his shaft. charlie’s brows furrow in clean focus, letting out a sultry string of words, “i .. i can’t.” he's buried nose deep near the crook of your neck. “i’m sorry, angel. i can’t .. fuck, i can’t.” he softly rasped as deep brown locks of hair stick against his shiny skin. “takin’ everything in me . .. i’m tryin’, fuckk, i’m tryin’ for you-don’t wan’ it to hurt . .. .” you felt his throaty pants trail against your skin, “but i’ve gotta go harder.”

with a sheepish smile, you met his chocolate-eyed gaze, moaning a soft: “okay ..”

“y-yeah?”

your weak arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, the pads of your fingers almost rubbing against a fresh scar, “mhmm .. . do it, please.” the ghost of a smirk. charlie’s thick fingers clasped at your waist; the decorative beads printing mini dents into your brown skin. effortless, he lifted your hips and fixed himself — the feet of the chair loudly scratching the cold, stone floor. “you’re the best i’ve ever felt, angel .. . s’hot inside. s’soft.” that deep, silky whisper has your cunt quivering disgustingly. and he’s driving his hips up, fast, drilling himself into your body.

“so fuckin’ wet-“ one hand cupped the side of your face, bringing you in. you’re both panting, quick and short, breathing hot and heavy air into each other’s mouths. “pretty hole sucking me in so good . .. .” your teeth nipped at your plump lower lip, drinking him in. charlie’s hot fingers slipped underneath your waistbeads, toying with the jewellery. “so good, angel . ..”

the gel slicking back your naturally thick hair put up zero match against the heat of this basement. edges once neatly laid, were puffing up — stretched curls lifting out of place and shrinking.

“fuck-never wanna leave.” your heart continued to race at his obscene words. and you caressed his face, whispering about how good he was making you feel. he mewled at your validation, wanting to please, needing to be the best for you.

and he’s so loud, so hungry for more. with the way charlie’s long lashes flutter and his hooded eyes droop, he was so visibly pussy drunk. already nearing the edge and trying his best not to tip over. balancing on a uni-cycle on a string of the cheapest of cheap dental floss.

he could practically taste the pleasure on his tongue — release is coming quick and there was no preparing himself for it. not enough preparation in the world. the pointed tips of his ears burn with intense, searing heat.

“oh my-! oh god!”

“no-“ charlie cursed under his breath and snapped a hand over your throat, all five fingers digging into your brown skin — “-no. fuck no. you don’t call on god. you-you don’t call on him. don’t. he’s not makin’ you feel good. i am. you call on me,” he ordered, harshly. and all you can is nod and follow his direction. “call for me . .. . do it.” you’re practically speechless, nothing left from your lips yet, all that could be heard was the constant slap slap slap of slippery skin.

and his hand tightened around your neck. “come on, angel . .. say my name.” charlie’s muscled chest heaved up and down, hard. “fucking call on me.”

your hands latched onto his wrist — this new feeling, you couldn't quite describe it. it was tasty and he was peeling you apart, layer by layer. “do it. who’s makin’ you feel good? huh? who’s breakin’ you in half? .. . who’s splittin’ you the fuck open?”

“charlie!” all you can do is choke out a shrill. “you are!”

what happens next takes you by surprise — charlie locked his big burly arms under your thighs and stood up, keeping himself plugged in; nice and snug. the new position, standing, had charlie’s head spinning. he grunted loudly, and it’s a sexy guttural noise. your legs kicking and dangling in the air as he feeds your cunt inch by greedy inch, again and again. “charlie .. .” you whined, pulling at his hair.

“shiit,” and as if a switch had been flipped, hot sticky ribbons shoot right into you, spilling way into your sweet welcoming womb. you gasped, nails scratching into his large shoulders — and the feel of him letting go inside of you has you cumming as well. his panting is deep and animalistic. he held onto your shivering body tighter, his hips never faltering.

beefy arms lifting your sticky body up again, he’s back at it — pushing and eager to reach another one. “a-angel .. .” his entire body hot and heavy. “gonna fill you up again-i’ve gotta.” his brown eyes continued to grow hooded and low.

you were still trying to recover. still coming down from your first orgasm and just barely adjusting to the feel of having his previous load fucked even deeper. “‘m gonna cum again,” he warned softly — cream tearing down his trembly thighs. he’s silently babbling out more whispers and moans of your name. “givin’ you all of me .. .”

you’re flustered right away and wanting to kiss him, hungry to. but as your leaning in, the heels of your feet knocking into the back of his thighs hard, he hoists your legs over his shoulders without so much as a warning. you’re scared to fall, but he won’t let you. he promised you through shaky moans, rocking you up and down.

and you’re gonna pass out, eyes knocking in the back of your skull. your legs bobbing from the movement, you’re trapped against him — and it’s even hotter. even messier and you can’t squirm at all. charlie’s watching your face contort and scrunch and there goes his ego; shooting through the church’s roof and into space. you’re barely hanging onto his big arms and he’s feeling so good about himself. “i can’t-can’t anymore,” you cried to him.

“but you can, angel . .. .” charlie snapped. “keep takin’ it .. and let’s finish together, ‘kay?” and every time you touched down on him, you squeal —

— “charlie . ..” you cooed, voice cracking cutely. your voice made his cock twitch and from the inside, you felt it all . .. . and it felt so nice. so sweet and so insanely intimate. “ch-charlie, pleaseee.” sickly, your voice bounces along the holy walls of the church’s basement.

lips parting as he tried to find his voice: “cum with me, angel-do it,” he pleaded. charlie felt every little reaction and spasm. every cute gasp and cry and moan sent a thick rush through his aching body. and you’re cumming again, holding onto him as tight as you can, clawing at his biceps.

and that’s when he lets go. pumping in yet another hot, thick load of his cum — you almost gag at the re-fill. his grip weakened, but charlie doesn’t let you fall. he told you that he won’t, so he won’t. he’s shivering, feeling a wave crash down onto him as he’s caving into his high . .. .

if this is sin — this beautiful, divine feeling — then what is the point of it all?

[hazbinwhoree]

Come Inside

Part 2/2

A/N: The heavily requested part two.

“Well you fucking did it,” (Name) announced, storming into the living room where Adam was watching TV. “Did what,” he asked, mouth full of the ribs he was eating. (Name) threw something at him.

“Hey!” he yelped, the small object bouncing off his shoulder. He picked it up and the world stopped for a moment. It was a pregnancy test. And it was positive.

“Are you fucking with me?” Adam asked after a moment. “Does that look like I am fucking with you?” She had a point. (Name) was watching him anxiously. Adam looked back at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I… I don’t know. How do you feel?” “Like I made good on a promise,” Adam smirked. (Name) threw a pillow at his head. “This is serious!” “I am serious!” Adam protested. “I said I’d put a baby in you and I did. You had no fuckin’ objections when we were doing it.”

(Name) groaned, flopping onto the couch next to him. “You’re telling me that you are ready to be a dad?” Adam placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You say that like it’s an insane notion. I knew the risks, I knew this was a possibility. I wouldn’t have taken the chance if I wasn’t ready for it.”

(Name) teared up.

“Oh, shit, do you not want this?”

(Name) shook her head. “No, it’s just the hormones and the fact you actually want to have a baby with me.”

Adam laughed, pulling her into his lap. “Of course I want to have a baby with you. I wouldn’t have a baby with anyone else. Well, Eve, but I never raised Cain and Abel. In fact I was a completely absent dad–” “Babe.” Adam laughed, thinking about it. “I don’t know if that’s funny,” (Name) said.

Adam cleared his throat. “Point is, you make me want to be a father so long as you’re the mother.”

“You’re not gonna leave me and the baby like you left Cain and Abel?”

“Babe, Eve had Cain and Abel like right before she cheated on me. I wasn’t fuckin’ sticking around. Those kids are a mess too–” he laughed. “One killed the other!”

(Name) rolled her eyes, punching his shoulder. “The things you find funny are so fucked.” “Yeah but you love me,” Adam cooed, licking her cheek. (Name) squealed. “I hate when you do that! Just kiss me like a normal person, asshole!” Adam cackled.

The first trimester, it still hadn’t become a permanent thought in Adam’s head that he was going to be a father.

The second trimester, it became much more real and they started considering baby names and preparing a nursery.

The third trimster, was really bad for (Name). She was constantly exhausted, sore, hungry but sick to her stomach. The baby really did a number on her. By the time nine months rolls around, (Name) is more than ready to get this child out of her.

“GET IT OUT OF ME!” She screamed after pushing once. “Push again!” the midwife encouraged. (Name) screamed as she did.

Adam watched on in horror. He wasn’t there to witness Cain and Abel’s births, so he had no idea how brutal and scary childbirth was. He stroked back hair off her sweaty forehead, letting her squeeze the life out of his other hand.

Every time she screamed, Adam lost his shit a little bit.

“And push!” With one final push and a pained yell, (Name) delivered their baby.

It was a baby girl.

Adam had been reconsidering his eligibility for fatherhood. But when the nurse cleaned their baby off and placed her on (Name)’s chest, Adam was determined not to ruin a good thing. He may not be looking forward to the responsibilities of a father, but he would take them on for her sake.

In the following weeks, he really tries to help with the baby equally, but he’s pretty bad at it. He’d offered to take a few night shifts but would sleep straight through the baby’s crying, leaving (Name) to go soothe her. But he learned how to prepare a bottle of milk, and he learned how to change dirty diapers.

To his surprise, he actually didn’t find it all that difficult to bond with his child. (Name) even caught him baby talking once, which he fervently denies.

Months go by, and their daughter surprises them with her very first word… “Fuck!”

(Name) is appalled, Adam thinks it’s hilarious. She berates Adam for setting a bad example for the baby, when she shocks them with her second word. “Bitch.” Clear as day. Adam picks their daughter up and praises her. (Name) hits Adam’s arm.

Adam does his best to be a good husband and father, and while he’s not great at it, he is a present father and a loving husband.

[acetaminphen]

Forgive Me Father (PT 1)

Charlie Mayhew x Reader

*religious, sacrilege, angst, some fluff, mentions of abuse / abuse, adult content 18+, mentions of blood, not entirely based on how he would act, not religiously accurate*

WC: idk it’s a lot

As a new nun you had very little say in regards to your placement within the church. It came as a shock when you, alongside a handful of other nuns, were reassigned to the new young priest. You expected some minuscule job not assisting a very priest himself. As of now you exited the right wing of the church, it now serving as a convent. Dinner was being prepared and it was your job to collect any herbs or vegetables, the rest was delivered once a week. The bottom of your habit dirtying as you bent over harvesting some rosemary. Hearing the snap of a twig you felt the presence of Father Mayhew, low thunder roared across the horizon a breeze acting as a warning of the approaching cold front.

“I knew I would find you out here, sister.” Father Mayhew spoke up, his playful grin only widening as you subconsciously wiped the dirt from your hands onto your dress. He would never admit aloud but he much preferred your presence over the rest.

“Oh, hello Father.” You say as you close your eyes and nod at the same time, as you stand up and look at him. You fix your habit and wipe your hands off to the sides of it. “Did you need me for something?” You question, looking up at him with quite the height difference, having your hands folded in front of you.

He chuckled, finding your timid nature strangely amusing. He watched you fuss with your habit, making a mental note to have someone fix the hem. It hadn’t escaped his attention on your first day that it seemed a bit too long on you. He crossed his arms in front of him, standing tall yet relaxed. “There is something I need to talk to you about.” He mentioned, the usual seriousness that seemed to plague him returning to his tone.

You furrow your eyebrows slightly and quickly, wondering what he could be needing to talk to you about in such a serious nature. “Of course Father, what is it?”

His dark eyes, normally cold and intimidating, remained on you. He studied your features as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. How many times has he seen you kneel before him, head bowed, lips moving in prayer. He’s yet to find out if you were just as obedient in other areas. “Are you comfortable here? At the convent?” He inquired, the corner of his mouth twitching up, as if amused by something.

“Yes of course Father.” You try to say without hesitation, as you think of how of course there’s things you would change, and nothing quite beats home itself. “Why do you ask?”

He hummed, a low noise that was almost guttural. He knew your reply well before you spoke it. He also knew that you weren’t completely telling the truth in your answer. With a subtle step closer, his towering figure now easily casted a shadow over your form. “Are you lying to me, sister?” Father Mayhew mumbled, his voice low and almost commanding.

You look up at him, with just your eyes as he steps closer to you. You speak low. “Oh now, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Father Mayhew raised an eyebrow. In the short time since you’d joined the church he found your reactions to his presence… rather pleasing. He would find himself watching you in the pews, or during prayer, trying to decipher your intentions. Your meek nature kept his mind occupied with ways to break you out of it. He took another step closer, now towering directly over you. He wanted to see how far he could go before you’d crack under the weight of his gaze. “Maybe not lie, but I know there is more you are withholding from me.”

You released a small almost playful smirk. “This isn’t confession, Father.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your snarky comment, the sight of your smirk sending an almost unfamiliar feeling through him. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he watched you with his usual scrutinizing gaze. “You have attitude, sister.” He practically hissed the word ‘sister’, his tone was both scolding yet amused.

“Not attitude father, perseverance.” Your smirk turns to a small closed innocent smile, still looking up at him.

He had to forcibly bit back a laugh, the sudden spark of challenge in your eyes something he didn’t expect. He was quite used to nuns bowing at his feet and doing as he asked. You, however, were not like the others, you gave as much as you got. He wanted to see just how much he could get out of you before you lost your fight. “Interesting.” He murmured, his voice still deep with authority. He took yet another step closer until there was only inches between the two of you.

You clear your throat as you finally look down from him. “Now is there anything I can actually help you with, Father or may I get back to picking our vegetables for tonight’s dinner?” You ask as you look back up at him, slightly squinting from the setting sun.

His gaze followed yours, watching you intently. He didn’t miss the way your cheeks dusted with pink. This time he didn’t hold back a smirk, finding your flustered state very amusing. He hummed once again, crossing his arms in front of him as he considered leaving you in your current condition. However, he thought better of it, after all, he did actually have a reason to seek you out. “I have a job for you.” He spoke up, his tone now back to the usual seriousness.

“And what might the job be, Father? Who will tend to the garden after I leave?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, watching how you fidgeted awkwardly. You were trying your best to appear calm and collected yet it was evident you weren’t used to being stuck so closely next to him. He took pity on you, opting to answer your question first before explaining the task he needed you to complete. “Do not worry, I’m sure the others can finish up the remainder of the harvesting.”

You narrow your eyes a bit, hiding it within your squinting from the sun. “And what is the job, Father?” You repeat yourself.

He rolled his eyes, amused by your stubbornness. Father Mayhew took two of his long fingers, gently placing them on your chin to angle your head, away from the bright sun and towards him. Once you looked at him he removed his hand, letting it fall back to his side. “You’ll be coming to my office. There are some… documents I need you to help me organize.”

“I thought documents were confidential, only a Priest and the Abbess could view them?” You pause for a moment. “There’s not even an Abbess yet.” You cross your arms.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your sudden challenge. He was used to the older sisters giving in to his word, never second guessing his authority. Having you question him made his chest feel light, he hadn’t felt this entertained in awhile. He watched impassively as you crossed your arms in front of you.“There is an exception to every rule, sister.” He mentioned, his voice taking a commanding tone once more. His eyes flicked over your figure, observing you carefully.

You widden your eyes a bit as you let out a small sigh, thinking what kind of Priest doesn’t follow the rules. “Lead the way, Father.” You dust off your hands together to make sure all the dirt is off. He nodded, a smirk once again tugging at his lips. He relished in your submission, watching you brush off the dirt from your hands before he turned to lead you towards his office. His pace was brisk, the length of his strides forcing you into a half jog as you tried to keep up with him.

“You know, you would benefit from a lesson in being more… obedient.” He spoke up, barely casting a glance back at you.

“I’m quite obedient, am I not? I’m following you to your office to help sort those documents, hm?” You look up at him with your eyes as the two of you continue to walk. He chuckled again once you pointed out your ‘compliance’. You were right, you were following his direction and coming with him to his office as he asked. However, your attitude, your stubbornness, was just as present, showing no signs of submission.

“I take back what I said, perhaps you need a few lessons on obedience, sister. A reminder to lower your eyes and keep your voice reserved.” He suggested, the office building now coming into view.

You let out a small laugh. “I think that will take more than a few lessons, Father.” You say as you look away from him back to the front of yourself as you keep walking. Father Mayhew could feel his chest become tight at the sound of your light laugh. He shook his head, trying to clear any impure thoughts or distractions. Hearing you speak back to him so unreserved, no longer flinching under his gaze. He wondered if he could break this defiant spirit of yours or if you were a lost cause. As the reached the office, he held the door open for you, motioning you through.

“After you, sister.”

You give a small nod to him as you walk into his office, you take a look around as you walk in. “Beautiful office, didn’t think it would be this nice.”

He watched as you entered, seeing the curious glances you gave around the room. He shut the door behind him before speaking up, crossing his arms in front of himself as he stood across from you. “What did you expect? Dirt, dust, and a singular chair to sit on?” He teased, watching for your reaction.

You let out a little laugh. “Well who am I to know what Father Mayhew has in his office.” You walk over to one of the bookshelves and look at all the books on it. He rolled his eyes as he watched you wander around the room, once again feeling an unfamiliar sensation course through him as he watched you touch his bookshelf and look at the various books on display. He leaned against his desk as he watched you, eyes following you intently.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be so insolent.” He mentioned, his tone almost playful.

“I wasn’t always a nun.”

