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novaursa · 4 months ago

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Legacy (contingency)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dragonfire

- Next part: dragonstone

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

Rich banners of crimson and gold draped from the high vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall, the sigil of House Lannister roaring above the gathering. The long tables overflowed with food: roasted boar glazed in honey, fragrant spiced wine, golden loaves of bread, and sweetcakes decorated with little sugar lions. Music filled the air—a lively tune played by minstrels whose strings and pipes accompanied the hum of conversation and laughter.

At the center of it all sat King Tommen Baratheon, his crown polished to perfection, seated proudly at the head of the royal table. Beside him, Queen Margaery looked radiant in a gown of green silk embroidered with golden roses, her bright smile lifting the mood of the hall. To Tommen's left sat Cersei Lannister, though her face was a mask of cold disinterest as she stared pointedly at her cup of wine, refusing to so much as glance toward her twin brother Jaime, who stood behind the king as his sworn protector.

Farther down the hall, the laughter of ladies mingled with the squeals of a happy child.

You stood near the far end of the hall, where a small play area had been set up for your son. Damon, now a year old, was surrounded by noblewomen who cooed and fussed over him as if he were the very center of the world. He sat on a plush blanket, his chubby hands reaching for the wooden lion and dragon toys set before him. His silver-gold hair shone under the light of the great chandeliers, and his bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked from one lady to the next.

“My, but he’s a handsome little boy,” cooed Lady Tanda Stokeworth, bending down slightly to smile at Damon. “And clever, too, I’m sure.”

“Very clever,” agreed Lady Falyse, her hands clasped before her. “He has his mother’s eyes, but I daresay the strength of his father will be in him as well.”

“And the fire of a dragon,” added Lady Taena of Pentos, her dark curls spilling elegantly over her shoulders as she smiled warmly. “The realm will speak of him for generations to come.”

“Enough fluttering about,” came the sharp voice of Lady Olenna Tyrell, who sat nearby, cane resting against her chair. “You’ll have him thinking he’s a lord before he can even string a full sentence together.”

The ladies fell silent momentarily, though some tittered softly behind their hands as they moved away. You sat down beside Damon, brushing a hand gently over his soft hair as he giggled, delighting in the attention he’d received. “It seems you’re already a favorite,” you murmured with amusement.

Olenna sniffed, though there was a faint, approving smile on her lips. “That’s the way of things with babes and dragons. Give them a pretty face and a silver mane, and everyone flocks to them like flies to honey.” Her gaze softened faintly as she looked at Damon. “But he is a fine boy, I’ll grant you that.”

Damon responded by dropping his wooden lion and reaching for his dragon toy, gnawing happily on its tail. You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers over his chubby cheeks. “He’s my heart,” you said softly.

“Let’s hope he has a good head on his shoulders, then,” Olenna remarked, though her tone was lighter. “He’ll need it, surrounded by spiders and vipers alike.”

You looked across the hall, your gaze landing on Tywin Lannister, who stood tall near the royal table. The Lord of Casterly Rock looked as proud and imperious as ever, his crimson and gold doublet immaculate, his presence commanding the respect—or fear—of every lord who circled him. They spoke in hushed tones, each vying for his attention, trying to curry favor with the lion who now had a dragon under his roof. Tywin listened with polite indifference, his face betraying none of the irritation he no doubt felt at the incessant politicking.

You caught his eye across the hall, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked at you and Damon. He inclined his head a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of the family he had built—a momentary respite from the endless droning of opportunistic lords.

Nearby, Varys, the ever-watchful Spider, lingered in the shadows. His gaze flicked toward the small gathering where you sat with Damon, his expression unreadable. It was no secret that Varys knew more than most, and the way his eyes lingered on your son made your stomach tighten with unease. You had no doubt the whispers of Damon’s first nameday would soon travel across the Narrow Sea and beyond.

At the royal table, Tommen’s young laughter rang out as he watched one of the performers juggle apples. Margaery leaned close to him, smiling warmly as she spoke softly, no doubt ensuring the boy king enjoyed the celebrations.

Cersei, however, sat rigid, her fingers curled tightly around the stem of her goblet. Her face was pale with irritation, her lips pursed as she stared at nothing. When she finally spoke, it was low and bitter, though loud enough for those nearest to hear.

“A feast for a babe,” she sneered. “One would think we were crowning him king.”

Margaery smiled sweetly, not missing a beat. “Perhaps we celebrate because it is a moment of joy, Your Grace. Something rare and precious in these times.”

Cersei turned a cold glare on Margaery, though she said nothing more, her expression souring further when her gaze landed briefly on Jaime, who stood silently behind Tommen, his golden hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. He offered her no support, no comfort, his eyes fixed instead on the room at large, detached and quiet.

“Your Grace,” said Varys softly, suddenly at Cersei’s side, his voice as silken as ever. “The realm rejoices at unity, no matter how small the occasion.”

Cersei looked at him sharply. “And what unity do you see, Spider? The kind bought with dragons?”

Varys offered his smooth, enigmatic smile and said nothing, his gaze drifting briefly to where Damon sat.

Across the hall, Tywin watched the exchange with the faintest flicker of disdain in his eyes, though his mask of control never slipped. He turned his attention back to the lords surrounding him, his tone clipped and final. “Enough of this,” he said coldly, brushing them aside as he moved away.

He approached you and Damon, his steps measured and deliberate, cutting through the murmurs of those who watched him move. When he stopped before you, Damon immediately looked up, his bright eyes wide as he recognized his father. He cooed happily, waving his dragon toy as though offering it to Tywin.

The corners of Tywin’s mouth twitched ever so slightly as he regarded his son. “He grows quickly,” he said, his tone softening just enough that only you noticed.

You smiled faintly, lifting Damon into your arms. “Too quickly,” you replied, brushing a kiss against the boy’s head. “Soon he’ll be running through these halls, terrorizing everyone.”

“I expect nothing less,” Tywin replied, his gaze lingering on the boy before shifting back to you. “The feast is a success.”

“For you, perhaps,” you teased lightly. “The lords seem eager to bow before the man who holds a dragon’s leash.”

Tywin’s expression turned cold, though his words were measured. “A dragon bows to no one. But appearances must be maintained.”

You glanced toward Varys, who still watched quietly from the shadows. “And the whispers?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly. “Let them whisper. Whispers are meaningless unless we let them become something more.”

You nodded, though a flicker of unease remained in your chest. For now, though, you pushed it aside as Damon squirmed in your arms, reaching out toward Tywin with chubby hands.

Tywin hesitated for the barest moment before extending a hand, allowing Damon’s small fingers to curl around his thumb. It was a brief gesture, but one that spoke volumes. The Great Lion of Lannister stood proud, the boy in your arms his legacy, his triumph.

And as the hall rang with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets, you allowed yourself to smile. For tonight, at least, the future felt secure.

The air in the Red Keep’s halls had grown cooler as the feast carried on in the Great Hall, but here, in the shadowed passageways away from the celebration, the silence was heavy. The distant echoes of music and laughter barely carried this far, and the flickering torchlight did little to soften the cold stones of the castle walls.

Cersei Lannister walked with purpose, her gown trailing behind, though her movements were sharp, her face still drawn with irritation. Her goblet of wine, long emptied, dangled carelessly from her fingers as she turned a corner and found Jaime Lannister where she expected him: standing near an open window, his white Kingsguard cloak a stark contrast to the gloom. The faint breeze tousled his hair as he leaned one elbow against the stone ledge, staring out toward the darkening sky.

“You always find the quiet places,” Cersei remarked, her voice breaking the stillness as she approached.

Jaime turned his head slightly, though he didn’t look at her. “Perhaps I prefer them,” he said simply, his tone disinterested.

She frowned faintly, stopping a few paces away from him. “You missed half the feast.”

“And yet,” Jaime replied dryly, finally turning to face her, “you followed me here. Did the wine run out already?”

Cersei’s face tightened, though she ignored the jibe. “No. But you’ve sulked long enough tonight. Or is it that you can no longer stomach these celebrations?”

Jaime exhaled through his nose, his green eyes sharp as they met hers. “Is it sulking to prefer the quiet over the spectacle?”

Cersei’s lip curled faintly. “And yet you remain, standing guard over Tommen like a dutiful knight. Always at a distance, always watching.”

Jaime’s expression didn’t change. “I do what I must.”

“And is that why you say nothing?” Cersei shot back, her tone edged with frustration. She stepped closer, dropping the empty goblet onto the stone ledge with a hollow clink. “You stand there, silent and cold, while Dorne sends me nothing but empty words. ‘Myrcella is well.’ Those are their only replies to my ravens. No assurances. No promises.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained calm. “And you think I have the answers? You were the one who sent her there.”

“She was safer in Dorne than in King’s Landing!” Cersei snapped, though her words lacked the conviction they once carried. “Father would not listen, you wouldn’t listen—no one would listen to me.”

Jaime shifted, his gold hand resting lightly against the stone ledge. “And now you want me to do what? March to Dorne and demand Myrcella’s return? Or simply assuage your guilt?”

Cersei flinched, though she masked it quickly with anger. “I don’t need your lectures, Jaime. I need your support.”

Jaime looked at her long and hard, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. “Support for what, Cersei? Myrcella is well, or so we’re told. If something had happened to her, you would know.”

“And what if they lie?” Cersei pressed, her voice quieter now but no less fervent. “What if Doran Martell sends nothing because he’s toying with us? He despises our house—do you think he has forgotten Oberyn?”

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly. “What I think is that worrying aloud will not change anything.”

Cersei glared at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You sound just like Father.”

Jaime’s lips pressed into a thin line at that, but he didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, he turned his gaze back out toward the night sky, his voice low. “If you have nothing to say beyond paranoia and blame, then perhaps you should return to the feast.”

Cersei stepped forward, the shadows deepening around her. “Do you remember, Jaime?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “Do you remember our own namedays?”

Jaime’s brow furrowed slightly, though he didn’t turn to look at her. “Why bring that up?”

“Because Father never threw us feasts,” Cersei replied bitterly, her tone carrying the weight of old wounds. “Not after Mother died. There were no celebrations, no music. Just silence, year after year, as though we didn’t matter.”

Jaime finally looked at her then, his expression softening slightly. “You know why.”

“Because he couldn’t bear the memory,” Cersei answered, her voice sharp. “But what of us? We were children, Jaime—children who wanted to be seen. To be celebrated.”

Jaime studied her carefully now, his face unreadable. “What are you implying, Cersei?”

Cersei took a breath, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “Do you not find it curious that our father throws such a grand feast for his new son? Yet for us, there was nothing. Nothing.”

Jaime shook his head faintly, though his voice was tinged with exasperation. “You’re reaching for something that isn’t there. Damon is a babe; he means the world to his mother, and through her, to Father. That is all.”

Cersei stepped closer, her eyes blazing. “No, Jaime. It’s more than that. Can’t you see? That dragon—her dragon—flew across the Narrow Sea to her. To her. And Father—our father—stands at her side as though she were his queen, as though she has replaced us.”

Jaime stared at her for a long moment, his features hardening. “And what would you have me do about it? Challenge her? Challenge him?”

Cersei’s gaze flickered with something desperate, something unspoken. “You’re the only one who listens, Jaime.”

Jaime’s shoulders sagged slightly as he looked at her, his voice low and tired. “I don’t know what you want from me, Cersei. But whatever it is, I can’t give it to you.”

Cersei’s lips parted, as though she might say more, but the words died on her tongue. For once, her twin brother had no answer for her, no comfort to offer. Jaime turned away again, his gaze drifting back to the distant lights of the city.

“Go back to the feast,” he said softly. “Tommen needs his mother.”

Cersei stood still for a moment longer, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Then, with a sharp exhale, she snatched up the goblet she’d abandoned and turned on her heel, the silk of her gown trailing behind her as she stalked back into the shadows of the corridor.

Jaime remained where he was, alone beneath the stars, his expression etched with something far darker than silence.

The sounds of the feast began to ebb and swell like the sea, the lively music and laughter punctuating the occasional clinking of goblets and roar of cheer. Yet away from the revelry, in a quieter alcove of the Great Hall, Tywin Lannister stood tall and still, his expression as unyielding as the walls of the Red Keep. Lords and sycophants continued to circle near him like moths to flame, eager to curry favor or win a moment of his time.

But when the soft, measured footsteps of Varys approached, the subtle murmur around Tywin dissipated, as though even the air itself sensed the Spider’s presence.

Tywin’s stren green gaze flicked toward Varys, who approached with a serene smile and hands tucked neatly within the folds of his flowing lavender robes. The Master of Whisperers stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head. “My lord,” he said smoothly, his voice as silken as ever. “Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

Tywin’s face betrayed nothing, though there was a faint narrowing of his eyes as he studied the eunuch. “And what congratulations do you offer, Lord Varys?”

“For your son’s first nameday, of course.” Varys’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head. “Young Damon is a remarkable boy—strong and spirited, like his parents.” His gaze briefly flickered across the hall to where Damon sat on your lap, still surrounded by noblewomen and cooing servants. “The realm watches him closely, my lord. A lion born under the shadow of a dragon. It makes for an extraordinary tale.”

Tywin’s lips curled faintly, though it was more a tightening of his mouth than a smile. “The realm has a penchant for tales,” he said curtly. “I deal in truths.”

“Indeed,” Varys replied smoothly. “And it is truths that bring me to you now, my lord. Truths carried across the Narrow Sea, where the fires of another dragon burn.”

Tywin turned his full attention to the Spider then, his presence looming even more than before. “Speak plainly, Varys. I’ve little patience for riddles tonight.”

Varys inclined his head once more. “Very well. It seems your younger son, Tyrion Lannister, is alive.”