His eyebrows raised. For some reason he thought of you as a good, obedient girl, never imagining you had a wild past. He tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? Now you’ve definitely sparked my curiosity. You used to be quite the… party animal?”

You give him a small smile. “Lets save that story for another time Father, now how about those documents we’re supposed to sort?”

He hummed, mentally filing away your words for later. He could tell there was more to your story, and he’d be lying if he didn’t want to uncover it. He pushed off the desk, sauntering over to a set of drawers and pulling out a few files. “Indeed.” He murmured, his earlier serious tone returning as he handed you one of the files, keeping the others for himself.

You take the file, looking at the cover. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to look at these files? I’m not an Abbess, nor am I obviously a Priest.” You look up at him with a slightly worried expression, not wanting to get in trouble by the Bishops.

He couldn’t help the smirk that formed at your question, amused by your innocence and naivety. He watched as your eyes flicked up to him, your pretty face now held a worried expression, a stark contrast to the defiant attitude you had earlier. He set the files he was holding onto his desk before responding, watching intently as your eyes followed his every step. “Don’t fret, sister. I have already cleared it with the Diocese. You are merely giving me a helping hand.”

You slightly furrow your eyebrows and shake your head as you look down. “Of course Father.” How could you think that he wouldn’t clear it beforehand. He chuckled again, his chest feeling lighter the more he observed your expressions. You weren’t making it easy for him to maintain his usual stern demeanor. Seeing you look so innocently concerned over something so minor was amusing to him. As he stood beside you he raised a hand to brush a piece of loose hair from your face. He let his hand linger on your cheek, feeling the heat from your skin.

“You’re such a good girl, worrying about such things.” He whispered, his voice low and slightly mocking.

You can feel your face heat up as you continue looking down, not wanting to make eye contact with him. “Now Father,” You clear your throat, “What exactly are we doing with these documents?” You try to ignore what he’s doing and stay focused on the task.

He hummed lowly as he pulled his hand away, his fingers grazing across your cheek as he did so. He chuckled, noticing your attempt to keep his fingers from catching your reaction to his touch. His gaze darkened as he walked over and sat down in his chair, watching you from his desk. “It’s nothing complicated. I’m just updating the parish records, adding new members, removing old ones. But, my hand has been aching from all the writing. So I just need you to copy my notes into new files after I write them.”

You look back up as he walks away, looking at him now sitting at his desk, your face still hot. “That’ll take all night, won’t it?”

He folded his hands on the desk, observing how red your cheeks were, how hard you were trying to maintain a straight face. He knew the cause but decided he wouldn’t mention it, not yet. He chuckled at your statement, his eyes roaming your face as he spoke. “Well if you keep talking then yes, it will. Now stop standing around and get started, the sooner you start the sooner you can return to the garden.”

You purse your lips, almost embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking, not even realizing it. You walk over to his desk and sit down as start copying his notes into new files. He watched you silently as you sat down, his gaze following your every movement. Something about you was different from the other nuns. You were more lively, outspoken even, and seemingly unafraid of his presence, of his status. He liked this fact, he found it refreshing. As you copied his notes he continued to look at you, his eyes flickering from your face to your hands, watching as your pen raced across the paper, copying his handwriting perfectly.

After a long while of copying documents to new files, you stop for a moment and look up at him. “Why did you pick me, Father? To help you, I mean.” He was somewhat surprised when you looked up from your work to ask your question, he had been so focused on studying you, he hadn’t realized how long you had been copying documents into files.

He took a moment to respond, his mind searching for a suitable reply. He couldn’t just tell you that he wanted an excuse to have you all to himself alone in his office, he couldn’t tell you how he wanted to push your buttons, wanted to see how far he could go with you before you protested. “You just happened to be the closest to me in the garden.”

He was fibbing. Knowing there were other nuns out there with you. You tilt your head slightly as you continue looking at him. “Are you lying to me, Father?” You ask quietly, seemingly mocking him from earlier as he had asked you the same thing.

A smirk involuntarily tugged at the corners of his lips as you mimicked his earlier question. He folded his hands on top of the desk to keep from touching you. As stubborn as you were, he found your attempts to be cheeky humorous. He hummed in response, his eyes narrowed slightly as he observed your face, watching as you stared at him expectantly, awaiting a response. He shook his head slowly, deciding to humor you.

“And if I was? What would you do about it, hm?”

Shocked at his response, thinking to yourself what would you do, really? “Well, lying is a sin, Father.”

He hummed again, his smirk now fully formed on his face. Oh you were good. And a smartass too. He was finding it increasingly harder to maintain his usual authoritative demeanor in your presence when you were acting so bold. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of himself. He tilted his head, his eyes raking over your figure, taking in how you sat so innocently on the edge of your chair, your habit falling around you. "A sin indeed. But what about obeying a Priest, hm? You seem to have a hard time with that one, sister."

You look down with a small smirk as you let out a small “hm”. He got you there. “It seems we both have our own sins.” You pause for a moment. “But I guess that’s what confession is for, right Father?” You question as you look back up at him.

He could sense the sarcastic tone of your voice when you spoke. Oh you were definitely testing his patience, how far could you push it before you got a response? His mind wandered to the question of whether you spoke to the other priests like this, or if he was the one you enjoyed sassing most. He smirked right back at you, his eyes never leaving your face. He leaned forward, resting his forearms onto the desk and interlocking his fingers.

“Yes, you would be correct. But something tells me you don’t take the confessional quite seriously, do you?”

You can feel your chest get heavier with each little poke and prod he does, seemingly trying to get you to break. You tilt your head at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Now what makes you say that, Father? Personally I believe I take my confessions quite serious, isn’t that all that matters?”

He chuckled, observing you intensely as you continued to resist his attempts. Your stubbornness was, he had to admit, quite attractive. He found it almost endearing in a way. He sat back in his chair again, a smirk still on his lips as he spoke.

“Hm, yes I suppose so. But what I think is that you don’t confess half of the things that go through your mind. You like to hold back on information. You seem the secretive type, wouldn’t you agree?”

You keep your head at the same little tilt. You speak quietly, “I could say the same thing about you, Father. You seem like you have a lot of deep secrets, ones you wouldn’t tell a single soul…”

His eyes darkened, his smirk fading as you responded to him. He clenched his jaw at your comment, an edge now to his voice. He leaned forward again, his gaze fixed on your face as he spoke, each word coming out more slowly than the last, his tone slightly laced with anger. “Watch what you say to me, sister. Don’t presume you know things about me.”

A small smirk plays on your face and then fades. “I’ve watched you more than you think Father. Sneaking away from the other priests, when you think nobody is watching…” You lean forwards to his desk.

He grits his teeth, anger slowly building up in him again. He didn’t like the fact that you had noticed. He prided himself on being a private man. And no one, especially a young, innocent-looking nun, should be able to watch his every move so carefully. He slams his palms on the desk, standing up, his towering figure now looming over you as he spoke, his voice coming out in a low whisper.

“And what exactly have you witnessed, sister?”

You flinch slightly and lean back into your chair as he slams his hands down and stands over you. You look down not wanting to look up at him. A small smirk can’t help but play at your face, knowing you finally broke the so called stoic priest. “I haven’t witnessed anything, Father…” You speak in almost a whisper now.

He could see the small smirk on your face, and it annoyed him more than it should have. You were being defiant, trying to play coy, when underneath it all, you were enjoying this, goading him on. He grabbed you chin and roughly pulled your face up to look at him, his fingers holding your jaw tightly. He clenched his jaw as he spoke, his voice coming out in a low, frustrated tone. “You may be innocent-looking, but you’re not as simple and sweet as you seem, are you, sister?”

You look up at him with your eyes as he holds your chin, forcing you to look at nothing but him. You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “Clearly neither are you, Father...”

He chuckled darkly as you speak back to him again, his grip on your jaw tightening as you continue to taunt him. He was becoming more and more frustrated with you. With how you continued to test his limits with no remorse. How you continued to toy with him as if you had no idea of the effect you were having on him. He leaned in closer to you, his face now mere inches from yours, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

“Be careful, sister...your brattiness is going to get you in trouble someday.”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare get me in trouble with the knowledge I have on you.” A small smile peaks through him grabbing your jaw, your eyes showing something more than retaliation. Still keeping your calm whispering tone.

His eyes darkened again, a look of frustration crossing over his face as he heard your words. He knew you were right. You had power over him. You knew too much. He was in a lose-lose situation with you. He leaned in even closer, so close now that you could feel his breath on your face. His eyes raked over your face again, taking in every part of you. He spoke in a low, almost menacing tone.

“And what exactly is it that you know, sister? Pray tell.”

You can feel his fingers pressing into the skin of your cheeks and jaw. The small smile still drawn on your face. “Oh I couldn’t tell you Father, that would be no fun.”

He clenched his jaw again, his fingers digging even harder into your skin. He knew exactly what game you were playing now. And he hated that. He hated that he was caught in your trap. Caught by some young, insolent nun. He took another step forward, essentially boxing you in against his desk, his face now mere centimeters from yours. His voice came out as a harsh whisper, the frustration and anger slowly bubbling over.

“You really think you’re clever don’t you, sister?”

“I’m more than clever Father.” You take your hand and move it to his that’s gripping your face and grab it. “Be careful, before you leave a mark. Wouldn’t want people questioning you now.”

He flinched as your hand reached up and grabbed his, but he didn’t pull away, instead letting you hold it there against your face. He knew you were right. He couldn’t mark your skin or people would notice. People would talk. And he needed to maintain his image. He didn’t respond verbally, his eyes just looking down at you, a deep frustration settling onto his face as his hand relaxed slightly against you, his fingertips no longer digging into your skin, instead lightly resting against your face.

A small open smile paints your face, it has a slight smirk to it as your hand is still resting on his. You let it linger for a moment before moving it away. You take a step back from him, noticing the time. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning in confession Father. No more lies.”

He watched as you smiled up at him, that look of smugness and satisfaction on your face made his chest ache with anger. He hated that you were in control here, but he had no choice but to give in. He couldn’t risk you saying something to the others about him. He stepped back slowly as you took a step back from him, his mind reeling with thoughts of anger and annoyance, but also something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Tomorrow morning, sister. You’d better have something good to confess.”

“As you, Father.” You give a small nod before leaving his office.

He clenched his jaw as you left the office, his mind racing as he watched you go. You were a cheeky bastard, a smartass. But you had a point. He did have things he needed to confess. Things you didn’t know about. Yet. His hand reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Dammit. He had to stop letting you get to him like this.

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GUYS. i’m so excited for this series, it is so good so far, i can’t wait to see where this goes. also can we just make note of the red boots and the CHAPS?

anyways if this does well ish i’ll do a part 2.

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/acetaminphen/763614566704922624/forgive-me-father-pt-2

[spencerreidwifey]

A House In Nevada - Spencer Reid

(loosely based on A House In Nebraska by Mother Cain & this TikTok)

Summary: It had been five years since that house, and yet they are still plagued by what happened and what could have been—or maybe what still is.

Masterlist!

Teenage!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Season one!Spencer Reid x Female Reader Season ten!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Angst⏳ & Fluff 💌 Ending

Word count: 11.3K

Warnings: Timejumps, Humor, Explicit Language, Sexual Content, Emotional Struggles, Mental Health, Romance, Emotional Angst, Unresolved Love, Religious Themes, Sexuality, Purity Culture, Family Struggles, Feelings of Inadequacy/Worthlessness, Tenderness/Comforting Themes, Emotional Angst, Heartbreak, Grief/Loss, Depression, Abandonment, Anger, Guilt, Regret, Trust Issues, Betrayal, Alcohol Consumption, Relationship Drama, Emotional Vulnerability, Intimacy, Happy Ending.

1997, June

 As they lay together on the worn, dirty mattress, the threadbare cloth covers barely shielding their bare skin from the biting cold, their breath escaped in faint plumes of fog. The air was still, save for the quiet aftermath of their shared intimacy, their hearts beating in rhythm as they tried to catch their breath. Spencer lay on his side, his sharp features softened in the dim light, his hazel eyes studying her with quiet reverence.

(Y/N) stared up at the crumbling ceiling, lost in a maze of thoughts that seemed to drift aimlessly between everything and nothing. Her expression was serene, though a flicker of curiosity played on her lips. Spencer could have stayed like this forever, just watching her, memorizing the contours of her face, the way her hair fanned across the mattress like a halo. He was so captivated that he didn’t realize she had turned to look at him until her voice broke the silence.

He blinked, caught off guard, and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, my love. What did you say?”

She didn’t seem bothered, her affection for him evident in the patient smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Her pupils, wide and dark, gazed at him with a love so deep it made his chest ache.

“I said, can you imagine if we just had sex and there are rats in here?” (Y/N) repeated, her tone light and teasing, as though the absurdity of the thought amused her.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he processed the question, and then the familiar spark of intellectual excitement lit up his face. “Well,” he began, propping himself up slightly on one elbow, “it’s actually quite probable. A house like this—abandoned, in a state of disrepair—is the perfect habitat for rats. They’re remarkably adaptable creatures, you know. The brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, for example, is known for its ability to thrive in urban and rural environments. They’re incredible climbers and swimmers, which means even if the house is difficult to access, they—”

“Spence,” she interrupted, a soft laugh escaping as she reached up to place a finger against his lips. “I was joking. I meant it’s kind of gross, not an invitation for a lecture on rat biology.”

His mouth closed, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had once again gotten carried away. “Right. Of course. Gross. I mean, they are gross, objectively speaking, but…” His voice trailed off, and a sheepish smile broke across his face.

She chuckled, her laughter warm and affectionate, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering peck to his lips. “Never change, genius,” she whispered as she pulled back, her forehead gently resting against his.

He relaxed into her embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Who’s occupying your mind?” Elena’s teasing voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her daydream. She flinched, startled, before quickly turning toward her best friend. To hide her reaction, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, taking a long sip and deliberately avoiding Elena’s knowing gaze.

“No one,” she replied, the words tumbling out far too quickly to be convincing.

Elena raised a brow, her smile widening with that playful, smug look she always got when she was sure she had hit the nail on the head. “No, you’re definitely thinking about him again,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with an undeniable knowing.

(Y/N) felt her face scrunch involuntarily, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Of course, Elena was right. She was always right about these things, and yet admitting it out loud still felt like an impossible task.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said defensively, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter as though the action could somehow help her hold onto control. “It’s been five years since I went to that house.”

Elena leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she absentmindedly swirled her tea. “Five years, sure. And yet you still think about him all the time,” she quipped, her smile widening. “Don’t deny it—you still love him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. The truth was suffocatingly close, hanging in the air between them, but she wasn’t ready to face it—not now, not ever. She scoffed, the sound sharper than she intended, a thin layer of defensiveness slipping over the raw feeling inside her. “That’s not true.”

Elena’s smile softened, but the certainty never left her eyes. She took another sip of her tea, shaking her head gently as if she were humoring a child who couldn’t see what was plainly obvious. “You can say whatever you want, but I know you. You’ve never stopped loving him, and you probably never will.”

She felt the weight of those words sink deep, settling in her chest like an unshakeable truth. She looked away, her gaze falling to the steam rising from her coffee cup. She could feel Elena’s eyes on her, steady and patient, waiting for some sort of admission. But she couldn’t speak. Instead, she stayed silent, and in the stillness, her silence spoke volumes.

It had been five years since she’d last been to that house—since she’d last seen him. Five years that hadn’t dulled the ache, the quiet longing that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the way things felt there—the rush of memories, the pull of a love that had once felt like home. And no matter how hard she tried to move on, something inside her still ached to return, to walk back through that broken door.

But instead, she sat there, silent, pretending to be fine.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999, November

Walking the familiar route to their house, the late teenage couple wandered through the trees, overgrown bushes, and the sprawling farmland. The path was a quiet escape from the world, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But today, the conversation between them felt heavier than usual, a tension in the air that neither of them could shake. They walked side by side, their pace in sync, but the weight of the moment seemed to stretch out between them.

Spencer glanced over at her, watching the delicate bounce of her necklace as she walked. The sight of it, swaying gently with each step, brought an odd sense of calm to his racing thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

“Do you think your father will ever accept me?” Spencer asked, his gaze drifting away from her face as if the question itself was too much to look at directly.

She didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking, her eyes trained ahead, but her lips pressed together in a way that meant she was thinking carefully. When she did speak, her words came with an air of practiced nonchalance, the way she always deflected difficult questions.

“A man who thinks that schizophrenia is caused by worshipping the devil?” Her voice was steady, but Spencer could hear the underlying pain in it. He knew it wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was the painful truth that shaped her relationship with her father. Her father had always been a strict believer in God, attending church without fail and pushing his beliefs onto her and her mother. But that same faith had no room for understanding Spencer’s reality, especially the fact that his mother was struggling with schizophrenia. The two worlds couldn’t have been more different, and the divide between them felt insurmountable.

She sighed, her breath visible in the cool air. “He already thinks that I’ve had sex and I’m not his perfect little girl anymore.” There was a bitter edge to her words, something Spencer had heard before. She had told him how her father believed that every time a woman had sex out of wedlock, a part of her died. A petite mort, as Spencer had corrected her when they first discussed it, a small but cruel idea that made her relationship with her father even more strained.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his heart aching at the thought of her carrying that weight. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He felt the need to erase the hurt from her eyes, even if just for a moment.

“You are perfect to me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words lingered between them, a promise that, despite everything they couldn’t control, Spencer would always see her as she truly was. Perfect, flaws and all. The weight of the world lightened, just a little, as they stood there in the quiet of the countryside.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Spencer?” The soft, familiar voice of Diana, Spencer’s mother, broke through the haze of his thoughts. He had been sitting in the small, sterile room of the psychiatric ward where his mother stayed, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the cold, winter air swirl outside. The holiday decorations in the ward were bright and festive, but the cheerfulness did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had come to visit her during Christmas break, as he always did, returning to his hometown to spend time with her. But today, something felt off—distant, even though he was right there in the room with her.

“You’ve been looking out that window for the past ten minutes,” Diana’s voice came again, gentle yet full of concern. Spencer blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could offer, the kind that always made him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of times. Snapping back to reality, Spencer tried to brush it off, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m alright, Mom,” he said, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest trace of exhaustion. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to add to the weight of her already constant concerns about him. She carried enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the cracks in him, to see how tired he truly was.

But Diana didn’t miss the subtle tension in his posture or the way his eyes seemed distant, as if the weight of the world was pressing against him. She had always known when something was off, even if Spencer tried to hide it. She had raised him, after all—her perceptiveness was something that had been honed over years of navigating her own struggles.

“You are my perfect boy, Spencer,” Diana said softly, her voice laced with warmth and unwavering love. Her eyes locked onto his with a quiet intensity, as if she was trying to press the weight of her words into his heart. “Always remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re feeling, you are my perfect boy.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the kind of truth only a mother could give. Spencer’s throat tightened, a lump forming as the rush of emotions he had been suppressing all day threatened to surface. His mother, despite everything she had been through, still saw him as perfect. It was a reminder, both comforting and painful, of the love that anchored him even when he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, his chest tight, and for a moment, he let himself believe it—let himself feel the warmth of his mother’s love, allowing it to wash over him. Even if he couldn’t always see the good in himself, she did. And for that moment, that was enough. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000, December

“Spence?” (Y/N)’s voice echoed through the broken-down house, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The house, if it could even still be called that, had seen better days long before they had claimed it as their own. The paths leading to it were worn bare, the grass never daring to grow back after countless trips in and out. It was theirs in a way no one else could understand—crumbling, imperfect, but filled with memories that made it feel like home.

The familiar groan of the warped front door announced her arrival, but there was no response. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter as she stepped inside and climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath her weight. Reaching the second floor, she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The dirty mattress lay on the floor as always, the cotton sheets doing little to mask the years of wear and stains.

But what caught her eye was the letter sitting atop it, her name scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting. The sight sent a chill through her chest.

Lowering herself onto the mattress, she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned the words, a heaviness settled over her, the room suddenly feeling colder and emptier. It was Spencer’s words, and she already knew this letter would change everything.

My dear (Y/N),

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, and I’m not sure where to begin. You’ve been my everything, (Y/N). My light when the world felt dark, my calm in the storm. Loving you has been the most incredible, life-altering experience I could ever hope for. Being with you has taught me things I never thought I’d learn—about trust, about vulnerability, about love. Not the kind of love that comes and goes, but the kind that stays, the kind that roots itself so deeply that no force on earth could ever truly uproot it.

You’ve always had this way of making me feel seen, of looking past all the things I try to hide, and loving me anyway. You made me feel like I could be more than I ever thought possible, just by being at my side. Your laugh—God, your laugh. I’ll never forget it. It’s the kind of sound that could soften the edges of the hardest day, the kind of thing that made me believe there was still good in the world, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I want you to know something: you are unforgettable. You are the type of person who leaves a mark on everyone you meet, but the mark you’ve left on me feels permanent like it’s carved into my very being. You’ve taught me how to be brave, how to let myself feel things I was always too scared to feel. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.

I don’t know if you’ll ever truly understand how deeply you’ve been loved. But I hope you feel it when you think of me. And I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for not being the person you needed me to be.

You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life.

Forever yours, Spencer

(Y/N) broke the moment her eyes reached the end of the letter. The words blurred together as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the paper in her trembling hands. She cried as she read it, cried harder as the weight of its meaning sank in, cried until her chest ached and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The silence in the house, once a comforting backdrop to their life together, now felt suffocating, pressing in on her like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Sliding off the mattress, she curled into herself, clutching the letter as if holding it tightly could somehow bring him back. Her sobs echoed through the empty house, filling the space he had left behind. The walls, which had once witnessed laughter and whispered dreams, now bore witness to her heartbreak, to the shattering of everything they had built together.

Hours passed, but the ache only grew. She lay on the filthy mattress that had been their refuge, their sanctuary, but it felt hollow now, nothing more than a pile of fabric and springs in a house that wasn’t home anymore. Spencer had promised he’d never leave, and that promise had been her lifeline. But now he was gone, and with him, he had taken the pieces of her heart that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

And that was what broke her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

(Y/N) wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her without thought or direction. The wind whispered through the trees, the sky above painted in soft hues of twilight. It wasn’t until she stopped, standing in the middle of a dirt road, that she realized where her walk had led her. Her heart sank as she recognized the familiar broken house in the distance, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

The house stood there, just as it had five years ago—weathered, battered, yet defiant. She stared at it, the memories flooding back uninvited. That house wasn’t just wood and nails; it was a monument to everything she’d shared, everything she’d lost. She didn’t even realize she had started walking toward it until her hand brushed against the old wooden fence.

“Hey, Bertha,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped the doorway lightly. It was a habit Spencer had started, a silly gesture he’d done every time they came here, like greeting an old friend. Now it felt like a ghost of the life they once had, a bittersweet echo that made her chest tighten. The front door hung open, as if inviting her in, but the thought of stepping inside made her stomach churn.

Meanwhile, across the abandoned cornfields, Spencer approached the house he had avoided for years. The sight of it sent a pang of guilt through him. “Bertha,” he murmured softly, the name falling from his lips like an old prayer. “You look the same as always.” The wind rustled the cornstalks around him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He had spent so long convincing himself not to come back, and yet here he was, drawn to the house like it was calling him. Each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the field, memories of laughter and love resurfacing with every inch closer.

Inside the house, (Y/N) wandered the familiar halls, running her fingers along the walls that once echoed with their shared whispers. Everything felt smaller now, the weight of time and grief pressing down on her. She paused by the window, looking out toward the fields, when movement caught her eye.

Her heart froze. Someone was walking toward the house.

She blinked, thinking her mind was playing tricks, but the figure grew clearer with every step. Her breath caught when she realized who it was. Spencer.

Anger flared in her chest, hot and overwhelming, overtaking the shock and sadness that had lingered for years. Without thinking, she stormed down the stairs, to the back door, the closest exit to the cornfields, her steps quick and purposeful. The broken screen door slammed behind her as she crossed the yard, her eyes locked on the man who had haunted her dreams and her nightmares for so long.

Spencer stopped in his tracks as the figure approached him, the fiery determination in her stride unmistakable. His chest tightened as he recognized her, her beauty still undeniable even as anger radiated from her like a storm.

“You’re not allowed here,” (Y/N) said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and pain. Her lips quivered, betraying the tears she was fighting to hold back. “You made that decision when you left me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he took her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though time had etched a hardness into her expression he hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N)...” he breathed, his voice soft, full of longing.

Seeing her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. He had thought about this moment a thousand times, but none of his imagined scenarios had prepared him for the reality of standing before her again.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have no right to be here.” He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but all he found was the raw wound he’d left behind.

(Y/N) shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “You don’t get to just show up here, Spencer. You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened. You left. You left without a word, without an explanation, and you took everything with you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of five years’ worth of pain spilling out all at once.

“I know,” Spencer said again, his own voice breaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew he had forfeited that right. “I know I hurt you. I know I can’t fix this. But I—I had to see you. I had to come back.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and desperate. “Why now? After all this time, why would you come back here, to our place, knowing what you did to me?”

Spencer looked down, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because this is the only place that ever felt like home,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Because you’re the only person who ever felt like home. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. But I had to see you, even if it’s the last time.”

(Y/N) turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. The words she had dreamed of hearing, the apology she had desperately wanted, had finally come. But the wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. And yet, for a moment, they simply stood there, two broken souls in the shadow of the house that had once held all their love.

Spencer couldn’t help himself—his gaze was caught in a rhythm he couldn’t break, oscillating between the cross resting against her chest and her eyes. Her eyes, which held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to witness. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar, like the comforting hum of a favorite song long since forgotten but never truly lost. It was a silence they had shared countless times before, but now it carried the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed him. With a quiet sigh, she reached up and gently fiddled with the cross around her neck, a small, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. The motion seemed to ground her, steadying her breath, easing her tumultuous emotions just enough to let the words come.

“He’s dead,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. “He passed two years ago.”

Spencer didn’t need her to say more. He knew who she meant. Of course, he did. Her father had been an unyielding presence in her life, a looming figure who had defined so much of who she was and who she fought to be. The news hit him like a sudden wind, unexpected and jarring, even after all this time.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing some of the distance between them, the broken-down fence still standing as a barrier between them. His eyes softened, filling with a sadness that wasn’t just for her loss but for all the ways he hadn’t been there to share the weight of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and regret.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Spencer wished he could say more, could offer something that might ease the ache he knew had settled in her heart long ago. But what could he say? I should have been here? I shouldn’t have left? I should have stayed to hold you through it all? None of it felt like enough, not now, not after all this time.

Her hand stilled on the cross, her fingers curling around it protectively, almost instinctively. She nodded once, acknowledging his apology, but the pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Diana,” (Y/N) greeted softly, stepping into the familiar, quiet room with a gentle smile. It was a ritual now, one that had been born out of a promise made long ago—a promise to Spencer during their teenage years, back when the world felt a little smaller and their love a little bigger. He had confided in (Y/N) about his fears, his guilt over leaving his mother alone, trapped in her own thoughts and memories. It was a promise (Y/N) never wavered from, even after everything had fallen apart between them.

Diana looked up from the worn pages of her diary, her face brightening with a smile that could only be described as maternal warmth. “Oh, my gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“Thank you, Diana,” (Y/N) replied, her smile widening but tinged with a subtle sadness she couldn’t quite shake. Sitting down beside her, she glanced at the familiar handwriting scrawled across Diana’s open journal. The pang of guilt hit her like it always did—memories of Spencer, of the house, of the way she’d left things with him, still fresh in her mind despite the passage of time. She tucked those thoughts away for now, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Diana said, her tone light, though her pen never stopped moving across the page. “Spencer is back in town.”

The words were delivered so casually, almost offhandedly, but they landed like a thunderclap in (Y/N)’s chest. Her breath hitched, and she froze mid-movement, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. Spencer. Back in town. The name alone was enough to set her world spinning, the memories rushing in before she had a chance to stop them. The broken-down house. The letter. His face when they had confronted each other just days ago.

“Oh?” she managed to say, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Diana looked up at her then, her expression soft and content, as if Spencer’s presence in town was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, my boy’s home again. He always comes to see me when he can. Such a thoughtful son.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) murmured, her throat tightening as she forced a smile. She glanced at Diana’s diary again, the pages filled with fragments of a life she had once been so deeply entwined with. A life that now felt impossibly far away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your mother already has a visitor,” the nurse informed Spencer gently as he approached the front desk, her voice soft and professional. Spencer paused, surprised. It was rare for anyone to visit his mother; she wasn’t close to many people, and Spencer himself was usually the only one who came regularly.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer replied quietly, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t trying to challenge the nurse—more so, he was questioning himself. Who could it be?

The nurse glanced at her chart, her tone still sweet as she clarified. “A (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

Spencer’s breath caught, his body stiffening as the name hit him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Her. Memories of (Y/N) surged to the forefront of his mind: the house, the letter, the confrontation just the day before. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name haunted him.

Seeing his reaction, the nurse hesitated before offering, “If it’s an issue, we can revoke her visitor privileges—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do that.” The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for (Y/N). But curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let go. “How long has she been visiting my mother?” He already suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it.

The nurse rechecked her records, her answer landing with a weight that Spencer wasn’t entirely ready to bear. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Spencer echoed under his breath, the words heavy with guilt. She’s been visiting her for five years while I—

He cut off the thought, straightening slightly. “Can you take me to her?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go—perhaps to see (Y/N) with his mother, to understand the depth of her loyalty. He didn’t intend to interfere, but the pull was undeniable.

The nurse led him down the familiar hallway to Diana’s room. From the doorframe, Spencer stopped, lingering awkwardly in the shadows. He stood there, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned against the threshold, watching.

Inside, (Y/N) sat beside Diana, their hand resting gently on hers as they spoke with warmth and care. Spencer could hear her voice, tender and soothing, as she asked Diana about her day, her writing, her dreams. It was the kind of care Spencer had promised himself he’d always provide—but (Y/N) had been the one to keep that promise, even when he hadn’t.

The sight made his chest tighten painfully. He watched her, her dedication shining brightly, as he stood rooted in place, grappling with the bittersweet reality before him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t think you’d still visit her,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken as he saw (Y/N) leaving the psych ward. She had been engrossed in her thoughts, her keys jangling in her hand, when his words stopped her in her tracks.

“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. Bitterness bubbled up from the place in her heart he had broken all those years ago. But underneath it, there was something else—something softer, yearning. She didn’t want to keep fighting, didn’t want to keep holding this grudge. What she really wanted was to fall into his arms and let his familiar scent wash over her, to be enveloped in the safety they once knew. Instead, she turned and began walking toward her car, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Spencer hesitated but followed, his steps careful, his presence lingering just close enough to be felt. “(Y/N)…” he said, her name falling from his lips like a plea. Hearing him say it again felt like a punch to the gut and a balm all at once—a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared.

She froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, her voice trembling slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me why you left, Spence? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? If anything, I would’ve understood.” She turned to face him, the hurt she had carried for years spilling into her words. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now heavy with questions she had been waiting far too long to ask.

Spencer’s face fell, guilt settling in his features like a storm cloud. “I was young and dumb,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… I thought that leaving you a letter would hurt less than having to look you in the eye and tell you I was leaving.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the ground. “But I see now that it was cowardly. That it was wrong.”

“Spence…” (Y/N) said, her breath hitching as tears threatened to fall. She looked at him for a moment, the ache in her chest threatening to pull her apart, before shaking her head softly. “For someone with an IQ of 187, that was the dumbest decision of your life.”

She turned and began packing the trunk of her car, her hands busy to distract from the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. Spencer watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wishing he could undo all the pain he had caused. All he wanted was to reach out, to hold her, to make things right—but he knew that forgiveness was not his to take. Not yet.

(Y/N) slammed the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lot. Spencer flinched at the noise, his heart sinking further into his chest. He hated the space between them, the invisible wall that felt insurmountable despite the years they had shared.

“Is there even a point to this conversation?” (Y/N) said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best effort to keep steady. She turned to face him, crossing her arms as if it could shield her from the vulnerability she felt under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the point, Spencer? You left. You decided I didn’t deserve the truth, and now you’re here like nothing happened.”

Spencer took a step closer, careful not to overstep the boundaries they had silently drawn. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly, his voice shaking. “I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the words. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, brushing a tear away angrily before it could streak down her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, Spencer. Sorry doesn’t erase the fact that you left me with nothing but a letter, no answers, and no closure. Sorry doesn’t take away the years I spent wondering what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spencer interrupted, his voice stronger now. He stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I left because I was scared, because I didn’t think I could be enough for you. You deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t bring all their baggage into your life.”

(Y/N) shook her head, disbelief mingling with heartbreak in her expression. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me, Spencer. I loved you. I still—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. Taking a step back, she turned away from him, staring at the car as if it could offer an escape from the storm of emotions.

Spencer hesitated, unsure if he should press further or give her the space she needed. “Do you really think I don’t know how badly I messed up?” he asked softly. “Every day, I regret leaving. Every single day, I think about you—about us—and wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. Seeing you here… it only confirms what I’ve always known: I’ll never stop loving you.”

(Y/N) turned away from Spencer, her chest tightening as she fought back tears. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, not yet. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath before speaking.

“Spencer,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need time. Time to process this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

Spencer nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “I understand,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his briefly. “You hurt me. You left without telling me why, and now you’re saying the things I’ve wanted to hear for years. But I don’t know if I can believe them.”

“I’ll wait,” Spencer promised, his voice steady despite the crack in his heart. “As long as it takes.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning toward her car. Spencer stayed rooted in place, watching as she walked away, each step making his chest ache. All he could do now was hope she’d find a way back to him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elane didn’t even bother to knock before stepping into (Y/N)’s home, her face a mix of disbelief and urgency. “You went back to that house?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the texts (Y/N) had sent—Spencer was back, and apparently, he wanted to make things right after everything he had done.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of her couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Elane,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and tinged with exhaustion.

Elane crossed her arms, her expression softening as she studied her best friend. She could see the storm of emotions brewing in (Y/N)’s chest—the confusion, the longing, the anger, and the vulnerability that came with someone reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“You obviously have to take him back,” Elane said simply, as though the answer was glaringly obvious.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. “Take him back? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Elane replied, unflinching. She knew exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. She had been there when Spencer left, when (Y/N) had crumbled under the weight of his absence. Elane had seen her at her worst—crying herself to sleep, replaying every moment of their relationship, searching for reasons in the silence he’d left behind. “Listen, Vi, I know how much he hurt you. Believe me, I know. I was the one holding you together when he walked away. But I also know that I haven’t seen you truly happy in a long time. As much as you hate to admit it, he makes you the happiest.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the floor as she twisted her fingers in her lap. She hated how right Elane was. She hated how the mere mention of Spencer’s name stirred something in her chest that felt dangerously close to hope. Rising from the couch, she turned away, heading toward her wine cabinet. “I need a drink,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of red wine.