The words landed like a stone dropped into a still pond. Though Tywin’s face remained unreadable, there was a sharpness to his posture, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. “Alive,” he repeated, his voice low and cold. “And where?”

“In Essos,” Varys said softly, as though revealing the answer to a carefully guarded secret. “To be more specific, he is now serving as an advisor to your wife’s younger sister, Daenerys Targaryen—the Queen of Meereen.”

Tywin was silent for a long moment, his piercing gaze fixed on Varys as though trying to unearth the depths of his machinations. “Should I believe you had nothing to do with his escape, Varys?” Tywin asked at last, his voice a blade honed to perfection. “Or with this news?”

Varys’s smile never wavered, though there was a faint flicker of amusement in his pale, watchful eyes. “I would be lying, my lord, if I claimed to be entirely blameless. I may have… facilitated certain circumstances during his escape from the capital. After all, chaos often creates opportunity.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained measured. “You’ve spent your life weaving webs, Spider. I wonder how much of this one is yours.”

“I assure you, my lord,” Varys replied calmly, “Tyrion’s path has been his own. I merely find it curious how Lannisters are so often drawn to flame. First you, with your Targaryen bride and her dragon… and now your younger son, whispering counsel to her sister.”

Tywin’s expression darkened, the weight of Varys’s words settling heavily between them. “What is your aim in telling me this?”

“My aim?” Varys echoed softly, his voice feigning innocence. “My aim is only to keep you informed, my lord. Knowledge, as you well know, is power.”

Tywin regarded him with a cold intensity, his mind already working through the implications. “A Targaryen queen rising in Essos is no secret. But Tyrion’s involvement complicates matters.”

“As it often does,” Varys replied with a faint smile. “Your son has always had a penchant for surviving where others would not. And now, it seems, he has aligned himself with a queen who bears the blood of Old Valyria and speaks of reclaiming the Iron Throne.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “Daenerys Targaryen is a child playing at power. Her sister has proven far more pragmatic.”

“Perhaps,” Varys said mildly, “but the young queen across the sea has grown formidable. Her dragons are a little bigger than Viserion, and with Tyrion at her side, her ambitions gain focus.”

Tywin’s gaze turned icy. “Then it will be dealt with—like every other threat.”

“Of course,” Varys murmured. “I have no doubt of that, my lord. Though I would suggest keeping your eye firmly on both sisters, lest fire burn unchecked.”

Tywin’s stare lingered on the Spider for a long, silent moment, unblinking and unyielding. Finally, he inclined his head ever so slightly, dismissing Varys with a flick of his fingers. “Go.”

Varys offered a smooth bow, his robes whispering against the stone floor as he turned to leave. Before disappearing fully into the shadows, he paused just long enough to add, “It is curious, isn’t it, my lord? How the lion and the dragon always seem destined to meet.”

Tywin said nothing, though his expression was carved from stone.

When Varys was gone, the Lord of Casterly Rock turned his gaze back toward the feast, where the sounds of music and laughter carried on without pause. Across the room, you cradled Damon in your arms, a faint smile on your lips as you whispered to him, oblivious to the storm now brewing in Tywin’s mind.

The Spider’s words lingered like smoke in the air, and Tywin’s jaw tightened as his thoughts raced. Tyrion. Daenerys. Dragons.

Whatever flame had drawn his family to it would soon demand reckoning—and Tywin Lannister would ensure it was met on his terms.

The hum of the feast carried on in the Great Hall, but here, on the far side of the chamber, where the air was quieter and the firelight softer, you sat with Damon cradled in your arms. The plush cushions around you provided comfort as Lady Olenna Tyrell remained seated close by, her sharp gaze scanning the room like a hawk watching prey. Damon cooed softly, his fingers grasping at the edge of your sleeve, his bright eyes filled with wonder as he looked around at the grand surroundings.

You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers through the boy’s curls. “You’ve quite the audience tonight, haven’t you?” you murmured to him softly. Damon giggled, clutching at your hand, his laughter like a balm amidst the constant thrum of the hall.

Olenna sniffed lightly, tapping her cane against the floor in idle rhythm. “They’re all waiting for the child to do something miraculous, no doubt,” she quipped dryly. “As if every noble babe doesn’t giggle and drool all the same.”

You chuckled, adjusting Damon in your lap. “Let them look. He’s a child born into a world where lions and dragons share a room. That alone makes him a marvel to them.”

“Indeed,” Olenna said with a smirk. “They’ll either worship him or fear him in time, depending on which beast roars loudest.”

Before you could reply, a shadow swept across the edge of your vision. You looked up, and there she was—Cersei Lannister, gliding toward you with a goblet of wine in hand, the golden silk of her gown flowing like liquid sunlight. Her face was composed, but there was a hardness in her gaze that was impossible to ignore.

“Lady Olenna,” Cersei greeted coolly, though her eyes barely brushed the Tyrell matriarch before settling on you. “And you, mother,” she added, the word “mother” dipped in a faint edge of mockery.

Olenna raised a brow, her expression sharp as ever. “How rare to see you so far from the royal table, Cersei. I was beginning to think you’d been fused to that chair.”

Cersei’s lip curled slightly, though she ignored the barb, her attention fixed on you and Damon. “You seem content tonight,” she said, her tone light but with an undercurrent of something darker. “The proud mother, adored by all.”

“I have every reason to be content,” you replied smoothly, glancing down at Damon, who stared curiously at Cersei with his wide, violet eyes. “He is my joy.”

Cersei’s gaze lingered on Damon for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable. “He looks like father,” she said at last, though the words carried no warmth.

You raised a brow at her. “You sound almost complimentary, Cersei.”

She tilted her head, swirling the wine in her goblet. “Perhaps I am. After all, your son is a Lannister—is he not? My father has made that abundantly clear to all of Westeros.” Her voice was calm, but there was venom beneath it.

Olenna’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “It’s rather amusing, isn’t it? How quickly the world forgets old grudges when dragons return.” She tapped her cane sharply against the stone. “But here you are, Cersei, nursing one still.”

Cersei turned her gaze on Olenna, her expression hardening. “And why should I forget?” she countered, her voice dropping slightly. “A Targaryen sits where my mother once did. Her dragon looms where my son should reign without shadow. Should I smile and clap like the rest of you?”

You shifted Damon slightly in your arms, your tone calm but firm. “I sit beside your father because he chose me, Cersei. And this dragon you so despise would burn those who would harm your family—just as I would.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp as she leaned closer. “Do not pretend that your fire is for us. You serve your own blood first and the rest of us second.”

Olenna let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, do calm down, girl. You sound like a fishwife.”

Cersei shot Olenna a glare before looking back at you. “Tell me,” she continued, her voice deceptively soft, “do you think this peace will last? That my father will dote on you forever, while the realm holds its breath over your son and your dragon?”

You met her gaze evenly, your fingers brushing gently over Damon’s hair as his small hands clutched at the edge of your gown. “I think that the realm will endure so long as we do not tear it apart out of jealousy and spite.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, her knuckles whitening around her goblet. For a moment, you saw the flicker of something deeper—loneliness, fear—but it vanished quickly, replaced by her steely veneer.

“Jealousy?” she echoed softly. “No, Y/N, you mistake me. I do not envy you. I pity you.”

Olenna laughed sharply, breaking the tension like a slap to the face. “Pity? How very charitable of you, Cersei. What next? Will you hand her alms like some poor beggar in Flea Bottom?”

Cersei turned on Olenna, her voice icy. “You should hold your tongue, old woman. You’ve meddled enough in my family’s affairs.”

Olenna merely smirked. “And yet here you are, meddling in hers.”

You shifted Damon in your arms, his small yawn breaking through the animosity. “Enough,” you said softly but firmly, your gaze steady as you looked at Cersei. “If you wish to speak of jealousy and pity, do so elsewhere. My son will not grow up hearing such poison.”

Cersei’s gaze flicked to Damon once more, lingering as though searching for something in his innocent face. Finally, she straightened, her expression smoothing back into icy composure. “Enjoy your moment, Y/N,” she said coolly, turning to leave. “Moments rarely last.”

As she walked away, Olenna muttered under her breath, “What a tiresome woman.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to Damon’s head as his small hands curled against your chest. “She is a lioness protecting what she thinks is hers,” you murmured, more to yourself than anyone else.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes watching Cersei’s retreating figure. “She’s a lioness who doesn’t yet realize the cage has been locked behind her.” She paused, her voice turning thoughtful. “Watch her closely, my dear. Women like Cersei are most dangerous when they feel cornered.”

You nodded faintly, your gaze drifting back to Damon, who had finally begun to drift to sleep in your arms. His quiet breathing, soft and rhythmic, grounded you against the undercurrent of tension still lingering in the air.

For now, the feast continued, the music played, and the Great Hall hummed with life. But somewhere deep in your heart, you knew Olenna’s words were true.

Cersei Lannister was dangerous—and her resentment burned just as brightly as any dragon’s fire.

The moon hung high over the Red Keep, its silver light spilling across the stone walls and bathing the castle in a cool, ethereal glow. The festivities of the day had finally come to an end, and silence reigned where music and laughter had once filled the air. The halls were empty save for the faint footfalls of a passing guard or the soft flicker of a torch burning low.

In your chambers, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting long shadows against the walls. The room smelled of lilies and warm candle wax, a comforting presence as you stood before the tall mirror, unpinning your silver hair. Damon had long since been carried off to the nursery, fast asleep after the excitement of the day. Now, the only sounds were the pop of the fire and your quiet movements.

The door opened with the faintest creak, and you glanced up as Tywin entered, his presence as commanding as ever, even in the stillness of the night. He had already shed his formal doublet, his crimson tunic and dark trousers immaculate, though his shoulders bore the faint weight of the long day. His gaze swept the room before settling on you.

“You’re still awake,” he observed, his tone calm but expectant.

You turned slightly, offering him a faint smile. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I decided to retire here,” he said, moving toward the desk where a decanter of wine and goblets had been left for you. “The rest of the castle is far too restless for my liking.”

You nodded, returning to unpin the final strands of your hair. “The feast was a success, by all accounts. Though it seems you had little patience for the lords that circled you.”

Tywin poured himself a small measure of wine, his movements deliberate as he spoke. “They are drawn to strength, like carrion to a fresh kill. They think proximity to me will bring them power. Fools.” He turned, taking a slow sip of his wine, his sharp green eyes lingering on you.

You finished with your hair and moved toward the large bed, sitting on its edge to unlace the ribbon at your sleeve. “And yet you endure them.”

“I endure many things,” Tywin replied coolly, though something in his voice hinted at the weight of what lay beneath. He watched you for a moment longer before setting his goblet aside and approaching.

You could feel his eyes on you as he neared, the faint creak of the floorboards under his measured steps. His silence, though not unusual, felt heavier tonight. When he finally spoke, his tone carried the careful weight of deliberation.

“What do you know of your sister?”

The question caught you off guard. You paused mid-motion, turning your head to look up at him. “Daenerys?”

Tywin’s face betrayed nothing, though his gaze was unrelenting. “Yes.”

You tilted your head slightly, frowning faintly. “I know probably what you do. She was born on Dragonstone, after I had already been taken north to be a ward of the Starks. I never met her.” You paused, as though searching for fragments of memories long buried. “We exchanged letters, a handful over last year—most of which were formal, polite. There is little else I could say.”

Tywin regarded you carefully, as though dissecting your words for any trace of deceit. “And you never wondered about her? About the sister who shared your blood and hatched dragons?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, your voice calm but firm. “What is this about, Tywin?”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood before you, his towering form framed by the firelight. “Tyrion is alive.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. You blinked, the revelation settling into you like a cold weight. “Alive?” you repeated softly. “How?”

“Varys,” Tywin said curtly, the name like poison on his tongue. “The Spider facilitated his escape after the trial.” His voice dropped lower, sharper. “And now my son sits in Essos as an advisor to your sister, Daenerys Targaryen.”

You stared at him, absorbing the full weight of his words. “Daenerys,” you said slowly, realization dawning. “She means to push her claim.”

“She will,” Tywin replied with certainty, his gaze unyielding. “A Targaryen queen with dragons at her back cannot be ignored. She will come for the Iron Throne.”

You shook your head faintly, your voice steady. “And you think she’s a threat to me? To Damon?”

“Not yet,” Tywin answered, though his expression remained hard. “But she will be. Your sister carries the blood of Old Valyria, as you do. She has armies, she has dragons, and now she has Tyrion whispering in her ear.”

You frowned, searching his face. “Why tell me this now? Why tonight?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his voice deliberate. “Because one of the dragons she hatched flew to you. Not to her. That matters.”

You rose from the edge of the bed, the tension in your body unmistakable as you stepped closer to him. “Viserion came to me, yes, but not because I called for her. She came for reasons beyond my understanding—perhaps instinct, perhaps fate.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You speak as though that makes no difference. But it does. To the realm, to your sister, to me.”

“And what of my claim, then?” you asked sharply, your voice rising slightly. “Is that what this is about? You would pit me against her because the blood of kings runs in my veins?”

Tywin did not flinch, his voice calm but firm. “You are a Targaryen. Your son is a Lannister and a Targaryen. That blood gives you a claim that will be undeniable to many—more so than hers. You could unite the realm, secure its future.”

“And at what cost?” you countered, meeting his gaze without wavering. “My sister is not my enemy, Tywin. She has never been.”

“Not yet,” Tywin said coldly. “But blood has turned to fire before. It will again.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, locked in a silence that crackled with unspoken anxiety. The fire in the hearth danced wildly, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Finally, you exhaled softly, your voice quieter but no less firm. “Do you fear her?”

Tywin’s face remained impassive, though his tone betrayed a flicker of something deeper—calculated pragmatism, perhaps even unease. “I fear nothing. I prepare for everything.”

You shook your head faintly, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Dragons do not bow, Tywin. Not even to lions.”

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze holding yours, “Viserion flew to you. And now you bow to me.”

The words stung more than you cared to admit, though you refused to show it. Instead, you lifted your chin, holding your ground. “I chose this path—for my son, for myself.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, the flicker of the fire reflecting in his green eyes. When he spoke again, his tone was softer, though still edged with purpose. “Do not forget the world we live in, Y/N. It will not tolerate two Targaryens. When the time comes, you must decide where you stand.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy as his words sank in. Tywin Lannister, ever the pragmatist, had laid the truth bare. And though you knew the fires of your blood would burn brightly in the days to come, you could not yet see which flame would consume the other.

The winds howled around Dragonstone, whipping against the cliffs with the fury of an ancient beast. The grey skies above the island hung low and brooding, heavy with the salt of the narrow sea. Below, the waves crashed relentlessly against the jagged rocks, echoing through the labyrinthine halls of the Targaryen stronghold.

Within the belly of the island, deep in the Dragonmont, the air was heavy with heat, thick with the scent of sulfur and ancient fire. The men of House Lannister—armored in crimson cloaks and polished steel—moved with uneasy steps as they followed their lord through the dim passageways. The sound of their boots echoed ominously against the black stone, though not a single man spoke.

At their head, Tywin Lannister strode forward with his usual measured calm, a figure of unwavering authority even in the heart of this dragon’s lair. Beside him, Jaime Lannister walked in silence. Unlike the other soldiers, Jaime’s face remained composed, though there was a flicker of doubt in his gaze as he looked toward his father.

“Is this wise, Father?” Jaime finally broke the silence, his voice low but clear. “Approaching the beast without her rider? Without your wife?”

Tywin did not slow his pace, his green eyes focused ahead on the faint glow that grew brighter with every step. “My wife is attending to our son,” he replied coolly. “She is not needed for what I intend to do.”

“And what is it that you intend?” Jaime pressed, though his tone carried the weight of caution.

Tywin glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. “To remind the beast of who I am.”

Jaime’s brows furrowed as they stepped into the vast, torchlit cavern that was the Dragonmont. The air was sweltering here, filled with the heavy pulse of something ancient and alive. The black stone walls shimmered faintly with heat, their edges glowing with the faintest ember-like gleam.

And there, at the center of the chamber, lay Viserion.

The she-dragon’s cream-and-gold scales reflected the torchlight like molten metal, shimmering with every slight movement. Her massive wings lay tucked against her sides, rising and falling gently as she breathed. Viserion’s head was curled over her claws, her eyes closed, though even in sleep, the slow rumble of her breathing filled the cavern like a distant storm.

The Lannister men froze where they stood, their faces pale as they took in the sheer size and power of the dragon before them. One of the soldiers murmured a prayer under his breath, though the words were swallowed by the cavern’s silence.

Jaime hesitated. “Father—”

Tywin raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture. Without another word, he moved forward alone, his polished boots striking the stone floor with deliberate precision.

Viserion shifted. The great muscles along her flanks rippled as her wings twitched slightly, the air around her growing hotter. A low, warning growl vibrated through the chamber, deep enough to rattle the bones of every man present. The sound was primal, unmistakably a sign of her awareness.

“Father—” Jaime hissed again, his tone sharper now, though Tywin did not stop.

Tywin stepped closer still, his face a mask of calm as he approached the massive creature. Viserion’s growl deepened, and her golden eyes snapped open, locking onto the man who dared intrude upon her rest. Her pupils, slitted and sharp as blades, narrowed dangerously.

The men behind Tywin tensed, gripping their weapons instinctively though they knew they would be of no use against the beast. Jaime cursed under his breath, his hand hovering near his sword despite its futility.

Tywin stopped mere paces from Viserion, unflinching as the she-dragon lifted her massive head, her teeth bared in a display of power. Her wings unfurled slightly, casting vast, jagged shadows across the chamber walls.

“Viserion,” Tywin said, his voice steady, unwavering, as though he were addressing a courtier rather than a dragon. “I know you understand me.”

The growl from Viserion deepened into something more—half warning, half challenge. She loomed over him now, her neck arching as her throat began to glow faintly with the embers of fire. Her breath was like a furnace, a searing gust of heat that washed over Tywin as she let out a roar so loud the walls themselves seemed to tremble.

Still, Tywin did not move.

The Lannister men stumbled back in fear, one dropping his sword with a clatter. Jaime stepped forward instinctively. “Father, enough! She’ll—”

Tywin lifted a hand to silence his son once more. His sharp green gaze never left Viserion’s molten gold eyes. “You know who I am,” he said evenly, his voice cutting through the dread like steel. “And you know that I am not your enemy.”

Viserion bared her teeth again, her throat glowing brighter as smoke curled from the edges of her mouth. The heat was unbearable, the air thick and stifling. Tywin took another step forward, close enough now that he could see the faint flicker of the fire within her.

“You are fire made flesh,” Tywin said softly, his voice carrying across the cavern. “But you are also her dragon. You know that. And through her, you know me.”

Viserion’s gaze flickered, her growl hesitating for the barest of moments. Her massive claws scraped against the stone floor as she shifted slightly, her wings folding back closer to her sides. The light in her throat dimmed just enough to hint at restraint.

Tywin stepped forward one last time, his hand lifting slowly, deliberately. The men behind him murmured in shock and disbelief, but Tywin ignored them. Viserion watched him warily, her head lowering ever so slightly, her growl softening to a deep, vibrating rumble.

The moment stretched unbearably long, the firelight flickering against the metal of Tywin’s rings as his hand brushed against Viserion’s snout.

The she-dragon let out a deep, guttural sound—not quite approval, but not rejection either. Her massive body shifted again, settling against the stone floor with a huff as she allowed the touch, her eyes half-lidded and watchful.

Tywin let his hand linger for a moment longer before withdrawing. He turned on his heel, facing the men who had watched the impossible unfold before them. Jaime stood frozen, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Tywin’s voice rang out, calm and authoritative. “I want armor made for her—Valyrian-inspired, reinforced and worthy of her size.” His gaze swept over the soldiers, cold and unwavering. “She is to be well-fed and kept under watch. This dragon is not some wild beast. She is a weapon, and like all weapons, she will be sharpened and honed.”

The men exchanged stunned glances but nodded quickly, murmuring their assent.

Jaime finally found his voice, stepping forward as Tywin approached. “You mean to arm her?” he asked, incredulous. “Father, why—”

Tywin cut him off with a sharp look. “Because I will not leave the fate of this realm to chance, Jaime.” His gaze flicked back toward Viserion, who now watched them with wary stillness. “Her fire is ours to wield. And we will wield it.”

Without another word, Tywin strode past Jaime and the men, his footsteps echoing through the cavern. Jaime lingered for a moment, glancing back at the she-dragon as she settled herself, the fire in her eyes watching them all with quiet menace.

He exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath as he followed his father out of the Dragonmont.

Behind them, Viserion’s growl rumbled softly, a sound that seemed to promise that no one—not even Tywin Lannister—could ever hope to fully control the fire she carried within.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #house lannister #legacy #got #got/asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #got tywin #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n

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oceandolores · 8 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 3

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦"

summary: After the incident, where past traumas resurface and threaten to unravel your fragile sense of security, Joel steps in as a protector. His presence becomes a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos.

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, r4p3, 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 3

masterlist of the series!

Previous | chapter 2

Next | chapter 4

The night when Jamie took your virginity by force felt like the moment the light within you was extinguished. It was as if the divine spark that once illuminated your soul was snuffed out, leaving behind a darkness that clung to you like a second skin. The purity you had cherished as a good Christian girl was shattered, and in its place, you felt an overwhelming sense of dirtiness. It was as if you had been marked, branded with an invisible scarlet letter that only you could see, yet you believed everyone else could see it too.

The past two months had been a relentless descent into a personal hell. You had become a ghost of your former self, your once vibrant spirit now a flickering ember. Physically, you were a shadow, your body wasting away as if your soul’s torment had seeped into your flesh. The weight of your violation bore down on you, leaving you with no desire to eat, to engage, to exist. Every day was a struggle against the ever-present feeling of disgust, the conviction that you were tainted beyond redemption.

In the eyes of others, you felt exposed, as if the sin of that night was etched into your very being. It was as if the words “dirty slut” were emblazoned across your skin, a silent condemnation that followed you everywhere. No matter where you went, the eyes of judgment seemed to follow, their silent accusations piercing your already wounded soul.

At school, you had withdrawn into yourself, a stark contrast to the lively girl you once were. You spoke to no one, even when you went to church, you avoiding Ellie, Tommy, and Maria. After class, you would rush home, seeking refuge in the solitude that had become both your sanctuary and your prison. Only Joel knew the truth of what had happened that night, and he had been your anchor in the storm.

After that night, you stayed at Joel’s. He had been nothing but gentle, his touch a stark contrast to the violence you had endured. He cleaned you up, gave you a bath, and ensured your privacy by standing near the tub with the curtain drawn, only intervening if you needed something. The care he showed you was the kind of protection you had longed for all your life. His presence was a balm to your wounded spirit, his protectiveness a shield against the darkness that threatened to consume you.

The morning after, you insisted on walking home, despite Joel’s offer to drive you. Your house was nearby, but in your daze, you had forgotten to inform your parents where you had been. As you walked through the front door, your father’s fury was immediate. "Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice a thunderous roar. "You didn’t tell us you were staying out. Do you have any idea how worried we were?"

"I stayed at Ellie’s," you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. "If you don’t believe me, you can call Joel."

Without hesitation, your father dialed Joel’s number. You stood there, heart pounding, as Joel answered. "Yes, she stayed with Ellie here last night," Joel confirmed, his voice steady. He kept his promise not to reveal the incident with Jamie, but your father’s anger was far from assuaged.

"Even so," your father raged, "you didn’t inform us. What’s next? You’ll become a whore, wandering the streets? Is that what you want?" His words cut deep, each one a dagger plunging into your already shattered heart. He berated you about the virtues of Christianity, reminding you of the sanctity of purity and obedience.

"You need to understand the importance of your faith," he lectured, his voice a relentless drone. "You must remain pure and obedient, not fall into sin like this."

You stood there, numb, the weight of his words adding to the already unbearable burden on your shoulders. The guilt and shame threatened to overwhelm you. Every word felt like another chain, binding you in your own personal hell.

"Take off your shirt and face the wall," your father ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

With trembling hands, you did as he said, the shirt you borrowed from Ellie slipping to the floor. You turned to the wall, feeling the roughness of the paint against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness you craved. Your father took his belt, the leather a familiar implement of punishment, and began to strike.

Each lash was a searing reminder of your perceived sins, each word of his condemnation a nail in the coffin of your spirit. "This is for your disobedience," he spat, the belt cracking against your skin. "This is for the whore you’re becoming."

You bit back your cries, the tears streaming down your face silently. You were too exhausted to scream, too broken to protest. The pain was overwhelming, but it felt deserved. In your mind, this was God’s punishment for your unholiness, a penance for the dirtiness you couldn’t wash away.

Your mother watched from the doorway, her eyes filled with helplessness. She didn’t intervene, just as she never had. Instead, she retreated to the living room, turning up the volume on the gospel music to drown out the sound of your father’s anger and your silent suffering.

With each strike, you closed your eyes, the pain coursing through you like fire. You envisioned yourself as a fallen angel, wings torn and bloodied, cast out from the grace you once knew. The purity you had cherished was gone, replaced by a deep, unending shame.

When it was over, you collapsed to the floor, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pain. You felt like a martyr, bearing the weight of your father’s righteousness, the gospel music a cruel hymn to your suffering. You were unworthy, unholy, and the punishment was your penance.

As you lay there, tears mingling with the cold floor, you prayed. Not for forgiveness, but for strength. "God, if You’re listening, help me endure this. Help me find a way to survive." Your prayer was a whisper in the storm, a desperate plea from a soul that had known too much darkness.

In that moment, you understood the depth of your isolation. Your purity was gone, your light extinguished, but a spark of defiance remained. You had survived this night, just as you had survived Jamie. And somehow, you would find a way to keep surviving, to reclaim the light that had been stolen from you.

***

The days that followed were a blur of silence and shadows. You moved through the house like a ghost, your presence barely acknowledged by your parents. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, a constant reminder of your perceived worthlessness. Every glance in the mirror revealed the invisible brand of shame you felt etched into your skin. You had become a stranger to yourself, lost in a labyrinth of guilt and self-loathing.

At school, you withdrew further into yourself, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Ellie noticed your absence, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain. The weight of your secret was too heavy to share, the fear of judgment too great. You walked the halls with your head down, each step a reminder of the burden you carried.

A month had gone by, and now it was Sunday. The weight of another church service loomed over you. You had managed to somewhat regain a semblance of normalcy, but the shadows of that night continued to haunt you. Despite the slight improvement, you had been avoiding everyone, including Joel. His calls went unanswered, and you took alternate routes to avoid passing his house. The shame you felt was overwhelming. You had developed feelings for Joel, but you believed he would never want you now that you felt so dirty.

Joel, on the other hand, was deeply worried about you. His concern grew with each passing day. He would occasionally ask Tommy if he had seen you at church, but Tommy’s answers never provided the comfort Joel sought.

The night before Sunday, Joel decided to visit Tommy and Maria with Ellie, hoping to have a casual movie night. He needed an excuse to ask about you without raising suspicions.

As they settled in the living room, Tommy was setting up the movie. Joel took a seat next to him, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. Ellie and Maria were chatting in the kitchen, preparing snacks.

"So, how’ve things been?" Joel asked, trying to keep his tone light. "Busy with the kid, I bet."

Tommy chuckled, nodding. "Yeah, you know how it is. Little one keeps us on our toes. What about you? How's work been?"