Elane chuckled as she watched (Y/N) fumble with the cork. “Typical,” she teased, sinking into the couch. “Wine fixes everything, huh?”

(Y/N) flashed her a sarcastic smile as the cork finally popped free. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She poured them each a glass, handing one to Elane before sitting back down.

Hours later, the room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, and the two women were slumped against the cushions, giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Elane said, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter welled in her eyes. “I genuinely thought you only kissed him that night. And then you casually drop the bombshell that you went to that creepy abandoned house everyone thought was haunted to—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence through her laughter.

“To have sex,” (Y/N) finished for her, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself. She brought her glass to her lips, shaking her head at the memory. “What can I say? I was bold.”

“Bold? That’s putting it lightly!” Elane snorted. “You were reckless! But, honestly, I have to give you credit. That’s some next-level teenage rebellion.”

(Y/N) shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one with game, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Vi, I know. You had all the game. I mean, haunted house hookups? That’s iconic.”

The two dissolved into another fit of laughter, their voices echoing through the quiet of the late-night hour. For a moment, the weight of Spencer and all the complicated emotions he carried with him was forgotten. It was just two best friends, a bottle of wine, and a shared history of mistakes, triumphs, and the kind of memories that made life feel a little lighter.

“But seriously, Vi—what are you so scared of?” Elane’s voice softened this time, the playful edge gone. She leaned forward, her glass cradled between her hands, and looked at her best friend with genuine concern. “You know I’ve got you, no matter what. Just talk to me.”

(Y/N) stared at the deep red swirl of wine in her glass, hesitating. Her fingers traced the rim as though the motion might distract her from the emotions bubbling to the surface. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared he’ll leave me again.” She swallowed hard, as if forcing the words out made them easier to bear. “I don’t think I could survive that pain a second time.”

Elane’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in (Y/N)’s tone. She shifted closer, placing her wineglass on the table so she could focus fully on her friend. “Vi,” she said gently, waiting until (Y/N) looked up at her. “Trust me, Spencer could live a hundred lifetimes and still never forgive himself for what he put you through.”

(Y/N)’s lips parted, but no words came. Elane pressed on, her voice steady yet full of warmth. “He’s not just some guy, okay? You landed the one man on this planet who is actually in touch with his emotions. He’s not just sorry—he’s hurting, Vi. Probably just as much as you were when he left. Maybe even more, because he’s carrying the guilt of knowing he caused it.”

(Y/N) blinked back tears, the weight of Elane’s words sinking in. Deep down, she knew Elane was right. Spencer wasn’t like other people. He felt everything so deeply—he always had. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place. And part of what made losing him so unbearable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with cautious hope.

Elane smiled, her signature confidence shining through as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over (Y/N)’s. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Her tone was light, but her touch was steady, grounding. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or that he won’t screw up again. But I know you, Vi. I’ve watched you fall apart and build yourself back up. And if anyone’s worth taking a chance on, it’s Spencer.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and possibility. She glanced at Elane’s hand covering hers and felt a flicker of reassurance. The knot of doubt inside her didn’t unravel completely, but it loosened just enough to let a sliver of hope shine through.

“Thanks, Elane,” she whispered, giving her friend a small, grateful smile.

“Always, babe,” Elane said, squeezing her hand. “Now, finish your wine. You’re not getting out of a second glass just because I got all deep and emotional.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound light and cathartic. For the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been days—agonizing, sleepless days—of overthinking her decision without Elane’s steady presence to nudge her forward. Now, standing in front of Spencer’s childhood home, where he always stayed during his work holidays, (Y/N)’s mind was still at war with itself. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around and leave, to abandon the idea entirely. Her knuckles hovered near the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how terrified she was.

Before she could gather the courage, the door creaked open, and there he was. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking like he was on his way out—keys in one hand, wallet in the other, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh… Viv,” he said, his voice gentle, as though her name was a fragile thing he was afraid to break. The sound of him calling her by that nickname—Viv—hit her like a freight train. He hadn’t called her that since before their relationship fell apart, before those nights spent sneaking off to the old house together, before everything unraveled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how just standing here in front of him could undo all the walls she’d built. Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, not at all,” she lied, her voice shaky but determined to sound convincing. She toyed with the small cross necklace around her neck, her thumb rubbing against it in a nervous rhythm she couldn’t stop. But Spencer saw right through her; he always could. His gaze lingered on the anxious movement of her fingers, and she could see the understanding in his eyes.

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run. To turn and walk away, pretend this moment hadn’t happened, and let the fear swallow her whole. But her legs refused to move, leaving her frozen in place, rooted by a strange mixture of longing and dread.

“Here, come in,” he said softly, stepping back and holding the door open wider, an unspoken invitation. The warmth of his voice almost coaxed her forward, but her eyes darted to the keys and wallet in his hands, to the satchel on his shoulder. He’d been heading out, clearly on his way somewhere. She couldn’t impose—not like this.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost apologetic. “You’re busy. I’ll… I’ll come back another time.” She began to turn away, retreating down the driveway toward the comfort of her own childhood home. But before she could take another step, Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“I’m never busy enough for you,” he said, his tone so earnest it nearly broke her.

She paused, turning back to him. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, his eyes searching hers with a patience that felt as familiar as it was disarming. The door was still open, a silent testament to his willingness to let her in, no matter how unexpected her arrival.

(Y/N)’s gaze flickered between his face and the hallway behind him, the path that led to the familiar comfort of his home—a space that once felt as much hers as his. Her feet felt heavy, as though crossing that threshold would mean crossing into a territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Spencer waited, unmoving, giving her the space to decide but never pulling back his invitation. There was no rush, no pressure—just the soft warmth of his gaze, steady and unyielding.

After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her fingers still trembling as they brushed against the doorframe. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. But Spencer’s smile grew just a fraction, as if he understood the monumental effort that single step took.

And with that, she crossed the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest, a thousand fears and hopes colliding all at once. Spencer gently closed the door behind her, the quiet click reverberating through the stillness of the house.

They stood in the living room of Spencer’s house, the air heavy with the silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. The quiet felt like an old song—one they hadn’t heard in years, but somehow, the melody still lingered in the spaces between them, a bittersweet reminder of everything they once were. It hung there, unresolved, yet full of everything they hadn’t been able to say.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her necklace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the chain, a habit she had when she was nervous. Spencer noticed the small gesture—how it had always been her way of grounding herself when she didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He just watched her, waiting, as she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I came because I wanted to talk,” (Y/N) said, her voice soft, almost fragile as it broke the silence between them. There was an earnestness in her tone, a vulnerability Spencer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Spencer stayed silent, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words were trapped in his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, every inch of her looking both familiar and foreign to him now.

(Y/N)’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “I think I want to try again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the words could shatter something between them if she spoke too loudly. “Try us again.”

Her words lingered in the air, fragile and hopeful, yet underscored with a quiet fear. Spencer’s throat went dry, and though he longed to say something, anything, he didn’t interrupt. He let her continue, silently urging her to say what she needed to say.

“But I need you to know,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion, “that things won’t be the same as they used to be.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, as if the reality of what she was saying weighed too heavily on her. “We’re not the same people we were, Spencer. I’m not the same.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed, but Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softened, and something in him—something buried deep within—finally broke free.

“I understand, Viv,” he said, his voice low, steady, but filled with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest as his hand slowly reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he cupped her face in his palm. His touch was tentative, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them, but she leaned into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his hand soothed her.

(Y/N)’s hand moved to his wrist, her fingers gently wrapping around it, grounding both of them in that quiet space. She held on, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid of what might slip through her fingers if she did. Her eyes met his again, desperation and hope mingling in the depths of her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with an aching plea. She nodded softly, as if surrendering to the vulnerability, to the possibility of what could come next.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he leaned in, his hand still cupping her face, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as though both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how much they could risk. But then, as their lips met fully, the hesitation melted away, and something deeper, more desperate, surged between them—a longing for something they couldn’t quite name but both knew they needed. It was a kiss that spoke of loss, of hope, and of the delicate threads that still connected them, despite everything that had passed.

In that moment, the world outside of the living room seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, lost in the kiss, in the emotion that wrapped around them both, binding them in a way words never could.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

Three years had passed since that life-changing kiss, and somehow, their love had only deepened and matured, evolving far beyond the fleeting, sweet highs of their high school days. Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how their connection had grown into something profound, a bond forged by time, trials, and an unwavering devotion to one another.

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink, Spencer guided (Y/N) carefully along the overgrown trail leading to the abandoned house they had stumbled upon eight years ago. Back then, it had been their secret haven—a sanctuary where young love blossomed and the weight of the world couldn’t touch them. Now, it was about to hold an even more cherished memory.

(Y/N) clutched Spencer's arm, her steps tentative as she let him lead her while the blindfold obscured her vision. Her excitement was palpable, the corners of her mouth curving into a radiant smile despite her slight protests.

“Spence?” she asked, her voice bubbling with curiosity. “Where are we going? You’re being so mysterious.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Patience, Gorgeous. No peeking, I mean it,” he teased, his tone playful but gentle.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic sigh, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Fine. But you know I hate surprises.”

“And yet you’ll love this one,” he replied with quiet confidence, his free hand sliding to the small of her back to guide her over a patch of uneven ground. Finally, they arrived at the perfect spot, the very place they had once etched their initials into the weathered wood of the porch railing.

Spencer positioned her carefully, his heart pounding in anticipation. He couldn’t believe the moment had finally come. As he stepped back, his knees met the soft, wild grass, and he knelt, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The weight of the ring inside seemed to carry every unspoken promise he’d ever made to her, every dream they’d shared. Attached to the box by a slim, delicate chain was a small keychain, and hanging from it was an old-fashioned key, one that glinted faintly in the golden light.

He adjusted the blindfold slightly to ensure it stayed secure before speaking, his voice tender.

“Okay,” he whispered, his tone brimming with emotion. “You can take it off now.”

(Y/N)’s fingers moved to the blindfold, her motions careful, as if savoring the suspense. When she finally pulled the fabric away, her hazel eyes met the sight before her. The familiar, broken-down house loomed behind Spencer, but it was framed by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. And there he was, kneeling on one knee, his kind brown eyes gazing up at her with a mixture of love, hope, and nerves.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The velvet box in his hand creaked open, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring nestled inside. Her gaze shifted to the key dangling from the attached chain, realization dawning.

“(Y/N),” Spencer began, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “From the moment we met, you’ve been my everything—my anchor, my inspiration, my best friend. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. This house holds so many beautiful memories of us, and now it’s ours. I want to build even more memories here—with you, as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in (Y/N)’s eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, a million times yes!”

Spencer laughed softly, relief and happiness flooding him as he slipped the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit. Then he unhooked the keychain from the box and pressed it gently into her hand.

“It’s the key to the house,” he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “It’s ours now.”

(Y/N) stared at it, overwhelmed by the gesture, and then at the house behind him. “It’s ours finally,” she whispered, her voice breaking. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1998, September

As they lay together on the worn, makeshift mattress, the faint glow of moonlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a silvery hue over the room. (Y/N) shifted closer, her head resting against Spencer’s chest, her fingers lazily tracing the seams of his shirt. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of their breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

“But in all seriousness,” (Y/N) began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “what would you name your daughter?”

Spencer stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Then a soft, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Harper,” he answered, his voice gentle. “After Nelle Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

(Y/N) tilted her head up slightly, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Harper,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a melody. “That’s... really beautiful. Strong, but sweet. Like it’s meant to belong to someone with a kind heart.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always admired the way the book captures innocence and courage. It feels... timeless. And if we ever had a daughter, I’d want her to have a name that means something.”

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before resting her head back on his chest. “You’re always so thoughtful,” she murmured. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Spencer flushed faintly at her words, a shy grin breaking through. “What about you?” he asked, eager to shift the focus. “What names have you been thinking of?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a soft blush dusted her cheeks. “Magdeline,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s classic, but it feels... special. Kind of elegant.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider as he turned to look at her, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. “Magdeline,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “It’s stunning. It sounds like a name for someone destined to do something extraordinary.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh, her cheeks burning as she hid her face against his chest. “You always know how to make everything sound perfect.”

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against her. “It’s not hard when you’re the one I’m talking to,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, they were caught in each other’s gaze, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Slowly, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that was as sweet and hesitant as their first.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) rested her forehead against his, her cheeks still flushed. “Maybe we’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” she whispered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Maybe,” Spencer admitted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Imagining a little Harper or Magdeline running around, smarter than the both of us combined.”

(Y/N) grinned, her fingers lacing with his as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth only he could bring out. “It’s really nice.”

And in that moment, amidst the broken-down walls and the chaos of their teenage lives, the future felt less like an abstract dream and more like a tangible promise—a love story that was only just beginning.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2015

The house stood in front of them, a testament to the years of work they had poured into it. Once broken down, abandoned, and forgotten, the structure now stood proudly as a symbol of all they had built together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow on the new windows, freshly painted walls, and repaired roof. It wasn’t perfect yet—not by a long shot—but it was theirs. And it felt like home.

(Y/N) wiped a hand across her forehead, the sweat of hard work glistening on her brow. Her overalls were covered in streaks of paint, and her sneakers, which had once been white, were now stained with dust and dirt. The room she stood in—the living room—had come a long way since they first stepped foot in this place. The broken windows had been replaced, and the cracked floorboards had been carefully sanded down, then repainted. The mismatched furniture they had collected from thrift stores and flea markets now made the room feel cozy, lived-in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.

(Y/N) turned to look at Spencer, her gaze softening as she watched him carefully adjusting the placement of a new windowsill. The warmth of the afternoon sun caught in his hair, casting a golden glow over his features. His face was covered in a light dusting of sawdust, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes that always held that mixture of curiosity and affection—shone brighter than any material thing could. The man she had fallen in love with all those years ago was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Together, they had done all of this. They had created something beautiful out of what was once broken.

“Think we’re finally done with this room?” Spencer’s voice broke through his wife’s thoughts, his usual playfulness coloring the question.

(Y/N) smiled, crossing the room toward him. “Almost,” she replied, wiping her hands on the faded towel that hung from her belt loop. “We still need to finish the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the backyard.” She shook her head, laughing softly.

Spencer grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got time,” he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. “I’m just happy we’re finally here. I’ve never felt more... at home, you know?”

(Y/N)’s smile deepened, her heart fluttering at the simplicity of his words. This was more than just a house—it was their life, their future. They had rebuilt this place together,wooden panel by panel, just like they had rebuilt their relationship over the years.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It feels right. It’s like it was meant to be ours.”

Spencer met her halfway across the room, his arms slipping around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, his voice a quiet murmur in the calm of the room. “I think we did a good job.”

(Y/N) nestled into her husband’s chest, allowing herself to just be for a moment. They’d worked so hard to get here, and sometimes it still felt surreal. There were days when they’d wanted to give up, to walk away from the stress, the setbacks, the exhaustion. But now, looking around at the space they had turned into their own, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think that the struggle had been worth it.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of their daughter’s voice reached them before she appeared in the doorway.

“Mama! Dada!” Magdeline’s voice, high and full of excitement, made (Y/N)’s heart swell.

Spencer’s face immediately lit up with a smile as he looked toward the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his arms opening wide in invitation. “What’s up?”

Magdeline came bounding into the room, her chubby little legs carrying her with more energy than one would think possible for a three-year-old. She had her mother’s curls and her father’s eyes, and at that moment, she was wearing an adorable apron—too big for her tiny frame—that (Y/N) had gotten her for Christmas. Her hands, however, were covered in chocolate.

“I made cookies!” Magdeline said, a proud grin on her face as she held her hands up, showing them off as if they were some sort of treasure.

(Y/N) burst into laughter, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, did you now?” she asked, standing up from Spencer’s embrace and crossing over to her. “Where are they?”

Magdeline pointed excitedly toward the kitchen, her grin never fading. “Over there!”

Spencer scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Well, you know what they say—cookie bakers are the best workers,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she walked into the kitchen, Spencer and Magdeline trailing behind her. The kitchen had come together in the last few weeks, with new cabinets, countertops, and even a small breakfast nook where they could sit and eat together. It wasn’t large, but it had everything they needed.

Magdeline led them to the counter, where a plate of homemade cookies sat. The cookies were a little lopsided and covered in an uneven amount of frosting, but they were beautiful in their imperfection.

“These are amazing, sweetie,” (Y/N) said, her voice full of pride as she took a bite of one. The chocolate was rich and sweet, just the way they both liked it.

“Thank you, Mama!” Magdeline said brightly, her hands flapping excitedly as she bounced on Spencer’s hip. “Dada, have one too!”

Spencer gave her an exaggerated look of mock horror, making her giggle. “Are you sure they’re not going to make me turn into a cookie?” he asked, pretending to hesitate before taking a bite.

Magdeline’s giggle filled the room, and for a moment, the three of them were caught in that perfect bubble of happiness—the kind that only comes from simple, quiet moments.

After they had finished the cookies, the three of them worked together on the house, as they had done every weekend for the last year. Spencer worked on the trim in the living room while (Y/N) painted the kitchen cabinets. Magdeline, always wanting to help, had her own “tools”—small plastic hammers and paintbrushes that she used with exaggerated care.

It was far from glamorous. The work was tiring, the room often too hot or too cold, and there were still so many things to finish. Yet every time they stepped back to admire their progress, it felt like the house was slowly becoming something that could hold them all—their love, their future, and the memories they would create.

Spencer set down the last of the trim and came to join (Y/N) in the kitchen. He put his arm around her as they looked at their progress.

“I think we’re almost there,” he said softly, kissing her temple.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, almost. But it’ll be worth it.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It already is. Look at us. We’ve built something beautiful. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes soft. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, watching as the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the sky. The house was theirs. They had transformed it from the broken, abandoned shell it had once been into a place that was full of life.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” (Y/N) asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Spencer smiled. “All the time.”

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This house... this life... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Spencer kissed her gently, his lips lingering as he held her close. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Just then, Magdeline came running into the room, her little feet slapping against the floor as she grinned widely. “Look, Mama, Dada! I finished!”

(Y/N) laughed and turned to Spencer. “She’s our little renovator.”

Spencer grinned. “She’s already better than we are at this.”

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as she scooped her daughter into her arms, kissing her cheek. “I think she might just be the best of all of us.”

As they stood there in the warmth of their kitchen, their little family together, it was clear that this house had become something more than just a structure. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the future they were building together.

Magdeline Lee (Y/L/N)-Reid, with her infectious laugh and her boundless energy, was a living symbol of everything they had fought for. She was the light that filled the rooms, the hope that had carried them through all the hard days, and now, she was growing up in a home filled with love—a home that was their very own.

And as they turned out the lights for the night, ready to rest before the work began again in the morning, they knew that this house was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead of them. And they would face it all together.

After all, they had built it from the ground up.

And it was perfect.

Thank you for reading! Please like & reblog if you enjoyed! Masterlist!

Taglist! @topgunslut @donttrustlove @kakamixoxo

[eldritch-bf]

According to the novelization:

the fake name on Herbert’s name tag was L. A. Zarus. And it was Herbert’s idea.

Dan examined Rufus and determined he did die of suffocation and so Herbert wasn’t lying (never mind that Herbert could have simply killed Rufus with a plastic bag but)

Herbert probably accidentally on purpose killed his parents in a chemical fire

Dan’s parents died in a car crash when he was a toddler and was raised by his single aunt

Which makes them both dirty little orphans that have no one but each other

Dr Gruber left his money to Herbert so he’s basically loaded and throws money at Dan

Herbert accurately determined that Dan didn’t want to bury Rufus (which Megan did not) and so Herbert buried him for him

But also Herbert has some samples of Rufus’ cells in a Petri dish labeled “Arcane” for R. Cain. just so he doesn’t upset Dan. This man is ridiculous with puns.

Others have said this but Dan smokes weed and I’m so torn between that being absurd or Dan convincing Herbert to smoke with him and Herbert being super silly and emotionally honest

[nemesyaaa]

a house in nebraska ! rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary ; you were the reason he won't come home but you still call home. this story is based on the song of ethel cain.

warnings : it's angst. fully angst. it's about toxic relationship. so violence, arguing and fighting, sick behavior, daddy and mommy issues, the urge of love and being loved, mentions of drugs, the feeling of being misunderstood and unsteady. home is used as a metaphor of relationship. it's about inner rage too. slight of smut but very little. both rafe and reader being fucked up. southern goth/small town coded.

author's note : it's my first time writing angst so be easy one me please ! as i said, it's based on " a house in nebraska" by ethel cain (because she's my favorite artist and my muse.) and a lot of her songs make me think of rafe, but i also take inspo of her others songs like crush, strangers, and hard times. also a hint of bet on losing dogs by mitski.

i dont know how many words are in this works, but i think around 3k ? it's a one-shot ! BETTER TO READ IT WHILE LISTENING TO A SAD SONG. (a house in nebraska (live version)or anything else)

you lived in the nebraska with rafe, he was your man and you were his girl. it was a small town that allowed you to be just him and you against the world, to be safe from the rest. but the ugly truth was that your house had become a raging mess. the mattresses had become dirty, the silence too comfortable, the night too long, the emptiness too deep, the love too absent and the violence too present. everyone was angry here, even demons and the silence.

rafe was a storm, and every time you tried to calm it, you became further worse. no, you weren't becoming like him, you were becoming him, the mirror of his emotions, full of rage and inexpressible feelings. like a bomb, you needed it to come out, to scream and explode. like a bomb, you needed to hurt, and destroy everything in your way.

you had built this house together, when he still worked with his hands, oh god, how much you loved those big and strong hands, the dirt and bruises on his skin. the softness of his palms when he touched you, the pulsating veins engraved. they were made to love you, to caging you. they were always rushed with blood and wounds because of his work, but despite how dirty they were when he came home, they were always pure and clean on your body. but you also were so in love with his messy sweaty hair, caressing by the wind. he was tall and handsome, the kind of man who worked all day, and drunk at night, some whiskey or bourbon. but never missed to please the needs of his girl.

when he smoked his red marlboros on the porch, you were sitting on his lap like a sleepy girl to take a nap on his heavy arms that managed to hug your body. when he took a sip of his cold beer, while you had nothing to do but being his own pretty girl. when he allowed you to bathe him, cleaning the mess and the sweat. when you used to learn him how to play some classic music on the old piano, and he was just turned on by the way you used so damn well your fingers, and making you sit on the board, and fuck you right there, even if the windows were wide open.

at this time, you would have die for him.

when he still listened to what you said, when he still answered your calls and did not make you sick by his silence, when you laughed every time he came home . but now you were starting to hate the fact that he was coming.

how did the man who was supposed to make you so happy manage to break you so easily? but you weren't an angel either, oh far from it, you had neither wings nor halo on your head, you didn't even have god in your heart. you made him, like all men, your enemy.

it was four in the morning, it was still dark, you were waiting in the living room.

the tv wasn't on. rafe had broken it during an argument. that wasn’t the only thing he shattered, you had to be the hardest thing he does. not even with his fists, with just the force of his words, the way they were murderous, the way they had the force to tear your heart open and crushed it into pieces.

most people would say that this man was not the type to cry, that a man doesn't cry, but rafe cried. and you had seen him a couple of times, and the first time you saw him burst into tears, you knew straight away that it was the real him. that behind all this hatred, this anger, there was a hurted little boy. and who grew up with an open wound, a wound impossible to heal, even with all the love in the world.

rafe was the kind of man who screamed, who cried, who bled, a fallen angel who had lost god along the way, who had been ignored, but mostly, never heard.

when he opened the door to the house, you hated the strong smell of alcohol, but also of blood. you never asked him for anything, the only thing you wanted was for him to come home on time for dinner, to go to bed with you. but no one, absolutely, no one tamed a dog like him. and you rathered not bet on losing dogs.

“where were you ?? ” you had already started shouting due to lack of patience, getting up from the chair to confront him.

you had seen him sigh, making that bored face, like you had no reason to be upset, that face that made all women become even worse.

“if you had the same energy to scream when we fuck, we would have a fantastic sex life.”

“seriously, rafe? you want to play the asshole, right now ? ”

“ it will suit your bitch behavior, so why not ?”

you slapped him very hard in the face. what obviously rafe didn't find this very amusing, he crushed you in the wall, pinned your hands above your head.

“ don't you dare slapping me again. you want to be mean, sweetheart ? i can be meaner. let's see....oh this is the necklace that your mom offered to you before leaving ? how sweet. maybe, i can sell it for a good price. ”

“ rafe. don't. ”

he shushed you, by putting his other hand on your mouth. “ you're not allowed to talk right now. you had your turn for, now, it's my fucking turn. and i will do whatever the fuck i want ! it's my house, my rules. ”

he unhooked the necklace, as you tried to break away from his grip but he closed his fingers tighter against your wrists.

“I'm going to kill you, no matter what you do, i'm going to kill you. ”

“murder me” he said with a louder voice. “i’m asking you to murder me! it’s probably the only good thing you’ll have done well in your life. you know even if i die tonight, i will die yours. even if you kill me, i will always be here.”

he released you, and you exploded. “you have exceeded the limits, rafe! ”

” since when are there boundaries between us, sugar? we're freaks, remember? ”

you threw away the first object you found, it was an empty coffee cup. you threw it at his face. but he had dodged it with a sick smile. your jaw clenched, eyes blazing with fury, you were out of control. you were what he wanted you to be every time he came home late

” oh you can do better than that baby. i'm sure i taught you how to shoot better than this when i showed you how to kill? do you remember? ”

“ this, this fucking attitude, rafe is why everybody leaves you ! ”

“ yes. and do i fucking care, y/n ? do i fucking care ? i grew up in a family where nobody loved me, nobody reached after me, nobody looked after me, nobody dared to pay attention to me and you tell me i have to care about everyone leaving me ? no, it's not fucking fair ! so do you understand ? i don't care. if you want to leave, you know better than me that the door is open because you're the only one to be stucking in front, waiting like a fucking dog that i come come. ”

“ fine. i leave ! ”

you took the keys of the car, even if rafe hated that you drove, especially at midnight. but you were too upset, too mad.

your man wasn't done with you. he stood in front of the car you were driving.

“if you think i'm afraid of killing you, when you were the one who taught me how to do that, you're wrong. ”

" yes ? then show me how well i did my job. kill me. ”

“ rafe, i’m not kidding. ”

“ perfect, we are both serious then. ”

you moved the car forward, pressing the pedal with your feet. you hitted him with the car. it was strong but not violent either.

you got out of the car quickly to check on him. but he was smiling, a little blood on his face.

“are you sick!? ”

“ i raised you well, i fear. now, lick this face. i can see in your eyes how pretty you find me covered with blood, so please yourself, lick it all. ”

“ wait, i will find some tis….”

“ no, with your tongue. clean my whole face with your tongue. don't waste anything. i want to be able to kiss you right after, and recognize the taste of my blood all over your mouth. you want to be sick ? make me feel sick too. ”

maybe you were too young to realize that some loves could be bad. but this relationship was toxic. you had both destroyed each other, and it was complicated when you saw this world, this universe only through your union. you felt like you had lost a lot, like you had lost everything, like you had failed. maybe, you were the failure, and rafe, the problem. but also, maybe, he was the failure and you, the problem.

and you hated not knowing what was going on in rafe's head, you hated that no one on this earth could figure it out, and that even rafe himself didn't know it. he was crazy, he was sick but that wasn't all, it couldn't be just that.

you gave up the fight, going to the bathroom to take a bath. you needed some peace because the house didn't feel like a home anymore.

sometimes wheezie would call you to see if you were okay, she had grown up, and you lied to her all the time. because it hurt so much to be two in a relationship, but not feel like you were a part of it anymore. and the worst part of it all was that you could kill yourself for just one minute of affection, just one second of happiness, just one moment in the past when everything was okay. where rafe was still the sweet little boy you knew. but the stories were not meant to have a happy ending.

it was hard this feeling, this lack when he still lived with you in this terrible house. but one day you'll be the reason he won't come home again. but you would always call home. you promised yourself. because it would always be yours.

rafe had joined you in the bathtub. and you could tell by his red and empty eyes, his blank stare that he had been crying. he cried and he was not the drugs, he was you, only you.

and you didn't mention it. you didn't say anything. you preferred to stay smart and not start another fight.

“the walls could break down with so much screams. ” you said, laughing slightly.

“maybe we should sell the house. ”

“i like this house. i feel at home here. i have nowhere to go. ” you lied for the two first, but not for the last.

and it was true. you had built everything, paved everything here. you had remade a world. you couldn't leave, you couldn't leave anything. and above all, you were too tired to leave.

it would be a lie to say that you didn't had sex in the bathtub, that you didn't feel his tears on your shoulder, that you didn't feel his thrusts get harder each time a sob broke out his empty eyes, that you didn't feel how much he was breaking every time you took pleasure. because, it was hard for him to seeing you being happy. because it was so hard to take care of you. because it was so hard to feel loved and being loved. you were both too young, too stupid, too sick for love.

and rafe wanted to make you happy without sex, without all this selfish sex. no, he wanted to make you happy by some casual things. but sometimes, you pissed him off so bad to the point, he wanted to leave. but how can a man who hoped to be loved can leave the woman who promised to cherish him ? it was too tired, too angry, and too unsteady to leave. you broke him too. and it was sad for him, because you were the only one he was not scared to tell it hurts.

but at six in the morning you were fighting again as if it were a ritual, a need, a desire to destroy each other, as if sometimes love needed to be violent and destructive to work. actually, for freaks like you, surely.

“why did you throw my fucking drugs down the toilet?! ”

“because you don’t need that!” ”

“you don’t know what i need, you barely know what i want! you had no fucking right to do that. ”

“ don't be a crybaby ! ”

“ repeat. i dare you to repeat. ”

“crybaby! you're a fucking crybaby, rafe! your new personality changes nothing about the boy you were and will always be! what, you don't like the truth ? bad for you, i'm about to tell you what everyone doesn't want to tell you. because i'm not scared at all of you ! you're a fucking crybaby ! ”

“ but you're still here, you're still fucking here. because you know what ? i'm maybe a crybaby, but i'm a river worth wading. and this is why, you're standing in front of me with all this confidence. you wanted a broken man, you wanted someone to fix ? then come on baby, i'm here, i'm watching you, i'm listening, i'm literally at your feets, fix me ! fix the little boy you wanted, make him better. ”

“ rafe…”

“no, i'm asking you now who do you think you are? do you think that because you have this attitude, it doesn't make you a little girl who needs her daddy? because damn, yes, you need him. but i fear daddy was the only one who didn't need you because guess what ? he left. and you make all the men leave around you ! but the difference between us is that you care. when i fucking dont care.”

“ you're sick, a sick asshole. and don't touch me ! ” you pushed him away, but he came back, his hand on your throat. “ but you're the sick one who loves me, remember that ?” he answered.

“ but do you think i still love you ? ” you said with a smirk, taking pleasure to see his widen eyes. “ i'm asking you right now, do you think i still love you, and if one day, someone will like you like i do ? it would be so hard for you to find happiness after me, i can promise you this. you will fight a lot. because ? can you see ? can you see i can breathe without you, i can live without you ? but you, can you do this ? yes, you can fight, you can scream and shout but what else ? ”

“ it doesn't hurt, y/n. it doesn't hurt. and you can't break me, as you can't fix me. ”

“ then why are you crying, big boy ? why are those tears for, if not for me ? ”

“ i built a home for you, i did everything for you. ”

“ and then what ? ”

“ don't make me regret it, y/n. don't make me regret the only good thing i've made well in my life, just don't make me regret...this. you don't understand. why did every house i'm in never felt like home ? ”

“ you destroy everything, rafe. but me too, i guess. the difference is that you have an excuse, a reason for being like that. your dad fucked up with you. and i hate him for that. if he had loved you correctly, you would have known and learned how to love people, how to be attached to them. but you don't know any of that, you don't know what it is to love, and to be loved. everything i do for you, you could call it love, even when i'm mean. but it's false, love is tender, it's beautiful. but you know, i think i'm sick because i also like the way you love me, this violence, this rage, this impulsiveness, it drives me crazy but it makes me alive. so, do you think you could do it again? ”

“ why you didn't leave, why you never leave ? ”

“ because it's our house. we're stuck in forever. this is our house in nebraska, our only heaven. now be a good boy and cry a little for me, i think i'm going away a little...” you said, taking him in your arms, your hand placed on his back, and your hand pressed to his cheek. “don’t worry, i cry a lot too. all the time, even when you make me happy. ” you shushed him, bursted in tears in the hug.

you kissed him on the corner of his lips, your mouth meeting his tears, before he joined you in this kiss, you felt his sad and salty tongue against yours, his hands came squeeze your waist.

but now in the present, you were alone. the house still existed but it was just you.

you weren't sleeping anymore, because you kept hoping that he would come home, you were hoping that he would come home late at night.

but you were alone in a dirty and cold mattress. and you prayed for him hoping he was okay. the phone was broken but you were hoping to hear it ring, the door was open and you were waiting for a sign.

nothing was right, everything was wrong. you just wanted to say to rafe that he had you, that he had a house, and his home missed him, like nobody ever does in his life.

you didn't realize that you had been lying all this time, and that you were silently dying. but at least you died, only his.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Ch 10 part 1

masterpost

“Tyranny!” Damian bellowed. His little face was red with fury.

Cass crossed her arms and nodded agreement. She was not accepting any more changes to her life at this time. Things were already happening, too much.

“Nevertheless,” said cruel Batdad. “The pediatric nutritionist will be here tomorrow.” He was trying very hard to seem composed and unaffected by their upset. But he was affected. So affected. And yet he persisted on traveling down the wrong path.

Cass hissed.

Their natural ally, Alfred, put his nose up a little as he cleared the dinner dishes. He sniffed as he left, unhappy-stiff. Cass did not know how he had been defeated. Food was his domain, not some interloper with a pathetic weepy Doctorate of nutritional sciences.

“He designs the meal plans for child Olympians,” Batdad coaxed. He wanted them to like him soooo much. “Standard advice is not necessarily very useful for extreme athletes. You might feel better afterwards. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Gentle, gentle, pleading.

No!!!

Damian stabbed his fork upright into his cinnamon roll and pointed an index finger at their tormentor. “I will not submit. I consume an adequately varied and nutritious diet. Whatever your true aims are, I will not be moved.”

Cass scarfed down her own dessert messily, scowling at Batdad the whole time as if to say: come and take it from me. Can you? You can’t.

Duke watched this with clever eyes darting between Batdad and his siblings. His body said: I don’t care. But I won’t pick Bruce publicly. What can I get? Can I make trouble? 

Hmm. Cass didn’t like that. She narrowed her eyes at him. He should philosophically agree with their cause. She was going to crawl under his bed and hiss, scary sounds to wake him up and go BOO. 