"Same old, same old," Joel replied, leaning back in his chair. "Ellie's doing good in school, keeping me busy with all her activities."

Tommy smiled. "That’s good to hear. She’s a great kid."

Joel nodded, then took a deep breath, trying to steer the conversation. "Yeah, speaking of kids... you seen Gibson girl around lately? Maybe at church? Haven't seen her passing by my home."

Tommy frowned, scratching his head. "Yeah, now that you mention it, I haven't seen her at church either. And she's usually always around."

Joel tried to keep his voice casual, not wanting to raise suspicion. "Right," Joel answered, but his thoughts were far from the conversation at hand. He couldn't shake the image of you from his mind—the pain in your eyes, the way you had avoided him, the way your voice trembled when you last spoke. Every unanswered call, every sight of your empty path gnawed at him, filling him with a deep, gnawing worry.

He replayed that night over and over, the way you had clung to him, the way he had tried to provide comfort without crossing any lines. He had never felt so helpless, so desperate to protect someone, yet so unsure of how to do it. His heart ached with the thought of you suffering alone, believing you were dirty or unworthy.

"Joel?" Tommy's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Joel blinked, realizing he had completely zoned out.

"Huh? What?" Joel said, shaking his head to clear the fog of worry. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Tommy gave him a curious look, tilting his head slightly. "I was asking if you wanted more popcorn, but you seemed a million miles away. Everything alright?"

Joel forced a smile, trying to mask the anxiety that churned within him. "Yeah, sorry just got a lot on my mind. But yeah, more popcorn sounds good."

Tommy didn't seem entirely convinced, but he let it go, standing up to refill the bowl. Joel watched him go, taking the moment to gather himself. He needed to find a way to reach you, to make sure you were alright without raising too much suspicion. The worry gnawed at him, a constant presence in the back of his mind.

As the movie continued, Joel found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, hoping that you were finding some measure of peace, even as he felt his own slipping further away.

As the sun rose on Sunday, you prepared yourself with a painstaking precision. The morning light seemed to cast an unforgiving glow on your efforts, illuminating every detail of your attire and makeup. You adorned yourself in a soft yellow dress, a stark contrast to the stained white dress you had left behind—a symbol of a past tainted by invisible scars. Your hair was styled meticulously, and a light touch of makeup tried to mask the weariness in your eyes. It was as if you were trying to paint over the shadows that clung to you, hoping that the brightness of the yellow might somehow wash away the stains of your recent past.

Your father was adamant about you joining the service, and the pressure of his expectations weighed heavily on you. The town would be present, as it always was for these occasions, their curious eyes a stark reminder of your recent absence. You could feel their gazes, and you braced yourself for the inevitable scrutiny. The anticipation of stepping into the public eye once more was almost suffocating.

When you arrived at the church, you noticed Tommy and Maria’s car parked nearby, a sight that barely registered in your anxious state. But as you turned, your heart seemed to freeze. There, behind Tommy’s car, was a familiar truck—a vehicle you hadn’t expected to see in such a context. It was Joel’s truck.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Joel had decided to return to church after years of absence. The scene before you was a tableau of mixed emotions: the congregation’s whispers, the look of surprise on Tommy’s face, and your father’s exuberant welcome of Joel. The church buzzed with curiosity, and every eye seemed to turn toward Joel and the unexpected presence he brought with him. Your father’s enthusiasm was palpable as he greeted Joel, his gestures warm and welcoming. Tommy smiled, clearly pleased to see his brother, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You, on the other hand, felt an overwhelming urge to disappear. The thought of facing Joel was almost too much to bear. The last time you had seen him, everything had been different. The thought of him seeing you in your current state, a mix of shame and unresolved feelings, was unbearable. You moved swiftly to avoid his gaze, slipping through the crowd like a wisp of smoke.

Joel's presence was a silent declaration of concern and hope. His return to the church was more than a gesture; it was an effort to reconnect, to understand why you had vanished so abruptly from his life. He couldn’t risk coming to your house and questioning your parents directly, as that would have been too conspicuous. Instead, he chose this public setting, hoping it might offer a chance to see you, to gauge your well-being without drawing undue attention.

Tommy and Ellie had been startled by Joel’s decision to attend church after all these years. To them, it was an unspoken mystery, a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit with the past patterns they knew. Tommy’s curiosity was evident, though he kept his questions at bay, respecting Joel’s unspoken wish for discretion.

As the service began, the room was filled with the familiar hymns and prayers. The sounds of the congregation’s voices blended into a backdrop of solemnity and devotion. You sat through the service, your mind a turbulent sea of emotions, while Joel’s presence at the back of the church was a constant, heavy reminder of your own turmoil.

Joel, despite his own feelings of discomfort in this sacred space, kept his gaze low, trying to remain unobtrusive. His concern for you overshadowed the solemnity of the service, his heart aching with the desire to reach out, to offer solace, but restrained by the fear of overstepping. The echoes of the sermon, the rustle of prayer books, and the collective murmur of the congregation seemed distant, as if you were trapped in a bubble of your own distress.

After the Sunday service, the church transformed into a space of community and fellowship. Tables were set up with an array of homemade dishes, and the congregation gathered for a communal meal. The aroma of comfort food filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of plates. It was a time for members of the congregation to connect, share news, and strengthen their bonds.

You moved through the gathering with practiced grace, helping your mother and father arrange the food and interact with the attendees. Your smile was a well-practiced mask, concealing the turmoil that churned beneath. You greeted old friends and acquaintances, your responses polite but distant. The effort to maintain this façade was exhausting, but you felt it was necessary to avoid further scrutiny.

As you made your way to the storage room in the church, a quiet refuge away from the bustling hall, you found yourself alone. The clamor of the gathering seemed a world away, and the space was filled with the scent of dust and old paper. You were organizing a stack of donation boxes when you heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching.

Turning around, you saw Joel standing in the doorway. His presence was like a sudden storm cloud on an otherwise clear day—unexpected and overwhelming. He looked at you with a mixture of concern and apprehension, his rugged face lined with worry. The weight of his gaze was almost palpable, and it seemed as though he was struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” Joel said, his voice low and gravelly. He took a hesitant step forward, his hands stuffed into his pockets. The usual gruffness in his tone was softened by the underlying worry.

You shifted uncomfortably, caught off guard by his appearance. “Joel,” you managed to reply, trying to keep your voice steady despite the emotions welling up inside you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Joel looked around the small room, as if searching for the right way to start the conversation. “Yeah, well,” he began, his gaze falling back on you. “I’ve been—” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve been worried about you. Haven’t seen you around much. I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

His words were simple, yet they carried the weight of his genuine concern. Joel was a man of action rather than words, and his struggle to articulate his feelings only highlighted how much he cared. He took another step closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign of how you were really doing.

“Joel,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, “did you come to church just for this? I’m fine. Really.”

Joel’s expression softened, but his concern remained palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to reach you, and you’ve been avoidin’ me. It’s not like you to just disappear. I need to know—are you really okay?” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his worry. You looked away, struggling to find the right response. “I’ve just been dealing with things,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I needed some time.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his concern deepening. " You’ve been missin’ from school, from church, from everythin’. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been keepin’ your distance."

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, the truth of your situation pressing heavily on your heart. “I'm fine, Joel” you said, struggling to keep your composure.

Joel’s gaze remained steady, a mixture of frustration and concern etched into his features. “Why’ve you been avoidin’ me?” he asked, his voice a blend of urgency and care. “You can’t keep runnin’ away from this. You keep pushin’ me away.”

You felt a sharp pang of guilt at his words, your heart twisting in your chest. The shame and the weight of your feelings made it difficult to meet his eyes. “I just—” you began, your voice faltering. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want you to see how... broken I am.”

Joel’s expression softened, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and tenderness. “What are you talkin’ about?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not broken. You’re still you. You don’t have nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, yet the weight of your shame still felt suffocating. You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “But I’ve changed,” you said, your voice cracking. “I feel like I’m not who I was before. I feel... dirty. Like I’m not even me anymore.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he noticed the tremble in your voice, the tears that began to fall. Without a second thought, he closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight, reassuring embrace. His touch was warm and steady, a stark contrast to the cold grip of your shame.

As he held you, Joel let his guard down, something he rarely allowed himself to do. The strength in his arms was a shield against the world, a sanctuary where you could momentarily escape the torment you had been living through. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, provided a grounding comfort. This was more than a physical embrace; it was a silent promise of protection, akin to the way he had once shielded Ellie and Sarah.

“It’s alright,” Joel murmured into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not your fault, it's not your fault. Everything's gonna be alright, babygirl."

His words were like a balm to the raw wounds of your spirit, yet the weight of your emotions still felt heavy. You could sense the sincerity in his voice, a quiet strength that contrasted sharply with the tumult of your inner world. In his embrace, you could almost imagine the weight of your shame lifting, if only for a moment.

After a while, you slowly pulled away from Joel’s comforting hold, grateful for his presence. “Thank you, Joel,” you said softly, wiping away the remnants of your tears. Joel, ever the pragmatist, decided to lighten the mood with one of his characteristic jokes.

“You know,” he said with a crooked smile, “cryin’ like that might just mess up your makeup. And we wouldn’t want you lookin’ like a raccoon now, would we?”

His playful jest brought a genuine smile to your face, a rare and fleeting moment of joy. Joel’s eyes softened as he saw you smile, his own expression a mix of relief and affection. “That’s right, like that, doll,” he said, his voice warm.

He gently cupped your face, his rough fingers brushing away the last traces of tears. “You’re stronger than you think. Just gotta give yourself some credit. You ain’t broken, not by a long shot.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps approached, and your mother appeared at the doorway of the storage room. Her cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Sweetheart, what’s taking so long? Did you find everything?”

You and Joel quickly pulled away from each other, making a show of straightening up and wiping your faces. “Umm, yes mother, I-I found it,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Your mother’s eyes fell on Joel, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Joel? What are you doing here?”

Joel cleared his throat, trying to mask the unease in his voice. “Hey, Evelyn, I, uh, just looking around the church again. Almost forgot how it looks from the inside, you know? It’s been a while.”

Your mother, ever the bubbly personality, clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s wonderful! We’re so glad to see you back. You know, you should come more often. It’s always nice to have you around. It’s been such a long time!”

Joel nodded, his eyes flicking back to you with a hint of concern. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Just felt like catching up with old times.”

Your mother beamed at Joel, her enthusiasm unwavering. “Well, that’s fantastic. You must join us for some of the refreshments afterward. It’s a potluck today, and there’s plenty of food. Everyone’s been asking about you.”

Joel gave a polite smile, trying to hide his discomfort. “Sure thing. I’ll stick around for a bit.”

As your mother continued to chat with Joel, her cheerful demeanor filling the room with a lightness that contrasted sharply with the earlier tension, you took the opportunity to discreetly collect yourself. You adjusted your dress and smoothed out your makeup, trying to regain your composure.

Joel, noticing the change in your demeanor, shot you a small, reassuring smile before turning his attention back to your mother.

Your mother excuse herself to go out but lookback to you, “Oh, sweetheart, I almost forgot. We need help with the setup for the refreshments,”

You quickly nodded. “Yes, I’ll take care of it, Mama." and she went to outside.

You and Joel moved outside too, where the atmosphere of the church’s potluck was in full swing. The laughter and chatter of the congregation filled the air, mingling with the scent of freshly baked goods and savory dishes. Joel, despite his unease, tried to adapt to the social scene, engaging with the women who flocked to him. He was a striking figure, with his salt-and-pepper beard and intense brown eyes that had a rugged charm to them. The women, clearly drawn to his distinguished appearance and the success he embodied, tried to catch his attention, though Joel’s discomfort was palpable. He offered polite smiles and brief responses, all the while his gaze frequently wandered back to you.

You moved among the congregation, offering refreshments and engaging in small talk, your presence like a breath of fresh air amidst the busier, more boisterous interactions. To Joel, you appeared as a serene vision—an innocent beauty despite everything. There was something ethereal about you, a delicate grace that made you stand out among the crowd. Your yellow dress seemed to shimmer with a soft glow, as if capturing the very essence of spring's first light.

Joel’s eyes lingered on you, the sight of your genuine smile and the way you interacted with others tugging at something deep within him. You were like a lone daisy in a field of wildflowers, untouched by the wilting sun. His admiration for you was undeniable, though it was mingled with concern and protectiveness.

Suddenly, as you were handing out refreshments, he noticed a boy approaching you. He moved with a kind of familiar swagger, and Joel’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized him—Jamie Lee. The sight of Jamie sent a shiver down Joel’s spine, and a protective instinct surged through him. He watched, tense and alert, as Jamie neared you.

Jamie’s presence was like a shadow falling over your radiant light. Joel’s gaze hardened, his focus narrowing. He could see the unease in your posture, the way you instinctively took a step back. The fear in your eyes was palpable, and it made Joel’s fists clench at his sides.

Joel, unable to stand idly by, started making his way towards you. His movements were deliberate and calculated, every step driven by a fierce determination to protect you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions before turning back to Jamie. The confrontation had left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you approached him with a cold, composed demeanor.

Jamie, noticing your icy response, shifted uncomfortably. “Hey,” he started, his voice trying to sound casual but laced with an apologetic tone. “I didn’t mean to, you know, I was just—”

"Get off from my face," you said quietly doesn't want to make a scene.

amie’s face twisted into a desperate mask of fear as he took another step closer. “Look, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “Just... just listen to me. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get off from my face,” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper but sharp as a blade. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to push him away, but Jamie persisted, his fear morphing into a desperate, unsettling urgency. “Please, just leave me alone.”

Jamie’s panic grew. He began to reach out, trying to grab your arm. “You don’t understand. I need you to—”

Before he could touch you, Joel’s imposing figure appeared, his presence radiating a quiet, intimidating authority. His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, the protective instincts within him coming to the forefront. “What’s goin’ on here?” Joel’s voice was steady, yet carried a dangerous edge that made Jamie freeze.