She made a mental note to do that before patrol tonight. If she could even fit it in, jeeze.

Ugh. So busy. Always so much to do.

The tension was high when they trooped to the cave for briefing, before Duke went to bed and everyone else took their pre-patrol nap. Cass lingered sullenly because she wanted to hear Duke’s report on the mechanic. Jacqueline’s apartment had been sneakily snuck through. The conclusion?

“There’s a lot of work clothes in the apartment, but no tools or anything like that. No references or books, aside from a couple of ones from the university library.” Duke fidgeted, micromovement. Not an interesting report. Not an enjoyable detour. “There’s no indication as to what she’s been working on. I took DNA samples off some dirty dishes and hair off the sofa. They’re filed for processing.”

Disappointing. The next step was unclear. Cass frowned. Should they try to observe again? Wait for Jacqueline to leave her lair and follow? Perhaps they should enter the apartment and lurk, ask questions. Tell her: We know your criminal associations. Stop it. Stop it, Jacqueline.

Damian stuck his lips out. He would say: This is not a pout, Cain.

It was a pout.

“I see.” Timbird took notes, fingers flying. Tap tap tap. “You’re passing the case back?”

“It’s all yours,” he said, nodding to Damian. Babybat nodded solemnly. My responsibility. He looked at her. Cass nodded: I have your bat-back. Let’s creep on Jacqueline, as a family.

Hmm. It was too quiet. Usually, there was Batdad commentary. She snuck a look at him even though she and Damian were ignoring him for his cruelties.

Batdad was pondering. He was paying enough attention, but his mind was on something else. Hmm. Cass prodded him. “Ah- Tim, did you upload your conclusions about the Amity Park case?”

Oh. Cass kept her body still, letting it say: I’m bored, I don’t care.

Timbird sighed and ruffled his hair. The gel made a little crackle sound. “It’s a massive government coverup,” he said. Unhappy. “I think a few residents fled, but it looks like it was a mass murder of the residents. The tank tracks came from a subdivision called the GIW, which is ridiculously over militarized.” He opened a file on one of the many Batcomputer screens. It showed a complex of buildings, taken from above. Superboy photography? “They’re doing weapons development, and it appears to be based on the designs of local scientists, also missing.”

“These scientists were affiliated with the GIW?” Batdad asked.

Tim shrugged. “Unclear.” His mouth twitched, unhappy. “There’s evidence of some collaboration, but it seemed a relatively normal exchange of information. Now, the GIW appears to have all their patented inventions and is replicating them.”

“So either these scientists are on staff or they have been removed,” Damibat scowled. A grumpy line formed between his eyebrows. So cute. 

“Removed?” Duke repeated, amused.

“From this mortal coil,” Damibat repeated. Impatient. Keep up, Thomas.  Haha. Cass sniggered and stuck her tongue out. Yeah. Keep up, Duke.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 8

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"The fates already fucked me sideways,"

summary: the secrets out

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 8

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 7

next | chapter 9

The sun filtered through the church windows, casting a soft glow over the sanctuary where the girls' dance troupe had been practicing for hours. Tomorrow was the big day—the fellowship celebration—where all the church elders, members, and their families would gather to witness the performances. The pressure was on, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on your shoulders. This was your first time leading something, and the responsibility felt immense.

Jemima had been a godsend, helping you organize the routines, going over each step with the girls until everything was perfect. Her calm, reassuring presence had been a balm to your nerves. Joel had been equally supportive, his quiet encouragement easing the anxiety that had threatened to overwhelm you. Just thinking about him brought a smile to your face, even in the midst of all the stress.

During a break in the practice, you and Emma headed to the back of the church to grab some snacks and drinks. The two of you chatted idly, the tension from the rehearsal melting away with each laugh you shared. It was a rare moment of calm, one you desperately needed before the whirlwind of tomorrow’s event.

But then, as you reached for a bottle of water, a familiar, unwelcome presence loomed over you. Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see Jamie standing there, his eyes dark and malicious.

“Hi, Jamie,” Emma greeted him casually, completely unaware of the storm brewing beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie ignored her, his gaze locked on you, a twisted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you tell him, hm?” His voice was low, taunting, sending a chill down your spine.

You froze, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach. “What are you talking about, Jamie? Just get out of here.” You tried to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the snacks, hoping he would just leave you alone.

But Jamie wasn’t finished. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “I know about you and him.”

Your body went rigid, the blood draining from your face. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, hoping to deflect his insinuations.

Jamie chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “Don’t play dumb. You think I wouldn’t find out? I knew you were always a dirty slut, but damn, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Emma glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s going on?"

You didn’t answer, your mind racing, trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation. “Jamie, just leave me alone,” you repeated, your voice shaking.

But Jamie wasn’t done yet. His eyes glittered with malice as he continued, “If you say anything about us, I’ll make sure everyone knows about you and Joel.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure Emma could hear it. The mention of Joel’s name made you freeze in place, terror gripping you like a vise.

Emma’s eyes widened as she processed what Jamie had said. She looked at you, then back at Jamie, horror dawning on her face.

Jamie grinned wickedly, relishing in your fear. “Oh, she didn’t tell you, did she? The saint preacher's daughter over here has been fucking around with good ol’ Joel Miller. Isn’t that right?”

Emma’s face went pale, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. “Jamie, stop,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. But he ignored you, his cruel words cutting deeper with each passing second.

“He’s old enough to be your dad, for God’s sake,” Jamie sneered. “He should be in jail for what he’s done to you, and you…you should be ashamed of yourself. But then again, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always such a little whore.”

Jamie’s words hit you like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crashing down on you. Emma stood frozen beside you, her eyes wide and filled with disbelief.

“I…” You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Jamie’s threats hung in the air, and the reality of what he could do, the damage he could cause, made your head spin.

Without another word, Jamie turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you and Emma standing there in stunned silence. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, everything spinning out of control as you tried to process what had just happened.

"Emma..." you said. you are scared, scared to death.

Emma’s eyes were wide, her face pale with shock as she pulled you into the small storage room, slamming the door shut behind her. The dim light barely illuminated the cramped space, casting long shadows on the walls. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest echoed in your ears, drowning out the faint hum of the air conditioning unit.

“What the fuck?” Emma’s voice was a harsh whisper, her hands trembling as she ran them through her hair. “Joel Miller? Ellie’s dad?! Are you fucking crazy?!”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Panic seized your throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. You felt trapped, cornered by both Emma’s piercing gaze and the weight of the secret that had just been exposed.

“I…I can explain,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. But even as you said it, you knew how hollow it sounded. How could you possibly explain something like this? How could you make her understand the connection you felt with Joel, the way he made you feel safe, loved, and cherished in a way you had never experienced before?

Emma’s expression softened for a moment, as if she could see the turmoil in your eyes. But it was quickly replaced by a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Explain? What’s there to explain? This is crazy! He’s twice your age, he’s Ellie’s dad and YOUR DAD'S BEST FRIEND!, for God’s sake. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

"This could ruin everything. Do you even realize the danger you’re in? What will happen if your dad finds out? If the church finds out?” She said again.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to break down. “I know how it looks, Emma, but it’s not like that. It’s not just some fling or something… I love him, and he loves me.”

Emma stared at you, her mouth agape, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Love? You think this is love? He’s a grown man, He should know better!”

“He does know better,” you shot back, your voice rising in desperation. “But I’m not a child, Emma. I know what I want, and I want Joel. He’s not taking advantage of me. It’s real. He protect me, he...he's always there for me,"

Emma shook her head, her face a mix of anger and hurt. “You’re so blinded by this…whatever it is that you can’t see how wrong it is. What do you think is going to happen when people find out? What about your dad? He’ll go ballistic. And Joel…he could get in serious trouble. You’re both going to get hurt.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, the reality of the situation crashing down on you. You knew she was right, but the thought of losing Joel, of being torn away from him, was unbearable.

“Emma, please,” you begged, reaching out to grab her hand. “Please, don’t say anything. I know this is a mess, but I can’t lose him. I love him, and I don’t care about the consequences. I just…I just need you to understand.”

Emma looked down at your hand clutching hers, her expression torn. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, and you held your breath, praying that she would somehow find it in her heart to forgive you, to keep your secret.

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t know what to do. This is so messed up. You both will get exiled! Or worse, he could be in jail for molesting you!”

Her words struck a nerve, the idea of Joel being painted as some sort of predator made your blood boil. “He did NOT molest me!” you snapped, your voice rising with a fierce intensity that startled both of you. Emma’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you couldn’t hold back the torrent of emotions any longer.

“He didn’t do anything wrong, Emma,” you continued, your voice trembling but steady. “He didn’t force me into anything. I wanted this. I wanted him. Joel is a good man, and you don’t understand—he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel like I’m worth something. He’s been there for me when no one else was, not even my own dad.”

Emma’s face softened, but there was still a deep conflict in her eyes. Don’t you see how wrong this is? It’s not just about love or how he makes you feel. This could destroy everything—for both of you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside you. “I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s not what people expect. But it’s real, Emma. What we have is real. And I don’t care if it’s wrong in the eyes of the church or society. All I know is that I can’t lose him. I won’t.”

Emma shook her head, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. “You’re not thinking straight. This isn’t just about you. It’s about him too. If this gets out…if people find out, it won’t just be your life that’s ruined. Joel could lose everything. His reputation, his business, his freedom. Is that what you want?”

The weight of her words hung heavily between you, but you couldn’t back down. “No, of course not,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “But I can’t just walk away from him. I love him, Emma. I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone else. And I can’t imagine my life without him.”

Emma’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for some sign that you might change your mind, that you might realize the gravity of the situation. But she didn’t find it. Instead, she saw the depth of your resolve, the unyielding determination in your gaze.

“Then you better be prepared for the consequences,” she finally said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Because this won’t end well. Not for you, not for Joel. And I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as you faced Emma, your heart pounding with the weight of the truth you were about to unveil. “I’m already hurt, Emma,” you whispered, the words trembling on your lips. “Every day I have to pretend that I’m okay, that I’m fine living this life. But I’m not. Joel is the only thing that makes it bearable. And I’m willing to risk everything for him.”

The desperation in your voice hung heavily in the air, and you saw Emma’s resolve begin to waver. Her eyes softened, the anger and judgment in them slowly being replaced with concern and fear for you. “Please, Emma,” you begged, your voice cracking, “please, I'm begging you, don’t tell anyone. Joel’s not the bad guy. He’s not who you think he is. He saved me.”

Emma hesitated, her face torn between wanting to protect you and not fully understanding the gravity of the situation. You knew there was only one way to make her see, to make her understand why you couldn’t let go of Joel—why you couldn’t go back to the way things were before.

Taking a shaky breath, you let the words spill out, words you’d kept buried deep inside for so long, words that had been eating away at you like a poison. “You want to know the truth, Emma? The real reason why I’ve been avoiding Jamie? Why he’s been threatening me like that?”

Emma’s eyes widened, fear creeping into her expression as she shook her head slightly, as if not wanting to hear what you were about to say. But you couldn’t stop now, not after holding this secret for so long.

“Because he raped me,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the word, the shame and pain you’d been carrying for so long finally breaking free. “He took my virginity by force, Emma. He didn’t care about me—he just wanted to prove he could have me, no matter what. And when he was done, he left me there, feeling like nothing.”

The tears finally broke free, streaming down your cheeks as you saw Emma’s face pale, her eyes filling with horror and disbelief. “He—he did what?” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your voice wavered as you continued, the weight of your confession bearing down on you like a cross too heavy to carry. "I felt so dirty," you whispered, your words trembling in the still air between you and Emma. "So broken. I wanted to end it all, to just disappear and never have to feel that way again. I started drinking, hiding bottles in my room, sneaking out at night just to numb the pain. I even went to church drunk, praying to God to take this all away, but no one ever noticed.”

The words tumbled out like confessions at a confessional, your voice cracking under the strain of so much pain. "Every night, I would whisper to God, pleading for mercy. I’d pray for the angels to come down and take this burden from me, to carry me away on their wings to a place where I didn’t have to feel this pain anymore. And if no angel would come, I begged for death, for the final peace of oblivion, because I couldn’t keep fighting. I was drowning, Emma, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break the surface.”

You took a shuddering breath, your hands shaking as you clutched Emma’s arms, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood. "I prayed for deliverance, for a way out of this darkness. I asked God to send me someone, anyone, who could make me feel whole again, who could remind me that I wasn’t just a vessel for shame and sorrow. And then Joel came into my life, like a beacon of light in a storm. He made me believe that maybe I wasn’t beyond saving, that maybe there was still something left in me worth loving."

Emma’s eyes were filled with tears, her face a picture of grief and understanding. She didn’t say anything, just held you tighter, as if trying to shield you from all the pain you had been carrying alone for so long.

“And now, I’m terrified, Em,” you admitted, your voice breaking completely. “Because I’m afraid that if I lose Joel, I’ll lose the last bit of hope I have left. I don’t want to go back to that darkness, to that place where I prayed for death. I don’t want to feel that way again.”

Emma’s arms tightened around you, her tears mingling with yours as she whispered, “You won’t go back there. I promise, you won’t be alone anymore. I’ll help you through this, whatever it takes.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air like incense rising to the heavens, a prayer of desperation and sorrow. And in that moment, you felt a glimmer of something—something like hope—begin to take root in the cracks of your broken heart. Emma’s embrace was like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of the abyss you had been teetering on for so long.

"I can't lose him, I can't," you said, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter the fragile hope beginning to bloom within you. The thought of a life without Joel, without the one person who made you feel seen and loved, was unbearable. You clung to Emma as though letting go would mean slipping back into the darkness that had once consumed you.

Emma held you tighter, her hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "You're not going to lose him," she murmured, her voice firm yet gentle. "We’ll figure this out, okay?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your face in Emma's shoulder, her words offering a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately. It was the first time in a long time that someone had promised to stand by you, no matter the cost. "Thank you, Emma," you managed to choke out, your gratitude overwhelming.

Emma pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her expression serious. "You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere."

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes. The fear still lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. With Emma by your side, the path ahead seemed a little less daunting. The darkness that had once felt all-consuming now had a small, flickering light within it—a light that you were determined to hold onto.

But as the two of you stood there, the reality of your situation pressed in on you once more. Jamie’s threats echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the fear of what he might do. The thought of him exposing your relationship with Joel sent a shiver down your spine.

“What if he tells?” you asked, your voice tinged with anxiety. “What if he goes to my dad, or the church? Joel could be ruined, and I—I don’t know what would happen to me.”

Emma shook her head, determination hardening her features. “We won’t let that happen."

You swallowed hard, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. Emma’s faith in you, in both of you, gave you strength.

As you stood there, side by side, the weight of the world felt just a little bit lighter. The storm was far from over, but at least now you knew you didn’t have to face it alone.

***

The night had settled in, wrapping the world in a cloak of darkness as you and the other girls finished your practice. The church hall was now empty, the echoes of laughter and chatter fading away as everyone headed home. The dance routine had been drilled into your muscles, each movement precise, every step aligned with the rhythm. You had pushed yourself hard, knowing that tomorrow would be a day of judgment—not just for your performance, but for the life you had chosen to live in secret.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air kissed your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the practice room. The streets were quiet, almost eerily so, with only the occasional flicker of streetlights breaking through the darkness. The silence was a stark contrast to the noise in your mind, where thoughts swirled like a storm.

Emma offered to drive you home in her new car, her concern evident in the way she lingered, keys in hand. "Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It’s getting late," she asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

You shook your head, forcing a small smile. "I’ll be fine, Emma. I just need to clear my head a bit. I’ll walk."

She hesitated, searching your face for any sign of doubt. "Alright," she finally said, though her eyes still held a trace of worry. "Just… be careful, okay?"

You nodded, reassuring her with another smile. "I will. See you tomorrow."

With that, you both exchanged goodbyes, and you started your walk home. The night seemed to press in around you, the darkness heavy with unspoken fears and unvoiced hopes. Your footsteps echoed on the pavement, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

You clutched your backpack a little tighter, its weight grounding you as your thoughts drifted. Tomorrow was supposed to be a big day—your dad would be home early, the church event would be in full swing, and all eyes would be on you. But all you could think about was Joel. The way he made you feel alive, seen, and cherished in a world that often felt cold and uncaring. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, of having that light snuffed out by the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The streetlights cast long shadows on the road ahead, their glow flickering like the doubts that gnawed at your mind. What if Jamie followed through on his threats? What if your dad found out? The thought made your chest tighten with fear. You had built this delicate web of secrecy, each strand woven with care, but it could all unravel with just one word, one misstep.

You tried to push the fear away, focusing instead on the warmth Joel had given you, the way his presence had pulled you back from the edge time and time again. You repeated to yourself that you couldn’t lose him—not now, not ever. He was your anchor, your sanctuary in a world that had so often felt like a battlefield.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late. As you rounded a corner, a rustling sound from the bushes made you pause. Your breath hitched, and you stopped in your tracks, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, like a specter emerging from the darkness, Jamie stepped out from the shadows, his presence cold and menacing. His lips curled into a twisted smile as he saw the fear flash across your face.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice low and taunting. His presence casting a dark shadow over you. You took a step back, a chill running down your spine. “Get the fuck out of my face, Jamie,” you demanded, your voice trembling but resolute.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he advanced. “You told Emma about me, didn’t you?” His tone was cold and accusatory. Fear tightened in your chest, but you tried to hold your ground.

“If you ruin me, I’ll make sure I ruin you,” he sneered, his threat hanging heavy in the air. “I’ll make sure they take him away from you.”