Jamie’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mr. Miller!” he stammered, backing away slightly. “I—uh—”

Joel’s gaze shifted to you, noticing the fear and distress on your face. He took a step closer to you, his body language radiating both calm and control. “Gibson, you alright?” he asked softly, his voice a reassuring balm amidst the tension.

You nodded, though your face was pale and your eyes betrayed the turmoil within. “Yes, I’m fine. Just... I need to go," You trying to gave Joel a smile and then walk away continue what you were doing.

Joel watched you walk away, his protective instincts still simmering beneath the surface. Once you were out of sight, Joel turned his full attention back to Jamie, his expression hardening.

“Hey, Jamie,” Joel said, his voice low and controlled. “How’s your old man? Still keepin’ busy with the firm?”

Jamie seemed to relax slightly, though his eyes still flicked nervously between Joel and the direction you had gone. “Uh, yeah, he’s doing alright,” Jamie replied, trying to sound casual. “Still busy as ever. You know how it is.”

Joel’s gaze was unwavering, a subtle intensity in his eyes that Jamie seemed to sense but couldn’t quite place. “And what about you? What’ve you been up to lately?”

Jamie fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, just... you know, school and stuff. Nothing too exciting.”

Joel nodded slowly, maintaining a calm exterior while his mind worked through his options. “Right, right. Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around. Thought I’d come back to the old church, see how things are goin’.”

Jamie’s eyes darted nervously. “Yeah, it’s been a while,” he said, his voice faltering. “So, uh, what brings you back? I thought you hadn’t been around for years.”

Joel’s smile was tight, the warmth of it not quite reaching his eyes. “Just felt like it was time to reconnect. Thought I’d check in on the old place, you know?"

Jamie seemed to relax a bit more, although his discomfort lingered. “Yeah, well, it’s good to see you,” he said awkwardly. “Things are... different, but you know how it is.”

Joel’s gaze remained steady, a quiet storm of thoughts behind his calm facade. “Yeah, I know how it is,” he said, his tone measured. “Well, Jamie, I’m glad we had a chance to catch up. I'll see you around,"

Jamie’s face was a mask of confusion and relief as he nodded quickly. “Yeah, see you around, Mr. Miller.”

As Jamie walked away, Joel’s eyes followed him, a thoughtful frown settling on his face. He knew there was more beneath the surface, and he was determined to uncover it, but for now, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Joel took a deep breath, his gaze returning to where you had disappeared. He knew that protecting you and making sure you felt safe was his priority now. The façade of casual conversation was just that—a façade.

Joel watched you slip away from the crowd, a cloud of worry settling over him. His thoughts were a maelstrom of concern and determination, but before he could follow, he was waylaid by several familiar faces. They were eager to catch up, their questions and greetings a barrier he couldn’t easily cross. He tried to be polite, nodding and offering half-hearted responses, all the while his mind remained focused on you.

Meanwhile, you navigated the church grounds with a heavy heart, your steps driven by a desperate need for solitude. You approached your father with a feigned urgency. “Papa, I need to leave early. I have a test tomorrow and I need a book from the library,” you said, your voice trembling slightly but with a determined edge.

Your father, engrossed in the after-church festivities, waved you off with little more than a distracted nod. “Alright, just be back before dark,” he called after you, his attention already shifting back to the conversation he was engaged in.

With a sigh of relief, you made your way to the edge of the church grounds, your thoughts a tangled mess of despair and shame. The path to the lake felt like a journey through an emotional wilderness. Each step seemed to echo the emptiness inside you, the trees and underbrush closing in like the walls of your own confinement.

As you walked, the weight of your thoughts felt like an oppressive fog, obscuring any sense of clarity or peace. The forest surrounding the path seemed to mirror your inner turmoil—dark, tangled, and impenetrable. The chirping of distant birds and the rustling leaves became a muted symphony to your solitary reflection, their sounds like distant whispers of a world you felt disconnected from.

Reaching the lake, you sank down onto the grassy bank, the weight of the past weeks pressing heavily on your shoulders. The water’s surface was a mirror of your own fractured soul—rippled and distorted, reflecting the tangled mess of your emotions. You fished out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a flask from beneath your jacket, your hands shaking slightly. The cigarettes were a crutch, a way to cope with the stress that had become almost unbearable.

Lighting a cigarette, you took a long drag, the smoke curling up into the air like a wisp of your own troubles being released. You retrieved the flask, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of the whiskey you had managed to sneak away. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, a fleeting comfort in the midst of your turmoil. It was a bitter solace, a way to dull the sharp edges of your pain, but it never truly erased the deep ache within.

The lake, now dimming in the encroaching twilight, seemed to embrace your solitude. Its surface reflected the last rays of sunlight, shimmering like scattered fragments of hope amidst the darkness. You leaned back, the grass beneath you soft and cool, the calmness of the lake providing a deceptive sense of tranquility.

As you looked out over the water, your thoughts drifted like the gentle ripples across the lake’s surface. The recent events played out in your mind like a series of shadowy figures, each one a reminder of how your life had spiraled into this moment of isolation and despair. You clung to the fleeting moments of numbness provided by the whiskey and smoke, trying to drown out the crushing weight of your reality.

Joel, meanwhile, managed to extricate himself from the crowd of well-wishers. His concern for you was a constant pull, a magnetic force guiding him towards you. As he scanned the area around the church, his eyes caught sight of your disappearing figure, and he felt a renewed urgency to follow.

The lake stretched out before you, its surface a placid mirror reflecting the fading light of day. The gentle rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds seemed like distant echoes compared to the chaos in your mind. You lay on the grass, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath you, and the weight of Jamie Lee’s presence still heavy on your soul. Each ripple in the lake's surface seemed to mimic the turbulent waves of your thoughts—crashing, receding, only to rise again with relentless force.

You had managed to slip away from the crowd, the world around you feeling far removed from the comforting isolation you sought. As you stared out over the lake, the thoughts of Jamie’s unwelcome reappearance, the haunting memories, and the crushing fear of being trapped in this endless cycle of pain and shame twisted through your mind. You were desperate for a way out, a new beginning, a place where you could shed the weight of your past and start anew. But for now, all you could do was lie there, the whispers of the forest around you a faint consolation against the storm within.

Then, breaking through the oppressive silence, a voice reached you. "Thought I found you here."

The sound of Joel’s voice was a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You turned slowly, your heart pounding as you saw him emerging from the trees. His presence was a tether to reality, grounding you amidst the chaos. His gaze was soft but intense, filled with a concern that seemed to pierce through the veil of your anguish.

Joel walked over to you with deliberate steps, his expression a mix of determination and empathy. He settled beside you on the grass, his body language a silent promise of protection and understanding. The familiarity of his presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the stark contrast between your own inner darkness and his unwavering support.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with genuine worry.

You didn’t immediately respond, the weight of your emotions rendering you almost speechless. The silence stretched between you, a fragile bridge spanning the gap between your fractured state and his steady presence. Joel’s eyes, dark and intense, held yours with an unwavering focus, as if trying to read the secrets written in your sorrow.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I keep trying to run away from it. But every time I think I’m getting away, it all just catches up with me.”

Joel’s expression was a mix of deep concern and frustration as he watched you struggle to keep your composure. “I’m here for you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of earnest reassurance.

As Joel reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder, you flinched as though struck, your body reacting involuntarily to the touch. Joel pulled his hand back, a flash of confusion crossing his face. “Hey, what’s goin’ on?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “What’s wrong?”

You quickly shook your head, trying to mask the truth. “It’s nothing, Joel. I’m fine,” you insisted, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your distress.

Joel’s eyes narrowed with concern. It was clear to him that there was more to your reaction than you were letting on. “You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “You're hidin' something, let me see your back,"

“I’m fine, Joel,” you insisted, trying to back away from him. Your voice was steadier now, but your heart was racing.

Joel’s face was set in grim determination. “No, you’re not. If you don’t show me, I’m gonna keep pushin’. I can see it in your eyes—you’re in pain, and I need to know why.”

When you continued to resist, Joel’s frustration reached its peak. “You gotta trust me,” he said, his voice harsh but filled with a desperate edge.

Unable to bear his insistence any longer, you shouted, “Joel, stop! I said I’m fine!” The raw pain and fear in your voice were undeniable, and Joel’s eyes softened for a moment, but his resolve remained unshaken.

Joel’s expression hardened. “I’m not lettin’ this go,” he said firmly. He gently but firmly reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it down further to expose the scars on your back. His movements were deliberate and careful, but his eyes were filled with a cold intensity that brooked no argument.

As he revealed the cruel marks etched into your skin, his anger became more apparent. His gaze swept over the scars—long, angry lines, some still raw and others faded but no less painful. Each mark told a story of suffering, and Joel’s jaw clenched in response.

Joel’s eyes darkened, his voice strained with barely controlled rage. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his tone growing colder with each word. “Who did this to you?"

"It's... It's my father," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. The confession felt like a stone lodged in your throat, its weight choking you.

Joel closed his eyes momentarily, fighting to contain the storm of anger threatening to erupt. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw working as he muttered curses under his breath. The fury simmering just below the surface was palpable.

“How long has this been goin’ on?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. “How long have you been dealin’ with this?”

“Since forever,” you said quietly, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your admission.

"Does your mother know?" Joel asked, you nodded.

“My mother knows, but she’s too scared to do anything. It’s... ironic, really. Just a few months ago, he was giving advice to Tommy about parenting, acting like some holy figure, but he's nothing but a hypocrite.” You try to lighten up.

Joel’s face contorted with a mix of disbelief and disgust. He stood abruptly, his movements sharp and decisive.

You scrambled to your feet, desperation gripping you. “Joel, where are you going?! please,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t do anything. Please, just let it be. This is my fault. I made him angry. I deserve this. Please, don’t make it worse. I can’t handle more trouble.”

Joel’s gaze was intense, his anger still visible but mixed with concern. “Are you fucking crazy?!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the still lake. “This ain’t your fault!” His outburst was raw, his frustration spilling over.

You flinched, your body instinctively drawing back from the intensity of his anger. The sudden surge of emotion was overwhelming, and you could feel the fear rise in your chest, a cold shiver racing down your spine.

Joel’s expression softened as he saw your reaction, his own anger faltering in the face of your fear. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. “I’m sorry," he said, his voice rough but gentler now. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just... seeing what he’s done to you...”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “I know, I know, Joel,” you whispered. “I just don’t know how to handle this. I’m scared, and I feel like everything’s falling apart.”

Joel’s eyes, usually so guarded, now reflected a rare vulnerability. “You don’t need to be scared,” he said, his voice softer, like a steady hand in the darkness. “I’m here for you."

The night air felt colder, but Joel’s presence was a warm, unspoken promise. His rough exterior hid a well of compassion, and though he struggled to find the right words, his actions spoke volumes. He gently pressed his forehead to yours, their breaths mingling in the space between them. “I’ll keep you safe,” he vowed, his voice a low murmur. “I promise,"

The contact of his forehead against yours was a silent, grounding connection. It was a gesture filled with the weight of his resolve and the depth of his commitment. The orange sky seemed to hold its breath, the world narrowing down to the two of you in that fragile moment of solace.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked softly, your voice tinged with confusion and vulnerability. “Why are you helping me like this?”

Joel pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching for the right words. He honestly didn’t know, not really, why he felt this way. Why the protective instinct was so strong, why his heart ached with a depth he hadn’t felt before. This wasn’t like his feelings for Ellie or Sarah; it was different, an enigma wrapped in the folds of his hardened exterior. He was trying to piece it together, to make sense of the emotions that seemed to defy all his usual defenses.

Inside your head, the sensation was equally foreign but profoundly powerful. It was as if, for the first time, you were standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing at an ocean of comfort and care you had only ever dreamed of. The feelings you had longed for, the protection and the tenderness, were now here, enveloping you like a warm, protective cocoon. The stark contrast between this new sense of safety and the pain you had endured made the emotions even more intense.

Joel’s presence was like a lighthouse in a storm, a beacon that cut through the darkness of your fears and insecurities. The connection between you was electric, a thread that wove itself into the very fabric of your being. It was as if every touch, every glance, was an echo of a deep-seated need for solace and understanding. In his gaze, you found not just protection but a promise of something more, something you had never allowed yourself to fully believe in.

As the sky deepened around you, the intimacy of the moment became undeniable. You wanted to close the distance, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours, to make this bond even more tangible. But there was a hesitation—a barrier of years and experiences, a chasm you weren’t sure you could or should cross. Joel was older, a figure who had always seemed out of reach, yet now he was the focal point of a desire that was both thrilling and terrifying.

In your mind, the longing was like a fragile flower blossoming in the dark—a tender, delicate thing that had been waiting for the right moment to bloom. You felt a pull toward him that went beyond mere comfort; it was a magnetic force that drew you closer, promising a kind of connection you hadn’t thought possible.

You wanted to kiss him, to bridge the gap between what was and what could be, but the uncertainty lingered. Would he reciprocate, or would the age difference and the complexities of your feelings stand in the way? The desire was there, shimmering like moonlight on still water, but you were unsure if this was a path you should walk or a dream too fragile to grasp.

Joel's presence was an anchor, grounding you in a moment of clarity and vulnerability. The depth of what you felt for him was new and frightening, like navigating a starless sea in search of a shore you hoped existed. In the silence that followed, you could almost hear the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you, a testament to the complex dance of emotion and need that neither of you could fully understand but both could feel.

Driven by the raw need to bridge the chasm between what was and what could be, you made a sudden, bold decision. You leaned in, closing the distance between you with a desperate and trembling kiss.

The moment your lips met his, Joel’s eyes widened in shock. He had not expected this, and for a heartbeat, he was paralyzed, caught between instinct and confusion. It felt like an electric jolt had surged through him, awakening something deep and primal. His heart raced, and his breath hitched as he processed the reality of your kiss.

But as the shock wore off, something else stirred within him—a burgeoning need that mirrored your own. The kiss, so raw and honest, ignited a flame that Joel had long kept buried under layers of grief and stoicism. He felt the world narrow to just the two of you, a universe where the complexities of age and propriety faded into insignificance.

Without fully realizing it, Joel responded with a fervor that surprised even him. His hands cupped your face gently but firmly, drawing you closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and passionate, a dance of newfound desire and connection. It was as if each touch, each movement, was a revelation, a discovery of a shared longing that neither of you had fully acknowledged until this very moment.

Joel's kiss was eager, almost desperate. The way he pulled you closer, the intensity of his touch—it was as if he was trying to anchor himself to this fragile but profound connection. His initial shock gave way to an overwhelming need to reciprocate, to explore the emotions that had been unearthed by your bold move.

For both of you, this kiss was a turning point, a leap into a new realm of intimacy and understanding. It was more than just physical; it was an acknowledgment of the depth of feeling that had been building between you. The night around you seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for this moment to solidify into something undeniably real.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your faces flushed with a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty. Joel’s gaze was softer now, his eyes reflecting a blend of awe and desire. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender.

“Doll,” Joel said, his voice a rough whisper as he pulled back slightly. “I’m sorry, Joel.” The realization of what had just happened washed over you like a cold wave, leaving you feeling vulnerable and uncertain.

Joel shook his head gently, his gaze steady and reassuring. “No, it’s okay,” he said, his tone firm yet tender. “It’s okay. you're alright, you'll be fine, I promise."

You nodded, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. The sky was growing darker, the first hints of night casting long shadows across the lake. You knew you needed to head back before your father’s anger took a new form, a punishment you feared more than the quiet storm that had just passed between you and Joel.

Joel’s hand lingered on your shoulder, his grip warm and steady. “Do you want a ride back?” he asked, his concern evident.

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, shaking your head with a small, weary smile. “Just… go back to the church. Say goodbye to everyone, Joel.”

Joel hesitated, his expression a mix of reluctance and understanding. “Alright,” he said, but before turning to go, you couldn’t help but add a touch of humor to lighten the mood.

“Hey, are you gonna become a regular at the church again?” you said, forcing a grin. “You’ve been MIA for years, and now you show up just to connect with me? What’s next, a testimonial about divine intervention?”

Joel chuckled, the sound a rare and genuine escape from the weight of the moment. “I wouldn’t hold my breath,” he replied with a wry smile. “But maybe I’ll drop by once in a while, if only to make sure you’re still alright.”

You both shared a brief, understanding smile. It was a fleeting but comforting connection amidst the chaos of emotions and revelations.

Before parting ways, Joel gave you a warm hug, his embrace firm yet tender. He pulled back slightly and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, a gesture that carried more warmth and affection than words could convey. It was a promise, a silent vow of protection and care, even if he wasn’t entirely sure of the depths of his own feelings.

“Stay safe,” Joel said, his voice gentle but earnest. “I’ll see you around.”

As Joel walked away, his figure blending into the shadows, you turned and began your journey back home. The cool night air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that Joel had left behind. The path ahead was dimly lit by the moonlight, each step resonating with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

In your mind, the night’s events replayed like a vivid dream. The touch of Joel’s hand, the tenderness of his kiss, and the tangled emotions you felt were all swirling together, creating a new and unfamiliar reality. You felt like you had crossed a threshold, where the lines between safety and danger, affection and fear, had become blurred.

The lake, once a silent witness to your sorrow, now seemed like a distant memory. It was as if you had left it behind, stepping into a new world where the echoes of the night and the promise of something different lingered like a soft whisper.

As you entered your home, the weight of the night’s revelations settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like a delicate balance between the pain you had known and the uncertain hope that now lay ahead. Today had ended with its own kind of twilight, a space between the darkness of the past and the uncertain dawn of the future.

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the-name-stealer · 6 months ago

Text

hello!!! Intro time!!!

Hi!!! Call me anything.

I steal names!

If you want your names removed, reblog/send ask/ privately message me! I answer anons so it’s hard to sort through who is okay with it.

Give me your name. Or someone else’s. I’m not picky.

names I’ve stolen: (will tag if they have blogs+who gave it to me if it was someone else)

Noah 1

bugg 2

Oakley :3

Rebekah (from @biggesthuskersimp589)4

Willow (^^)5

Lewis (^^^)6

Olivia(^^^^)7

all of @river-nonbinary-billcipherfan nicknames! 8

Samah! ( @that-0ne-sam)9

Bill Cipher! ( @billcipher-rpblog)10

Maryland! ( @maryland-officially)11

Hawaii! ( @hawaii-official)12

Lep! ( @leprechaun-stealerofgold)13

Squeaky! ( @postalignments)14

James! ( @more-trans-beans) 15

Pyramid Steve! (From @billcipher-rpblog, taken from @i-amsteve)16

Khriz! (From @the-lunacy-system taken from @khrizantema9869)17

Kaitlyn! ( @literal-trans-beans)18

buck! (By @17ghostsinatrenchcoat)19

Alivia! (^^)20

Cataclysm, Nibiru, Roav, 7-3, Ælr, nobaru! ( @planet-of-cataclysm)26

Holden! ( @hadoom) 27

quinn, ruin, yuri, and nikolai! ( @throat0fdelusion)31

penny, Margret, Samantha, Emu, and Warren! ( @pennyroyald)36

silver & milky! ( @official-milky-way)38

anon (anon) 39

PSR J0437-4715 & 1rxs. ( @1rxs-offical) 41

Rian (taken permanently from @river-nonbinary-billcipherfan) 42

neon! ( @neoninglitchen) 43

Katelyn ( @katiewolf) 44

banana, mango, grape, orange, melon, and lemon ( @fruit-tree-system) 50

Monaco ( @officially-monaco)51

peachy ( @importantpeachfury) 52

Colorado ( @colorado-real)53

Oregon ( @oregon-officially)54

North Carolina ( @the-fr-north-carolina-totally)55

Michigan ( @michagan-the-state)56

Violet ( @violetthediamondsblog)57

Vitreous ( @vitreous-official)58

faye! ( @f4y3w00d5)59

Misa! ( @minimuppetmisa)60

nɒʜɈƎ/γnnɒɔƧ ( @₴₵₳₦₦Ɏ₴-฿₳₵₭) 62

Liechtenstein ( @offical-liechtenstein)63

Jalapeño ( @floatingcamel23)64

Logan (permanently taken from @pennyroyald) 65

Rachel Roth ( @half-a-goat)66

Dubois (anon) 67

unknown entity of darkness ( @unknown-entity-tm) 68

Rose/Róża, Minty, Kali, Noodle, & Thing. ( from @blog-of-some-dummies given by @pennyroyald) 73

In-n-out burger ( @in-n-out-burger-official) 74

Diafain (anon) 75

🐍💍 (anon) 76

Tori Simons (anon)77

Felhair de Ziaman ( @pennyroyald) 78

Britain ( @real-british-empire) 79

Carl Fredrick Wilhelm Johannes Maximillian Napoleon Zeus von Neumann the Amazing the Great the Protector of Domestic Tranquillity, ForMemRS. (Anon) 80

Zero ( @z3r0th3h3r0) 81

Tereza (permanently taken from anon) 82

marsh,syll,silk , mallow, mochi, pastel, lucid, Celes, Limetta, maria, Felix, theo, Axel, alex, aqua, nova, aster, caelus, Doku, Aurous, ann, lucas, luca, lucean, jack, phi, ray, peace, alba, chaos, tart, cake, Led, Charlie, Lamba, Xeno! (Anon) 118

Snow ( @sn0w-o) 119

Fiona, Talia, Mable, Boa, Egg, Clise, Pancake, Hypnos, Elysia, Seraphina, Agnes, Marceline, Claire, Noelle, butterscotch, frigg, soup, strawberry, marsia, beate, makoto, sock, bug, Florian, bea, Rosalina, marinella, Finka, nada, Yuri, sky, Olivia, fischl, cinnamon, amity, Ada, Lenora, Aida, Romy, Lys, Eliana, Cherie, océane, Esther, marcille, Astrid, Clara, Lacey, flowers, natsuki, sayori, Petra, Aphrodite, hatsune, crimson, viola, Jenny, juniper, Annie, marie,Tina, kanaya, Callie, Bonnie, Velma, Phoebe, Sabrina, Tori, Natalie, Kim, love, Corey, Courtney, misty, Yasmin, Laika, Tabitha, primrose, Beatrice, circe, johnette, temmie, gumi, himiko, Anne, nessa, Sonia, akane, Diane, Miku, merlin, adagia, miyu, aradia, Illya, azure, maya, Mira, marina, Andromeda, Alya, Stella, celestia, Celeste, nova, Lyra, hope, April, pearl, amber, violet, Kirra, clover, iris, calliope, blossom, Millie, tulip, Bibi, amy, Reyna, ambrosia, page, Leah, Charlie, Lilith, ellsee, maki, edeustus, ellie, Samantha, Amelia, Tiffany, Alyssa, Luna, caoimhe, Judith, Natalie, kumatora, aurelie, Kate, moon, nerisse, serenity, Lara, Sarina, Vanessa, Monica, cherry, Helena, Sophia, tiki, luzia, Laura, Juliette, aurora, corrin, annette, Hilda, madalena, Anna, ivy, Cynthia, byleth, caeda, Alexandrea, chell, Maria, mia, Katie, Veronica, Susie, comet, Jessica, eve, Eva, vivisection, heather, Donna, winona, guinivere, Roxanne, Lillian, Octavia, étolie, Marnie, Gaia, daisy, desura, amnesia, sunny, clementine, bocchi, Cara, Agatha, Evelyn, angèle, Louisa, Camila, roseline, louane, Averie, Melina, Lena, minthe, Emma, acorn, Cassandra, bread, willow, raven, kali, Sappho, harmony, mango, Hellan, Katelyn, aria, Elyse, Marnie, blanche, frasie, Freya, Charlotte, amandine, Vivian, Sylvia, Sarah, Jane, Ashley, Mongolia, Alice, Sydney, pikachu, Michelle, Gowan, Madeline, Ellen, Marissa, Lana, Lilly, Ella, rose, may, Ramona, melody. ( @bitch-with-some-4000-names) 363

Tera , elfilin , carol, taranza ( @tmhj) 367)

ash ( @i-give-worms) 368

Jayne bishop ( @thegreatgeodo) 369

Josie & Scarlett ( @knight-real) 371

sir A. Goetia. ( @pennyroyald) 372

swiper ( @mronion) 373

grammarly ( @unofficially-grammarly) 374

Walmart ( @walmart-the-official)375

Whataburger ( @whataburger-possibly-official) 376

Vemödalen ( @no-such-thing-as-originality) 377

Sydney (Anon) 378

roselyn (anon) 379

Saioa (anon) 380

hygiea 10 ( @hygiea-official)381

Alex, Allen, Asher, Caelus, Calxe, Dalisay, Ennui, Fae, Joy, Kai, Li, Liit, Loe, Mia, Nemo, Nihil, Noël, Oakley, Pelex, Sasha, Somnus, Tama, Ramasses, Rin, Rowan, Willow, Zephyr, Zora ( @joyliit) 401

Alexandria (taken permanently from ^^)402

James/jamie and Martin/marty ( @throat0fdelusion) 404

Caesar & Charlie ( @caesars-crazed-ramblings) 406

Cosmo or Nyx! ( @spacecatdraws) 408

Africa ( @pennyroyald) 409

choccy milk, shortcake, cakepop, mossy ( @analog-autistic) 413

Michael (anon)414

Sally (anon) 415

blue (anon)416

William Shakespeare (<-never heard of the guy/j) ( @shakespeare-official-account) 417

Haejin Min ( @the-name-gifter) 418

fae ( @the-name-asker) 419

vee ( @urlocaldisaster) 420 (hehe)

Dr. Graves ( @the-gimmick-scp-researcher) 421

Zeus (anon) 422

Copi-Copi, Elemento, Adjetivo, Mente en Blanco, Chaucha, Yo Soy, Calugoso, Duquesa, Reina, Coliforme, Tepo-Tepo, Yo no Fui, Fierro Malo, Palmerita, Neumatex, Cortachurro, Etcétera, Maletín, Duque, Guasón, Jefe, Moneda, Cucky, Pelusa, Tía, Legui, Reality, Chester, Chu, Ro, Playita, Palmera, Señor, Re Frito, Pescado, Chamuyo, Calendario, James Bond, Rata, Cabeza de Chaya, Neumático, Repetido, Añico, Rucia, Gonzo, Chino, Cortéz, Albertito, Also, Cabecita, Bigote and Mutante (anon)

jaiden and blook ( @blookdoeswhatever, @jaidentheautisticwurm) 424

jaya (anon)425

erik ( @glitched-out-mess) 426

Caoimhe, Saoirse, Niamh, Ciara, Roisín, Darragh, Meabh, Aoife, Eoghan, Oisín, Fionn, Siobhan, Tagdh, Donncha, Aisling, Sadhbh, Muireann, Doireann, Sorcha, Síle and Aoibhe ( @can-i-explode-now)447

corabella (anon) 448

john smith (anon) 449

449

6/50 states

Items:

frog

worms x3

an Olive Garden I guess???

(Ooc: ^^the blog persona)

(Ooc: the blog persona (not mod) is pansexual, pangender, and demisexual! They like sewing and stealing names.)