Desperation and anger flared inside you. “What the fuck do you want from me?!” you shouted, your voice breaking with emotion.

Without warning, Jamie’s hand clamped over your mouth, dragging you toward the bushes. You struggled against his grip, trying to scream for help, but his strength overwhelmed you. The world seemed to close in as he shoved you down onto the dirt, his actions abrupt and frightening.

In a surge of panic, you tried to push him away, your heart racing as he started to unzip his pants, “No, Jamie, please!” you begged, tears streaming down your face. “Don’t!”

Jamie’s voice was cruel and mocking. “Did he make you feel good, huh? You should thank me. I brought out this slut hidden beneath you, didn’t I? I should be the one who fuck you good, not some old fucking ass like Joel Miller.”

His words cut deep, and you felt a sense of helpless dread. The stars above seemed to spin as you tried to escape, your heart pounding with fear and sorrow. But Jamie’s hold was unrelenting, and your pleas seemed to fade into the night, swallowed by the dark.

"Please, don't, please," you try your best to shoved him but he pull your skirt down, "Help!" you scream and Jamie punch you again, "Be quiet, you dirty whore,".

As Jamie’s grip tightened, he enters you by force, and the world seemed to tilt, your mind sought refuge in the distant twinkle of the stars. You closed your eyes, trying to escape into the silent comfort of the night sky. Each star above was a distant beacon, a reminder that somewhere, beyond this moment, there was still a world of light and hope.

You tried to focus on the stars, their cold, indifferent light providing a fragile sense of calm. In the midst of your torment, you held onto the hope that this night would end, that the dawn would break and with it, bring the promise of a new beginning.

The beauty of the celestial expanse above seemed to offer a quiet solace, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is still a universe beyond, filled with unspoken promises and untold stories.

As Jamie’s actions continued, the pain and fear seemed to blur, becoming a distant echo compared to the clarity of the stars. You imagined yourself drifting among them, free from the terror below, where the hurt could not reach and the darkness could not touch.

Just look at the stars, you'll be fine

As the tears running down your face, you bit your lips to hold the pain, Jamie's moaning on your ear. You tried to focus on the stars, their silent brilliance a reminder of a world beyond this moment. You whispered a prayer to the universe, to any higher power that might be listening, to make it stop, to take away the suffering and grant you the strength to endure.

"Jesus Christ, please, make all of this stop, I'm tired," you prayed, your voice a desperate whisper that mingled with the night’s silence. The tears streaming down your face were a testament to your exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

Jamie, lost in his own world, was too consumed by his actions to hear your plea. His mocking laughter echoed through the night, a cruel reminder of the powerlessness you felt in this moment. His words and actions were a stark contrast to the gentle night sky above, where you tried to find solace.

Despite the overwhelming pain, you continued to gaze at the stars, seeking refuge in their distant, unchanging light. They were your silent witnesses, a reminder that there was something beyond this immediate suffering, a world where this moment of anguish would eventually fade into the past.

With final thrust, he finally reach his climax, he came inside you.

The night was a tapestry of silent suffering and shattering despair. When Jamie finally finished, he lay beside you, breath ragged and labored. The stillness of the night contrasted sharply with the turmoil of your heart. You lay there, numb and tearful, as though the ground beneath you was a cruel reminder of your helplessness.

Jamie eventually rose, zipping his pants with a contemptuous smirk. His words were a chilling echo of his earlier cruelty. “If you tell anyone about this, you’re dead,” he threatened, his voice cold and indifferent. With that, he walked away, leaving you alone in the dirt, a broken figure beneath the indifferent stars.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you lay there, struggling to gather yourself. The pain was a relentless tide, overwhelming and unyielding. The stars above, once your silent witnesses, now seemed distant and cold, a vast expanse that mocked your suffering.

You slowly sat up, the weight of the night heavy on your shoulders. Your dress was torn and stained, your hair a tangled mess. Every movement was a reminder of the agony you had endured. You tried to fix your appearance, but the effort felt like an exercise in futility. The blood staining your legs was a harsh reminder of what Jamie had done.

As you walked through the night, your steps were unsteady, your mind clouded with despair. The questions swirled in your head: Why had this happened to you? Why did life have to be so painfully cruel? The burden of your suffering seemed almost unbearable.

Desperate for solace, you made your way to Joel’s home. Each step was a struggle, your heart aching with the need for his presence, for his comfort. When you reached his door, you knocked, hoping against hope that he was home.

Ellie opened the door, her eyes widening in shock as she took in your disheveled and bleeding appearance. Her voice was filled with panic as she called out, “What the hell happened?! Are you okay?!”

With tears brimming in your eyes and your voice trembling, you asked, “Ellie, is… is Joel home?” The words were barely a whisper, but they carried the weight of your desperation.

From inside, you could hear Joel’s voice from inside, “Ellie, who's on the door?"

Joel’s eyes widened with alarm as he saw you standing there, a vision of distress and anguish. Without hesitation, he bolted to the door, his face etched with fear and concern. As he reached you, the dam holding back your tears finally broke.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your strength crumbling. You collapsed into his arms, the sobs wracking your body uncontrollably. The dam of your grief had burst, and you clung to him with all the strength you had left, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Joel’s expression shifted from panic to a fierce, protective concern. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as though he could shield you from the world’s cruelty simply by being there. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

Ellie watched in stunned silence, her hands covering her mouth as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. Joel guided you gently inside, his movements tender yet urgent, as if every second mattered. He led you to the living room, helping you sit down on the couch, his touch both steady and soothing.

“Joel... he... he did it again,” you said weakly, your voice barely more than a whisper. The words felt heavy on your lips, each one a painful reminder of what had happened.

Ellie’s confusion turned to alarm as she processed your words, her face pale with concern. Joel, however, understood immediately. His anger was palpable, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. “That son of a bitch,” he cursed slowly, his voice low but seething with fury.

He moved you gently, laying you down on the couch with careful hands. As he began to check you for injuries, his touch was both deliberate and compassionate. When his fingers brushed against your legs and he saw the blood, his expression shifted from anger to a deep, heart-wrenching sorrow.

Joel’s face contorted with grief as he realized the extent of Jamie’s cruelty. He shouted “FUCK!” in a voice that shook the very walls, causing Ellie to flinch and step back in shock. The raw emotion in Joel’s outburst was a stark contrast to his usually composed demeanor.

With a trembling hand, Joel placed his forehead against yours, the warmth of his skin mingling with your tears. For the first time, you saw him cry—silent, heartbroken tears that spoke volumes. His voice was a whisper as he spoke, “I’m going to make sure he pays for this. I promise you.”

You looked into Joel’s brown eyes, feeling a mix of fear and sorrow. The pain in your body was overwhelming, and you could barely comprehend what had just happened. “Joel, it hurts,” you managed to say through your tears.

“I know, baby,” Joel said, his voice filled with tender sorrow. “I know it hurts. We’re going to fix this.”

He turned to Ellie, his voice now frantic. “Ellie, get a bucket of warm water and a napkin, now!” His desperation made Ellie’s hands shake as she hurried to follow his orders.

Returning to you, Joel’s eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “I need to know, baby,” he said softly, “Did he... did he...”

“Inside of me, Joel,” you sobbed, “He came inside of me.”

Joel's world had never felt so fragile, so perilously close to shattering. The weight of your words bore down on him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in a sea of grief and rage. His heart twisted with a pain so fierce it felt as though it might break him in two. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, but right now, his only focus was you—protecting you, comforting you, holding you together when you were on the verge of falling apart.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he fought to control the storm inside him. He pressed his forehead against yours, the gesture tender and desperate, as though he could transfer some of his strength to you, even as his own reserves were dangerously low. His voice, usually so steady and composed, wavered with emotion as he whispered, "He will pay for what he did to you. I swear it."

But your voice, so small and broken, cut through the darkness of his rage. "Joel, I'm scared," you whispered, and the fear in your voice was a knife to his heart.

In that moment, Joel’s protective instincts surged to the forefront. All thoughts of vengeance were pushed aside by the overwhelming need to be there for you, to make sure you knew you weren’t alone. “You’ll be okay, I promise you,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “I’m here. I got you, babygirl.”

Ellie returned with the warm water and napkins, but she paused in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Joel’s forehead was still pressed against yours, his eyes closed, as he murmured soft words of comfort. There was a raw, unguarded tenderness in his expression that Ellie had never seen before—an intimacy that spoke of a deep, unspoken connection between the two of you.

She felt a pang of confusion and something else, something she couldn’t quite name, as she watched the way Joel held you. He was always protective, always looking out for her, but this... this was different.

As she handed Joel the bucket and napkins, she kept her gaze on the two of you, trying to reconcile this new reality with the Joel she knew. He was always a guardian, a protector, but this... this was a depth of care and love that shook her to her core.

Joel took the supplies from Ellie with a quiet “thank you,” but his attention never wavered from you. He dipped the napkin in the warm water, his hands gentle and sure as he began to clean your wounds. His touch was reverent, almost like he was handling something sacred, something fragile that he couldn’t bear to see hurt anymore. Each movement was careful, deliberate, as if by caring for your physical wounds, he could somehow heal the ones buried deeper within you.

You watched Joel through tear-filled eyes, seeing the pain etched into every line of his face. It was as if the roles had been reversed—where once he had been your protector, now you saw how deeply he was affected by your suffering, how much he needed you to be okay, not just for your sake, but for his.

Ellie stood by, watching Joel taking care of you, her heart heavy with the weight of this new understanding. She could see the fear and hurt in your eyes, the way you clung to Joel as if he were your lifeline. And Joel... the way he held you, the way he whispered reassurances, it was clear to Ellie that this wasn’t just about protection. This was love, fierce and consuming, and it terrified her as much as it comforted her to see it.

She began to replay moments in her head, memories that had seemed insignificant at the time but now took on a new meaning. There were the sudden, unexplained changes in Joel’s behavior—the way he’d started going to church more often, sitting quietly at the back but always there, as if he were trying to keep an eye on someone.

She remembered conversations she’d had with him, And then there was that offhand remark from Tommy at work, about how Joel had started to “smell like a woman.” At the time, it had just been a joke, something Ellie had brushed off as Tommy teasing his brother. But now, it struck her differently.

And then there was that conversation with you and Emma, the one where you had hesitantly asked Emma and her about falling in love with someone. older. Ellie had laughed it off at first, not thinking much of it, but now those words echoed in her mind, each one slotting into place like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t even realized she was solving.

The realization hit her like a freight train, knocking the breath out of her. 

***

When they reached your home, the quiet of the night wrapped around the small house like a blanket. Joel and Ellie helped you inside, your steps heavy with exhaustion. Your mother, who had been waiting anxiously, rushed to the door as soon as she saw you, her face pale with worry.

“Oh my God, what happened?!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as she took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises, the blood. Her hands fluttered helplessly as she looked to Joel for answers.

“There was an accident,” Joel lied smoothly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “She got caught up in a fight between some kids from out of town. It wasn’t her fault, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your mother’s eyes widened in horror. “A fight? But—”

“It’s okay,” Joel interrupted gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “She’s going to be okay. I took care of her, and she just needs some rest now.”

You clung to Joel, your hand gripping his shirt as if he were your lifeline. The pain and fear still echoed in your chest, but with Joel there, you felt a small measure of safety. “Please stay,” you whispered, your voice small and pleading.

Joel’s heart clenched at the sound of your voice, and he stroked your hair gently, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I have something to do, baby,” he murmured. “But I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You nodded, your eyelids heavy as sleep began to pull you under. Joel waited until you were settled in bed, your breathing evening out as you drifted off. Only then did he stand, his eyes lingering on you for a long moment before he turned to your mother.

He walked over to her, his expression serious. “Please,” he said quietly, “don’t tell your husband about this when he comes home tomorrow. She doesn’t need him getting worked up over it, and it won’t help her. Just tell him she had a fall, or something like that.”

Your mother frowned, confusion and concern etched into her features. “But why? He needs to know—”

“Trust me,” Joel cut in, his tone firm. “It’s for the best. I’ll be back in the morning to check on her, I promise.”

After a few more reassurances, Joel finally left with Ellie. The drive back to their house was silent, the air between them thick with unspoken words. When they finally arrived home, Ellie could no longer hold back.

“Joel,” she started, her voice tense as they walked into the house, “what’s going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's going on between you and her?"

Joel froze for a moment, his back to Ellie as he hung up his jacket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, trying to sound casual, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellie shot back, her voice rising with frustration. “I have eyes, Joel. I saw how you were with her tonight. And it wasn’t just about protecting her—it was more than that."

"She’s... she’s barely older than me! What the hell are you doing?”

Joel finally turned to face her, his expression pained. He knew there was no dodging this, not with the way Ellie was looking at him—like she was trying to make sense of something incomprehensible, something that felt like a betrayal.

“Ellie,” Joel started, his voice low, laden with the weight of his guilt. “I can explain—”

Ellie cut him off, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Explain what, Joel? That you’re sick? That you’ve lost your fucking mind? How could you do this? How could you even think about her like that?!”

Joel’s heart ached at the venom in her words, the disgust that he could hear so clearly. “It’s not what you think—”

“It’s exactly what I think!” Ellie shouted, her hands shaking as she tried to comprehend the man standing in front of her. “How could you, Joel? How long has this been going on?"

Ellie’s voice wavered, the anger boiling over as she struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. “How long, Joel? How long have you been doing this behind my back? Behind everyone’s back? She’s just a kid! How could you even think about her like that?”

Joel swallowed hard, his mind racing, searching for the right words, but everything seemed wrong. “Ellie, it’s not... I didn’t mean for this to happen. It just... it just did.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his response. “We both knew her father beat her, Joel!"

Joel’s heart skipped a beat as Ellie’s words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Ellie... how do you know about that?” he asked, his voice low, almost fearful of the answer.

Ellie’s eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness. “I’m not blind, Joel. I have eyes. I saw the bruises, the way she flinched when her father was around. And I saw the way she looked at you, the way she leaned on you. That night, dinner at Tommy's I noticed how she clung to you. She was scared, Joel, and I thought you were stepping in to be the father figure she needed. Like you were for me.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the guilt of Ellie’s words cutting deep. He had been so caught up in his own feelings, in his need to protect and care for you, that he hadn’t noticed Ellie was watching, understanding more than he ever gave her credit for.

“But you weren’t just being there for her, were you?” Ellie continued, her voice trembling with accusation. “You were supposed to protect her, Joel. Instead, you... you took advantage of her.”

Joel’s breath hitched, the weight of her accusation pressing down on him like a physical force. “Ellie, no... it wasn’t like that. I protect her,"

Ellie shook her head, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “Protect her? By doing this? By crossing a line that should never have been crossed? How could you, Joel? How could you do this to her?"

Joel’s patience snapped, the fury and desperation he’d been trying to keep in check finally boiling over. “BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the house, raw and unfiltered.

Ellie froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him, wide-eyed. The intensity in his voice, the sheer force of his confession, left her reeling. Joel’s chest heaved with emotion, his eyes wild as he finally let the truth out, the words he’d been too afraid to admit even to himself.

“I love her,” Joel repeated, his voice breaking as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. She’s not just some kid to me, Ellie. She’s everything. And I know it’s wrong, I know it’s messed up, but I can’t help it. I love her, and I’m not gonna let anything happen to her.”

Ellie stared at him, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. The Joel she knew, the man who had become her family, was now a stranger to her in this moment. She could see the pain in his eyes, the sincerity, but it only made it harder to reconcile.

“You’re out of your mind,” Ellie whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear. “This isn’t love, Joel. It can’t be.”

Joel shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “It is, Ellie. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. I love her, and I’m gonna protect her, no matter what. Even if that means keeping her safe from me.”

She didn’t know what to say. "And I will make sure the person who did this to her pay," Joel said again.

Ellie stared at Joel, her emotions a tangled mess of fear, love, and resignation. Joel had been more than just a guardian to her; he was the closest thing to a father she’d ever known. The thought of losing him, or of watching him spiral into something dangerous, tore at her heart. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a path that could only lead to disaster.

“Joel,” Ellie began, her voice shaky, “I don’t want to lose you. You’re my father, and I love you. But this… what you and she are doing… it scares me. What if her father finds out? He’s not just going to let this slide. What if Tommy finds out? What if the whole town finds out?”

Joel’s face tightened, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right. The risks were enormous, and the consequences could be devastating, not just for him, but for you, for Ellie, for everyone involved. But despite all of that, he couldn’t turn away from what he felt.

“I know, Ellie,” Joel said, his voice heavy with guilt. “I know what could happen, and it scares the hell out of me too. But I can’t… I can’t lose her..."

Ellie looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and something like acceptance. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Joel. I don’t want to see you hurt, or worse. And I don’t want to see her hurt either.”

Joel nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll do everything I can to protect her, Ellie. And I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe too. I promise.”

Ellie sighed, the fight leaving her as she came to a reluctant acceptance. “If she makes you happy, Joel… then I guess that’s what matters. But please, be careful. This could blow up in your face in ways you can’t even imagine.”

Joel reached out, this time placing a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Thank you, Ellie. Thank you,"

note: FUCKKK i think chapter 7 and 8 are shit, i promise i'll be better

[princessfantaghiro]

GALADRIEL'S GREATEST, MORTAL SIN.

Or the dirty truth. The dirtiest. 😇

Warning! This theory may not appeal to ROP viewers who consider our main character to be a flawless woman, "the holy Virgin Mary."