(if you see me put your name on my main no you didn’t

my main is @buggz-owlz)

names that are given to us will be under #name giver

and names we steal will be under #name stealer

all asks will be under #name stealer questions

colors are just random colors we associate with the name given.

that’s all for now! Bye!

#gimmick blog #name stealer #gimmick account #gimmick

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huxhsz · 9 days ago

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— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 14 - moving┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 16 - confess

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 015 — ONWARD

Twelve years before the main story.

It’s been two years since the Chronorift Catastrophe. Two years since the world began stitching itself back together. Humanity has clawed its way toward some semblance of stability, but the scars remain.

The Hunter’s Association was founded in the aftermath, a direct response to the rise of the Wanderers. Their mandate is clear: train the strongest, shape them into Deepspace Hunters—protectors, weapons. The first line of defense.

You’re not sure how you feel about it.

Even now, as the world moves forward, you feel like you’re standing still.

The shelter days feel distant, like an echo of someone else’s life. The three of you—Caleb, Eden, and you—have stayed together since then. For a while, Zayne was part of that picture too, a quiet presence who never quite belonged but never felt out of place either. He only stayed for a year before moving away, but Eden had grown attached—though she never said as much. You never noticed, never questioned the way her gaze lingered when his name came up. Now, it’s just the three of you again. You and Caleb attend the same school, sit in the same classes, walk home on the same paths. Eden, though in a different year level, visits the high school department often and is well-known there. She trails behind on your walks home, her steps lighter, smaller—but always there, catching up in her own time.

But things are changing.

They are changing.

And you… you remain the same.

You lean against the hallway wall, clutching your notebook to your chest. The scent of polished floors and old textbooks lingers in the air. Across from you, Caleb and Eden are talking to a group of classmates.

Caleb laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His presence is magnetic, drawing people in with an ease you’ve always envied. He’s taller now, his frame filling out with strength earned through time and effort. The golden boy of your school—popular, admired, effortless.

You see the way girls look at him. How they linger in the hallways after class, pretending to be occupied just to steal glances at him.

Caleb, as always, is polite but distant.

Eden stands beside him, dark hair tucked behind her ear. She’s still small, but there’s a quiet strength to her now, a sharpness in her gaze. She’s at the top of the physical training courses, her combat skills surpassing even some of the older students. It’s no surprise that people are already whispering about her inevitable selection into the Hunter’s Association once she grows older.

You don’t doubt she’ll make it.

And Caleb—if he wanted to, he could join, too. He’s fast, strong, perceptive. His gravity manipulation has grown more refined over the years. But Caleb hasn’t shown any interest in the Hunters. And you know that path isn't meant for him either.

No, Caleb’s heart is still in the sky.

Your fingers tighten around your notebook as you lower your gaze.

This is how it’s supposed to go.

Eden and Caleb. Strength and steadiness. They’ll protect each other. Trust each other. Love each other.

And you… you’re just in the way.

A shadow falls over you.

“Hey.”

You glance up.

Caleb stands in front of you, one hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other holding an energy drink. He extends it toward you without a word.

You hesitate before taking it. “Thanks.”

Caleb leans against the wall beside you, shoulder almost brushing yours. The familiar weight of his presence makes your chest ache.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he observes.

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically.

Caleb doesn’t push. He never does.

“What about you?” you ask. “You and Eden looked pretty deep in conversation earlier.”

Caleb shrugs. “She’s thinking about applying for the Hunters' Association when she’s old enough.”

You nod. “She’ll make it.”

“Yeah.” His gaze softens. “She’s amazing.”

Your heart twists.

Of course.

“You should try too,” you say, forcing the words out. “You’d get in.”

Caleb makes a face. “Nah. Too much work.”

“You’d rather fly?”

“Yeah.” He tilts his head back, looking at the thin strip of sky visible through the school windows. “I want to see the world from above. Just me and the sky.”

You watch him quietly. There’s a different kind of longing in his voice now, something wistful, something that makes your fingers clench around the drink he gave you.

You smile faintly. “Sounds nice.”

“It will be.” Caleb looks at you then. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want to do?”

You hesitate. Then: “I think I want to study Temporal and Dimensional Physics.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Still?”

“Yeah.” You shift your grip on the drink. “I want to understand how all this happened. The catastrophe. The Wanderers.”

Caleb studies you for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze.

Then he nods. “You’ll figure it out.”

Your heart stumbles.

Stop it.

This isn’t meant for you.

“Anyway,” Caleb says, his voice turning light again, “you ready to head home?”

You blink. “What about Eden?”

“She’s got training.” He grins, easy and familiar. “Guess it’s just us.”

Just us.

You swallow and nod.

Caleb straightens, and as he does, his hand brushes against your wrist. The touch is brief—so light you almost don’t notice.

But you do.

And for a fleeting second, you allow yourself to pretend that this warmth belongs to you.

—

Later that night, Eden drops onto the floor beside you, stretching her legs out. She’s freshly showered, her damp hair sticking to her neck. The sharp scent of citrus soap lingers around her.

“So,” she says, “you and Caleb walked home together?”

You glance up from your notebook. “Yeah.”

Eden leans back on her hands. “Anything interesting happen?”

“No.”

She hums knowingly. “You sure?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes.”

Eden watches you, her gaze sharp despite her relaxed posture. Then, with a smirk, she leans in and whispers, “You know he likes you, right?”

You freeze.

“…What?”

Eden’s smile is faint but knowing. “Caleb. He likes you.”

“That’s not true,” you say automatically.

Eden’s smirk widens. “It so is.”

You shake your head. “Caleb’s going to fall for you. That’s how it’s supposed to go.”

Eden raises an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“…It’s obvious.”

Eden tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then she says, “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

Her smirk sharpens. “Never mind.” She stands, brushing off her pants. “Just don’t let him slip away.”

She walks toward the door.

You sit there, heart hammering against your ribs.

He likes you.

No. He can’t.

You close your notebook and press your hands to your face.

Caleb belongs with Eden.

That’s how the story goes.

You’re not supposed to be part of it.

#lads #love and deepspace #lnds #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #caleb xia #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb

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orangecatsmissingbraincell · 20 days ago

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Your Bad Parts- A ShaunaHat Analysis

When they first started dating, many of us thought Melissa would become a lapdog for Shauna. We thought she would just go along with Shauna’s brutality because she had a crush on her. Then the season went on and we saw more and more of their dynamic. We saw Melissa encourage Shauna at her worst. When Shauna tried swinging the vote against Ben, Melissa then pressured people to vote too then excitedly told her “that’s fucking power.”

Jenna (Melissa actress) said that she was attracted to Shauna’s brutal side. Now I think I know why that is.

A difficult part of S3 is rationalizing the shy, quirky, kinda dumb persona of S2 Melissa with the ruthless, bloodthirsty, power obsessed persona she has in S3. She’s silly in S2, she’s cruel in S3. So did the winter really hurt her that profoundly? We’re missing a lot of her arc since she was barely even a side character

Here’s what I think

Melissa’s dark parts grew during S2 but she never acted on it, and she sees Shauna be so shameless about her own bad parts. Shauna can do the stuff that Melissa wants and in doing so, it brings those bad parts front and center in Melissa too

This culminates when Shauna has Melissa slit Ben’s ankle. Shauna could have slit it herself. Hell, I’m sure she wanted to, but I think she really wanted Melissa to do it. She knew what Melissa was about. Melissa wasn’t a lapdog, but she wasn’t some scheming advisor influencing Shauna either. They’re both troubled people whose relationship only brings out the worst in each other. I think Shauna, for lack of a better phrase, wanted Melissa to match her freak. She knew she could, she just wanted to see it for herself

Yet the deepest issue is that Melissa was drawn to someone who expressed the bad parts but didn’t give her much proper affection she wants. We see Shauna act cold and distant to Melissa’s affection. Moments like pushing her away when she came to bring the knife, or her muted reaction to the behind hug. To some that seems obvious, like of course Shauna isn’t the affectionate partner Melissa needs, but keep in mind that Mel is young, younger than Shauna. She’s JV, she’s shy, she’s afraid of herself, but she saw something in Shauna that comforted her over. She’s probably only 15 or 16 if she was JV, and I doubt any of us were smart about our relationships at that age

The worst comes when in S3E7 Shauna leaves her to hunt the frog watchers while leaving her in the care of Mari and Gen. There’s been a back and forth in the fandom about this. Some say that Shauna leaving her proves she’s a bad girlfriend and she should’ve stayed. Others say she’s doing her job as leader and making the necessary decision in the heat of the moment. I think she was showing love in a way that doesn’t work for Melissa. Her anger and the way she shows affection are intertwined. Gone is the girl that hugged Jackie to cheer up. She sees herself as the protector who will kill someone for not saving Melissa, but won’t be there herself

I’ve toiled over this specific reaction for a long time. I think it’s regret. Maybe she’s realizing what went wrong with the relationship, that you can’t just latch onto someone who makes you feel comfortable with your bad parts. It’s why I think Gen was the perfect person to be there. Gen was her best friend in S2 but we rarely saw them together in S3, especially after she and Shauna started dating. When we did it was negative (the vote for Ben). There’s a softness in Gen that doesn’t exist in Shauna anymore, and maybe Melissa is actually closer to that than she thinks

I really hope as the show goes on we can look more at Melissa’s psychology because I’m so curious where she sits on this spectrum

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets s3 #shauna shipman #melissa yellowjackets #shaunahat #yellowjackets analysis

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eternallyordinary · 1 month ago

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“He Belongs to You” - Part 16

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

Series Masterlist<3

this chapter contains vivid descriptions of sa. writing this has been a therapeutic way for me to process the trauma i experienced as a teenager. i am happy and healthy now, but putting my experience into words has been a healing process. please take care of yourself, and if this chapter feels like too much, it’s okay to skip it. thank you for your support <3

Summary: Homelander gives you something you’ve spent years trying to reclaim—your power.

Warnings: sexual assault, kidnapping, trauma, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, emotional tension, stalking, implied violence, murder planning, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

Homelander has been patient—more fucking patient than he’s ever been.

Every second, every breath, every restrained impulse felt like a test of will. But for you? He endured it.

Since meeting you, he’s been drowning in emotions he barely understands: confusion, love, anger—each one clawing at him with a force he isn’t used to.

Confusion, because he never imagined someone like him—a machine, a force of nature—had the ability to fall in love so quickly. So completely.

Anger, because the thought of anyone harming you, of laying a single undeserving finger on you, makes his blood boil.

He’s never been a protector. He’s never felt the need to safeguard anyone in his life. But with you, it was primal. Second nature. The intensity of it unsettles him, but he doesn’t question it. He simply obeys it.

He’s not blind to the inevitable. He knows one day, the cracks in his facade will widen, and you will see what lay beneath—what he’s buried, both figuratively and literally. And if you discover the truth? If you try to leave? Then he’ll have no choice but to burn everything to the fucking ground—you included. So he prays that day will never come.

Until then, he decides to prove his love to you with the greatest gift. Something you’ll never forget.

The four men who had tainted you, who left marks on you. Marks no amount of scrubbing could erase—wiped from existence. Forever.

You won’t have to dirty your hands with the vengeance you craved. No no, sweet girl.

He’ll do it for you.

The four of them—Jimmy Connors, Liam Connors, Eric Blevins, Trevor Marks—sit before him, tied to metal chairs. Blindfolds ripped off, confusion twisting into panic as they take in their surroundings.

A cold, empty warehouse. Dim, flickering light overhead.

No escape.

A gift. A reckoning.

Just for you.

But they don’t know that yet.

And that’s the best part.

—

Homelander inhales a slow, satisfied breath as he studies them. His arms crossed as he takes in each of their pathetic faces.

You were only fifteen. Too young to know better, too drunk to fight back.

The party had been loud, pulsing with bad decisions and cheap liquor, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the careless laughter of teenagers who thought they were invincible.

And then, there was Jimmy Connors. The ringleader. The one who took charge.

You remember his voice—smooth, coaxing, slurring sweet reassurances into your ear as he guided you away from the crowd. Told you he’d take care of you. That you just needed to lie down. That you’d feel better in a minute.

Then came the hands. Rough. Unrelenting. Not just his, but the others too—his brother, his friends, his accomplices, his fucking disciples. You were too out of it to fight, too heavy to move, your limbs betraying you as they pressed you down. There was laughter, the sound of a belt unbuckling, a hand fisting in your hair to keep you still.

Your voice had been useless. Slurred protests, muffled cries—none of it mattered. They didn’t care. To them, you were nothing but a drunk girl at a party. An easy target. Something to pass around, to defile, to leave broken and bleeding in the dark when they were finished.

Jimmy had been the worst of them all. He set the pace, dictated the cruelty, made sure they all got their turn. And when it was over, when they were done, he made sure to clean up the mess—your mess. Pulled your dress down, smoothed your hair, forced water down your throat to make you swallow the shame.

And when you finally woke up, when the reality of what had happened to you settled like poison in your veins, Jimmy had already taken care of that, too. The stories had spread before you could even find the words.

“She was wasted.”

“She wanted it.”

“She doesn’t even remember. What a fucking slut.”

And just like that, they all walked away unscathed.

No one took the fall. No one paid for what they did.

Until now.

Jimmy had been eager for the “investment opportunity” sent his way. A potential commercial real estate deal that could launch his career to the next level. He had no idea the man sending the emails wasn’t real. No idea the lawyers and brokers he had been speaking to were nothing but voices in a machine.

And then you have Liam Connors, his brother.

The loyal one. The enforcer. The one who had always cleaned up Jimmy’s messes, just like he did that night. He had held you down when you tried to fight, had told you to “just relax” as if he was doing you a fucking favor.

When Jimmy called him and said, “Hey, you should come with me to this meeting. If it works out, we’ll both be set for life,”— He didn’t hesitate.