Because I'll be honest...Galadriel never was saint. She's not in "Rings of Power" either. She's a born rebel who has always loved to push the boundaries. "Touching the darkness" in every sense of the word.

ROP!Galadriel is a repentant sinner.

In season 2 she wants to redeem herself so fiercely from her mortal, biggest sin. [From season 1] She resist to be Sauron's queen, yes. In the end. But she didn't resist "the power over flesh", first...

That's why Galadriel's greatest sin is not killing the most orc "children of Adar", probably numbering in the thousands...

This is about something much worse. [tbh not in my shippers eyes!😈😇]

Galadriel's greatest, deadly sin is a true romance with the Lord of Darkness.

Haladriel Sex.

They did it.

She made love with Halbrand. [ in season 1]

The one who Galadriel saw as her fuc...ng Disney!Prince:

[Yes I know, we didn't see any sex scenes with them. Because Simon Tolkien said:"NO SEX SCENES CAUSE PURISTS!!!" And of course the creators and Charlie&Morffyd never will admit it officially, lol.]

So...WHERE IS THE PROOF?

Right under our Eye. Here:

This particular scene is [for me] ultimate proof they did it. For me, the symbolism and message behind the piercing with the crown is very clear...It's not only "blood/bonding"! She slept with the [Second] Devil before. He marked her as 'his", first by flesh [Halbrand in season 1], and then by spirit.[Annatar in season 2] When he gaved Galadriel some part of his Ainur powers and shared with his beloved Queen...

And this is a sign. Bloody mark of Cain.* [Sauron - in that case].The proof of Galadriel's greatest sin. She make love with the [Second] Devil. I mean...Not exactly!

She did it with her actual love, with Halbrand = repentant Sauron, the one Form of Sauron with the greatest amount of Light. [Knowing by us in ROP, until now.]

*The term "Cain's Mark" means a sin or burden weighing on the conscience (soul) of a given person. The feeling of guilt is so strong that a person cannot live with it calmly and forget about it. "Cain's Mark" - is the burning mark of a sinner.

Mark of Galadriel's mortal sin.

And her best friend Elrond knows about this sin:

"...the lost king who could ride you to victory. You gave him everything he wanted and then thanked him for it."

I can repeat it even louder. 😉

"YOU GAVE HIM EVERYTHING HE WANTED."

And Gil Galad knows, too.

This is her pain. This is her sin.

That she carries in her heart.

First, Galadriel wanted revenge for her brother's death. She wanted to complete the mission, to uncover the secret. To learn the answers. But above all to quench her thirst for blood. Instead, she touched the darkness. Figuratively and very literally.

Friends will not crucify her for this because she was tempted by a fallen maia Angel. Sex demon with 60,000 years of experience in the devil's school of seduction.

They forgive her.

Besides, Galadriel thinks for [and she had very good reason to] her husband is dead. She is alone, in celibate for +- 1000 years. Sauron, the sex demon was celibate for 3000 years. [Science! 😇]

[Valar!Prison in the cave after the murder of his "redhead Form".]

There was almost impossible for them two to resist the temptation. 🤷‍♀️

#sorry not sorry

[fear-is-truth]

the evans … as ethel cain lyrics

† tate langdon

pretty boy natural blood-stained blond / with the holes in his sneakers / and his eyes all over me — dust bowl

shooting up our old school when we get bored of shooting up / fuck the cops, and fuck god, and fuck this town for ruining us / they’ll put holes in all we own and in our heads, pumped full of lead / you always told me i could only leave you once we're both dead — head in the wall

keeping guns in his locker, and he denies it / like it’s actually important, but he lied ‘cause i sure did watch him / showing up wearing black, and he knows that — crush

† kit walker

he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds — crush

and jesus, if you’re there / why do i feel alone in this room with you? — american teenager

we spent september on the backroads / shotgunnin’ warm bud lights down / a sinner’s rabbit hole / by the fire, taking off my dirty blouse — powerline valley

† kyle spencer

i was too young to notice / that some types of love could be bad — hard times

➥ no need to elaborate but this breaks my heart

† jimmy darling

25 and you're still crying in your sleep / scared the world is out to get you / and you’ve tried every bottle but you’re in too deep — bruises

feel the heat on me / you’re the most damn beautiful thing that i’ve ever seen / i’ve never wanted to go to california / i’d rather stay here with you and forget that i need sleep /‘cause in this florida heat, i get a little crazy — florida heat

and he said, “it’s been a long damn time since i left florida / no one left to leave and no one left to love / but now that i met you, i finally know just where i’m headin’”/ and we found heaven in time — thoroughfare

he’s never looked more beautiful / on his harley in the parking lot / breaking in to the atms / sleeping naked when it gets too hot / i watched him show his love through shades of black and blue / starting fights at the bar across the street like you do — western nights

† james patrick march

i woke up on that sunday to news that they got you / we both knew it would end on the day that they caught you / you shot yourself in the head as they battered your door through — vacancy

i hate to let you go, but if I don't then we both know / i’ll bury us both, fed to the night (as ghosts) — michelle pfeiffer

there comes a point in every man's life / where he gets the need to destroy / some sickness in his guts — selby wall

but i wonder if you want her / in the way, way, way i wish you would need me / we were right there, you were right there / if you want me, i’ll be right here / like concrete — xxxxxxxxxx

➥ james simping over elizabeth and you’re just… there.

† kai anderson

do i look pretty when i ask you to hit me? / hands like barbed wire / wrapping ‘round my throat, making me cry — sunday morning

americanized, jesus christ born to lie / so you lie and you lie and you lie and / you need easy, you want weak / when you were hungry, i was soft and pink / i bleed easy, i go weak — earnhardt

i know your father hurt you / you say that’s why god gave you me / you say i make it a little better / you say i make you happy / you say it with your fingers clenched / wrapped tight around my neck / ’cause that's what love means to you / and i asked for it i guess — child of cain

you never tell me that i’m pretty / you just say you like my tits / and every time i cry you say “don’t be a little bitch” / but i’m still stupid and in love / and i’d still let you fuck me ‘til i’m cumming blood — selby wall

you walk a fine line between god and animal / you’re just a feral dog i worship in bedroom ceremonials — dog days

➥ kai is so toxic that a lot of her songs remind me of him

† austin sommers

black leather and dark glasses / pourin’ another while i shake my ass / he’s cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed / obsession with the money, addicted to the drugs / says he’s in love with my body, that’s why he’s fucking it up — gibson girl

i tried to hold them off you / but their hunger beat me out / they’ll come in through the windows / they’ll take my love down / and i will always love you / but my love is not enough enough to save you — chapel hill

➥ that final scene when he got killed ;-;

[kingkatsuki]

— need

It took me way too long to write something for this man, but he has me completely deranged.

You manage to get hit by a Vandals lust jinki, but luckily for you Tamzy is there to help you out.

I was originally keeping this idea for Bakugou but somehow Tamzy just fit better.

Pairings: Tamsy Caines x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, non-con/dub-con, sex pollen, dirty talk, fingering, Tamsy ties you up, choking, Tamsy cums untouched.

Word Count: 2.2k.

“Please, help me Tamsy.” Your voice is choked and desperate as you look up at him with wide eyes. Your hand trapped between your thighs as you grind on your palm beneath your skirt.

Tamsy’s panicking now, wide eyes look back towards the door as he keeps his mask firmly over his face to protect from the pink toxins that now float through the air. The Vandal and their jinki move fast enough to escape, but it wasn’t fast enough to protect you from the after effects.

“Where’s your mask?” Tamsy pushes, rushing over to you as you practically hump your hand. Nose scrunched in irritation as it does little to satiate the throb between your thighs.

“It’s not enough.” You whine pitifully, ignoring his question as Tamsy stops in front of you. Chancing pulling off his mask when the rest of the air dissipates as he cups your cheek in a palm. You’re burning up—

“You gotta help me, Tamsy.” You push, and your smaller hand reaches up to encircle his wrist, tugging his hand down to your chest to press his palm against your breast.

It’s wrong. He should wait for back up, for the professionals to get here. Enjin would know exactly what to do in this situation, what needs to happen to fix whatever this is. He’s heard of these kinds of aphrodisiac jinki before, listened to Delmon talk about Vandals who ransacked his farm in search of these plants that held amatory properties that held a high price on the black market.

But all of his training couldn’t have prepared him for the unadulterated sight in front of him, and the desperate way you tried to grind your hips against his thigh as Tamsy tried to keep you pinned against the wall. Worried what you might do if you managed to flee the scene to chase your release, or what real creeps that roamed the Abyss could find you at this hour and do god knows what to you. Never mind the Vandal that did this to you in the first place—

It was lucky he’d been the one to find you.

“Tamsy,” There you went saying his name like that again. The desperate, pathetic whine to your tone had him scrunching his nose in irritation as he secretly committed the noise to memory. Something that would fuel his lonely nights as he fists his cock to the thought of you like this for him, “Please, I need you.”

Fuck.

Your reflexes were quick, but he was quicker. Using Tokushin to wind ropes of yarn around your middle to try and keep you subdued, much to your dismay.

“S’not fair,” You sniffle. Your bottom lip juts out and it takes every fiber of his being not to lean forward and kiss you, “You’re always so mean to me, Tamsy.”

God, you had no clue what you were doing to him right now— you couldn’t. Not with the lust jinki clouding your mind and your senses as you rubbed your thighs together to try and alleviate the tension.

He pressed down on his collar to try and contact Enjin again, opening the connection to try and find help. The signal inside the salt cave was almost non-existent, as he tried to decipher Enjin’s voice on the other end. Hoping that by shouting a rough location over the radio waves that he’d be able to find you both on the lower floor.

“It’s okay,” Tamsy murmured, “You’re gonna be okay.”

Tamsy knew these types of jinki weren’t simple to disband. The kind of power that could invade a persons psyche and consume them from the inside out— ceasing their existence if the desire wasn’t satisfied.

But he shouldn’t be the one to help, especially when he already harboured strong feelings for you— it wouldn’t be right. Tamsy couldn’t take advantage of you, especially in such a compromised state. He’d wait for back up to arrive and Enjin would know exactly what to do.

“The others will be here soon,” He spoke calmly, contrasting the way his cock pulsed between his thighs, “They’ll help you.”

“No, no—” You thrashed against his jinki, the binds tightening as they dug into your supple skin, creating dips in the fat of your hips as Tamsy tried to remember to breathe, “I can’t wait that long, you need to help me Tamsy please.”

These jinki were dangerous, if the tension wasn’t eased it would consume you whole. Worse than any poison or toxin that could invade your bloodstream— this was a death sentence if it wasn’t satiated.

“I can’t even touch myself like this,” You huffed in frustration, pathetic tears clung to your lashes as you rolled your hips, “I’m begging you.”

Oh, he was fucked.

That was the nail in his coffin as Tamsy took a step closer to you, “Calm down.”

He only needed to alleviate the tension enough to save you before your friends found you both, just enough to scratch the itch before backup arrived. He could get you off without penetrating you and quell the ache just enough to keep you alive— it would be fine.

Tamsy’s eyes were stoic as he reached forward to cup your molten heat, hissing upon contact when he felt just how wet your panties were. You couldn’t stop the debauched moan from tumbling between parted lips at the sensation, immediately bucking your hips to try and get more.

“Don’t tease me, Tamsy. Please—” He’d never heard you sound so carnal, so desperate before. Wondering if this is always how you sounded when you were in such a precarious position, fingers plunging into your wet cunt when you were alone at night, “Just one finger, please— just one, yeah?”

His cock is damn near painful now, straining against his boxers as it leaks copious amounts of pre. Trying to ignore the throb as deft fingers tug your panties to the side, gliding through your slick as he nudges your puffy clit.

“Just one.” He repeats. As though he’s trying to fool himself that this is okay.

“Yeah, yeah. Just one.” You babble, “Please, Tamsy. I can’t take any more— it hurts.”

Tamsy tries to ignore the persistent pulse in his crotch as his hard cock strains against his boxers, pre coats the fabric as he shuffles his legs to try and alleviate the tension. Directing his focus to you as his fingers push through your messy slick, parting your labia as he meets resistance.

“Oh, fuck.” Your chest heaves as Tamsy’s fingers find your tight entrance, blunt nails drag against the sensitive skin as he feels you flutter around him. Desperately trying to pull him deeper inside your silky depths as he revels in how tight and warm you are, “Put them in Tamsy, please.”

Every time you murmur his name so desperately it has his cock pulsing in response, dipping a solo finger inside your warmth as he immediately feels your walls cling to him. Your hips jerk as much as they could whilst subdued by his jinki as you pathetically try to fuck yourself on his finger.

“More, Tamsy, please.” You choked, “I think I’m going insane.”

“You said one.” He counters, watching the way your hips swish against him as you desperately try to coax him in.

“I know, I know,” You whine pitifully, “But you feel so good, Tamsy. I need more—”

If you were insane, he was damn near delirious as he slipped another finger in to join the first. Immediately curling them towards the spongy spot inside you as he focused his ministrations against it. Pumping his digits with skilled precision as dark eyes focused on your face to gage your reaction.

“Is this okay?” He rasps lowly, and your cunt throbs in response. He steps closer to push his fingers deeper, adding a third when he feels a lack of resistance that has you keening in satisfaction.

“Feels so good,” You pant, chest heaving as you grind your clit against his palm, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough that the metallic taste of blood coats your tongue.

All the nights he’d fucked his fist to the thought of you couldn’t compare to this. Your head knocks against the dirty brick wall as you thrash in his grip, your smaller hand fights against his yarn to reach out to grope his crotch and Tamsy is certain that his last minuscule piece of resolve has crumbled. A deep, guttural grunt spills from his lips and he can’t stop his hips from jerking into your touch. His sweaty forehead knocks into yours as he does everything he can to keep you pinned against the wall as he continues fucking three of his fingers into your sloppy cunt. If this is how tight you are for three, he wonders how you’d feel if you took his cock—

The scent of you potent in the air as his fingers continue to crudely squelch inside your dripping cunt, drooling into his palm and down his wrist as he sets a steady pace.

“I want your cock so bad, Tamsy.” You breathe out, your voice hoarse as he fucks his fingers into your needy hole.

“Behave.” Tamzy growls, certain you’re trying to garner a reaction from him now. And he’s already used up every ounce of resolve he had by keeping you bounded by his jinki.

“Please,” You push, just like you always fucking do, “I’ll be good, I’ll do anything if you give me your cock.”

“Shut up,” Tamsy grunts, pushing the heel of his palm against your clit as you thrash against him.

“Ugh, make me.” Your tongue lolls out of your mouth now and it’s all he can do to think about shoving his hard cock inside it.

“You’re filthy.” Tamsy grunts, his palm circling your neck to squeeze at the column of your throat. Pushing your head against the wall as his warm breath fans your face, lips dangerously close to yours.

“‘m not.” You tremble, the lack of oxygen heightens the sensation of his fingers plunging into your tight cunt as he fucks them into you with vigour.

“I beg to differ,” Tamsy speeds his fingers up for emphasis, the crude squelch fills the air as more of your slick seeps out of you, cooling against your inner thighs as he presses the calloused pad of his thumb against your clit to rub messy circles against it, “You’re practically drooling onto my hand.”

“Let me drool on your cock instead.” You quip back.

Tamsy sucks a breath through gritted teeth at your lewd words, hips bucking wildly as he imagines your wet cunt soaking his cock in your essence. The moisture drooling down is length and matting into the messy hairs at the base as he fucks into you, leaving creamy rings around the base of him.

“Stop being a brat.” He grunts, but he’s not sure he wants you to.

This is already more than he should be doing, he should’ve waited for Enjin— and now he’s thinking about sinking his cock inside your wet cunt and spearing you open on him.

“Let me touch you, please? I’ll be good I promise.” He doubts that dearly as he shakes his head, sweat beads at his brow as he tries to ignore the desire building inside him. His resolve close to crumbling as he pictures sinking his throbbing cock into your silky, wet walls.

“I don’t think you will be, sweetheart.” He chastises as he continues his pace, pressing down harder which each forward motion as he pushes you closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” You trembled, your voice vibrating against his hand as it flexed against your windpipe. The coil inside you tight and dangerously close to snapping as Tamsy spend his motions up in response.

Three fingers poised to hit that same spot inside you with each forward motion, certain his pads were pruning from how wet and warm you were. Pressing down against your needy clit hard as he felt the way your cunt began to tighten around him.

“Come on, sweetheart,” He whispered, “Cum for me.”

“Oh my— fuck, Tamsy!” The sound of his name spilling from your lips is debauched, and the desperate wail that follows seals his fate.

His hips jerk clumsily as the tension inside him cuts like a knife, legs wobbling from the unabashed force of his climax as he follows you into bliss. Tamsy moans with you in tandem as he finds his release. Shooting white hot ropes of cum into his boxers that soaks his cock and balls, leaving him sticky and messy as his spunk leaks through his pants. His chest heaves as he gulps in air, hips canting forward as your desperate fingers still reach out to grab for him. Hissing when they make contact against his overstimulated cock, sending fresh aftershocks surging through him.

“I—,” You pant, tears dried in streaky lines down your cheeks as your head lolls to the side, “Did you?”

Tokushin goes lax as Tamsy comes down from his high, freeing you from the binds as you rub at the imprints against your skin. The pink lusty clouds still haze your vision as you blink up at him blearily, your palm reaches out to feel the damp spot against his crotch as he hisses in response. Still semi-hard as he throbs against your palm, caging your body in against the cave wall as he looms over you.

Oh, he’s certain you’ll be the death of him.