Then there was Eric Blevins. The coward. The one who filmed the whole thing. The one who laughed as he captured every second on his shitty old phone, shaky hands barely holding the camera steady because he was having too much fun.

Jimmy played his part perfectly. “I had no idea. That was all Eric’s idea. I told him to stop.”

And just like that, Eric had been the only one to take the fall—not that it lasted long. A slap on the wrist. Some community service. A few years of keeping his head down before he slipped right back into the world like nothing had happened. Smoking pot and living in his parents basement—literally. So when he got a message saying, “Hey, I got a guy selling top-shelf shit at half the price. If you’re in, come through. No funny business.”— He came running.

And lastly, there was Trevor Marks. The fucking SoundCloud rapper. The one who had always wanted to be famous. The one who had left town, told himself he was better than the rest of them. Trevor put out two whole mixtapes thinking he was going to be a star. He was pumped when he got a DM from an “event manager” saying, “We’re throwing a party for some label execs, and you came up as an artist we’d love to book!”—He was already there.

And now? Now they’re all here. Together. In a cold, empty warehouse. With him.

It’s time to welcome them properly.

—

Jimmy Connors blinks, his head pounding. His hands tied behind his back, zip ties biting into his wrists. He shifts, testing the restraints, and then realizes he isn’t alone.

“What the fuck?”

His voice breaks the silence, and immediately, there’s movement around him. A groan. A cough. The shuffle of bodies struggling against their own restraints.

Liam was the first person he recognized—his brother, sitting a few feet away, equally tied up, looking just as lost. But then—

“Eric?”

Eric Blevins looks up, squinting through the dim light. “Jimmy?”

And then—

“Trevor?”

The SoundCloud rapper sits slouched across from them, blinking rapidly like he’s still trying to process if this is real or some weird-ass dream.

None of them speak for a second. Just frantic glances, wild confusion. The growing realization that this isn’t some coincidence. Someone had brought them here.

Then, the sound of boots.

Heavy. Purposeful. A presence that fills the space before he even comes into view.

And when he does—

“Oh, fuck.”

Jimmy’s breath caught in his throat.

Homelander.

The greatest superhero of all time. The American icon. The strongest man in the world.

A fucking god.

Trevor lets out a shaky laugh, relief washing over his face. “Holy shit. We’re good! We’re actually good.”

Eric exhales, his entire body sagging with the relief of not dying today. “Dude, I thought this was some cartel kidnapping type shit.”

Liam’s military instincts kick in first. He sits up straighter, eyes darting around, looking for a tactical advantage. But even he seems calmer now.

Jimmy’s mind is racing. What happened? Had they been framed for something? Was this a sting operation? Some federal takedown? But no—Homelander doesn’t do arrests. That’s not his thing. Right?

So why is he here?

Jimmy swallows hard, forcing down the nerves. He puts on his best salesman smile—the same one that’s gotten him out of trouble a million times. “Uh, sir—Mr. Homelander—I don’t know what’s going on here, but I just want to say, it’s an honor to meet you.”

The others nod frantically, jumping on the opportunity.

“Yeah, man,” Eric adds, laughing nervously. “You’re, like, the guy. We appreciate you coming, dude, seriously.”

Even Liam, the only one with actual discipline, gives a respectful nod. “Sir.”

Homelander smiles, almost like he’s in on a joke they don’t know yet. He steps closer, boots echoing in the stillness. Eyes scanning over them as if they are objects to be destroyed—not people.

“Wow.” Homelanders voice is light, almost casual. “You guys are really excited to see me.”

Jimmy lets out a nervous chuckle. “Of course, man. You’re—well, you’re fucking Homelander.”

Homelander tilts his head. “I am, aren’t I?”

Trevor shifts against his restraints. “So… what’s the deal? Is this, like, a rescue mission or something?”

The grin on Homelander’s face widens.

“A rescue? Wrong. Try again.”

He turns his gaze toward Jimmy. The moment their eyes meet, Jimmy can feel it. A pressure. A weight so heavy it makes his lungs seize. A feeling he’s never known. Fear. Real. Bone-deep. Primal.

“No, boys,” his voice softer now. Deadlier. “You’re not here to be saved. I’m so sorry about that.”

Homelander’s smile stays on as he leans in. “You’re here because of what you did.”

Trevor frowns. “What—”

“Fifteen-year-old girl. Drunk at a party. The four of you raped her. Ring any bells?”

The words hit them like a bullet.

Homelander cocks his head, his voice still pleasant. “Is that a yes?”

Jimmy’s heart hammers against his ribs, his brain scrambling for something—anything—that could explain this away. Homelander lets the silence stretch as the weight of their own memories crush them.

Then, after a moment, he exhales sharply, straightening up.

“Well, anyway.” He claps his hands together, the sharp crack making them all flinch. “Let me go grab the guest of honor. Don’t worry boys, I won’t keep you waiting!”

—

The rooftop is quiet minus the hum of the city below. The cool night air bites at your skin, but you barely notice. You sat perched on the edge, feet dangling over the abyss, arms wrapped around yourself. You grip your shoulders as if you can keep yourself together by doing so.

From up here, the world looks small. The streets stretch below like veins pulsing with life. The people walking, driving, laughing—they have no idea that in a windowless room above, four men sat bound and confused. Their fates hanging by a single thread.

You stayed hidden in the shadows, heart racing as you watched their faces twist with confusion. With fear. And then—he shows up. The moment they saw Homelander, their entire demeanor changed.

Relief. Like he was their savior.

It was almost funny, watching them sit up straighter, puff out their chests, all thinking the same thing.

“Oh, thank God. We’re fine. He’s here to help us.”

They have no idea why they’re here. And now? Neither do you.

You’ve spent years wishing for this moment. Wishing for something to happen to them. For karma to finally tip the scales.

And yet, sitting here now, watching the city breathe, you aren’t sure if this is justice. Or if this just made you as sick as them.

The sound of the rooftop door creaking open barely registers at first, but the heavy steps that follow are unmistakable.

“You know…”

His voice. Smooth. Light. Playful.

“You can’t fly. Be careful, little bird.”

The words pull you from your thoughts. Homelander stands a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. He watches you with that knowing smirk.

“Just thought I’d remind you.”

Homelander moves closer, stopping just beside you. He leans against the ledge. His cape shifts in the wind, his presence massive even in stillness. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, you swallow hard, shaking your head.

“I thought it would feel… different.”

“Different how?”

“I thought I’d feel—I don’t know—relieved?”

Silence stretches between you. The wind howls.

Then, you whisper, “But all I feel is—”

The words caught in your throat. Homelander doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t press. Just waits.

Finally, you exhale. “I don’t know.”

His voice is quiet, measured. “You think this makes you like them.”

Your fingers dig into your arms. “Doesn’t it?”

He tilts his head, considering you. Then, after a moment—

“No.”

You let out a shaky laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“You don’t even hesitate.”

He lets out a small sigh, his gaze drifting toward the skyline.

“People like you—they always want to believe in the system. That good things happen to good people, and bad people pay the price.” His eyes flick back to you, blue and piercing. “But that’s not how it works. I mean, you witnessed it yourself all those years ago. You know this better than anyone.”

You stay quiet.

“You had to live with it.” A beat. “They didn’t.”

You shudder, and not from the cold.

“They’ve been free,” he continues, his tone gentle but unwavering. “Forgot about what they did to you. Moved on from it. Built their lives like nothing ever happened. And you think making them suffer—even for a moment—makes you the bad one?”

You clench your fists. “What if it does?”

“Then tell me—if they had been caught back then, if they had gone to trial, if some judge had given them life in prison, would that have made the system ‘bad’?”

You hesitate, but you already know the answer.

No.

That would have been justice. And that’s what this is. Just a different version.

His version.

Homelander gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light, almost careful. His eyes search yours, steady and unwavering.

“Some people never get justice,” he murmurs. “Forced to live the rest of their lives as victims.”

Then, his lips curl into something softer—something sure.

“But you, my love? You’re not a victim. You never were. You’re a fucking superhero. It’s time to show them that.”

His words settle over you, heavy and intoxicating. They press into the deepest parts of yourself—the ones that still carry the weight of that night. Everything inside you is screaming. The girl you used to be—the one who had begged for someone to believe her, who had spent years trying to live with something that should have destroyed her—she wanted this.

She deserved this.

Homelander watches you, reading every flicker of emotion across your face. And then, as if sensing your internal war has come to an end, he reaches out. His fingers brush against your wrist—not forceful, not demanding. Just there.

“Let’s go,” he whispers.

And this time? You don’t hesitate.

—

The warehouse is suffocatingly quiet as you step inside. Your boots echo against the concrete. Homelander walks beside you—his presence commanding, effortless. But this moment isn’t about him.

For the first time in your life, they’re at your mercy.

Jimmy. Liam. Eric. Trevor.

Four men, bound, silent, staring at you.

At first, they are just confused. Disoriented. But then—

Realization.

The second it clicks, you see it. The shift in their eyes. The panic settling in, twisting in their chests like something sour.

Oh, fuck.

Jimmy’s mouth opens slightly, his brain visibly scrambling. He processes you faster than the others, his instincts kicking in.

And, of course, he smiles. Carefully, of course. Practiced. Calculating.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, shaking his head like he can’t believe his luck. “Look at you. I mean—wow. The Seven? You actually did it.” He speaks as if this is a game he can win. “I always knew you were special.”

Liam nods stiffly beside him, his eyes darting between you and Homelander. Jimmy keeps going, emboldened by the silence.

“I mean it! It’s amazing, really. You came so far.” He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I bet all that… that stuff from high school—is just a distant memory, huh?”

A distant memory.

You take a step closer, bending down as you lower yourself to their level. They flinch in unison. You tilt your head, studying his face.

“You guys raping me is a… ‘distant memory’?” you repeat softly.

Jimmy swallows, but recovers fast. “I didn’t realize you still called it that. Rape.”

You inhale slowly, letting the silence drag, letting it press against them.

Then, softly, you whisper—

“I remember everything.”

You let the words settle before continuing, voice steady.

“I remember waking up cold. I remember how my dress felt—bunched up around my hips, twisted the wrong way. The fabric was wet in places it shouldn’t have been. I remember my thighs aching. How sore I was. How I couldn’t move without feeling it. I remember the bruises. Dark, deep, blooming fingerprints all over my skin. My arms. My legs. My throat. I remember the bite mark on my collarbone. I remember the taste of blood in my mouth,” you continue, tilting your head. “My lip was split. Someone must have hit me.” Your brows lift. “Liam, wasn’t it you?”

Liam clenches his jaw, his fists curling behind his back.

“I remember trying to move. I remember my body not listening to me. I was too heavy. Too slow. I remember my head spinning.”

Jimmy’s lips part like he wants to cut in, to stop this, but you don’t let him.

“I remember the laughter. The way you all laughed at my naked body. Like it was funny. Like it was a game. Like my body was a prize”

Eric sucks in a sharp breath. His shoulders hunch like he’s trying to disappear. You shift your gaze to him.

“I remember you filming it.”

Eric’s entire body goes cold.

“I remember you telling the others to get out of the way so you could get a ‘better shot’. I remember how much fun you had. But guys—I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

You lean in closer, voice barely above a whisper.

“I remember begging.”

Silence.

Pure. Heavy. Drowning silence.

Jimmy inhales, shaky, his whole body stiff.

“I begged you guys to stop,” you say, voice sharper now. “I begged you to let me go.” Your fingers twitch against your thighs, nails digging in.

“I remember Jimmy telling me to relax.” Your gaze locks onto him. “Like I was being dramatic.”

Jimmy finally broke. “Look—”

“I REMEMBER.”

Your voice cracks through the air like a whip, slicing through whatever pathetic attempt he was about to make.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to steady.

Then, quieter—

“I remember waking up alone. I remember the silence. I remember knowing, the second I opened my eyes, that it was too late. That no one was coming to save me. The damage already done.”

Your hands clench into fists.

“I remember dragging myself to the bathroom. How my legs barely worked. I remember gripping the sink just to hold myself up.”

You let out another breath, slow and shaky.

“And I remember the mirror.”

Your gaze flicks up, sweeping over them.

“I remember looking at my reflection, not recognizing myself. I remember turning on the faucet and scrubbing my skin raw. I remember trying to wash you all off of me. I remember it all.”

“And now? You will, too.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆｡

tags: @raginginkedslut @helreyy @lilyalone

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carnalcrows · 2 months ago

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YANDERE VAMPIRE

☆ name: Klara Odile Eisenberg (Klara Odilia | Clară Odilie) → "Bright and Wealthy Warrior"

☆ ethnicity : German

☆ age : 200+ (appears early 20s)

☆ gender : Female

☆ mbti : INFJ

☆ her story: [click to proceed]

Born into an unforgiving world, she spent her childhood in an abusive household—a father who saw her as a punching bag, a mother too sick to protect her, and brothers who chose ignorance over intervention. At 16, she fled, seeking refuge in a distant church, where she became a nun, believing faith would heal the wounds life had carved into her soul.

But faith did not protect her. At 21, when war consumed the world, enemy soldiers stormed her sanctuary, defiling all that was sacred—including her. She prayed, begged for salvation, but heaven remained silent. Left for dead in the forest, she awaited the end—until Count Dracula found her. With a whisper of pity, he gave her a choice: die or be reborn. She chose the latter, awakening in a body free of scars, yet forever cursed.

The crucifix that once symbolized her devotion burned against her skin. She ripped it off, embracing the only truth that had ever saved her—not God, but darkness. Her first act as a vampire was vengeance, tearing through the soldiers who ruined her. Then, she returned home, ensuring her father and brothers felt the pain she had endured. Now, she walks the earth, a shadow of justice and cruelty, feeding only on those who deserve damnation.

☆ appearance:

Hair: Deep blue (originally black, changed due to prolonged sun exposure).

Eyes: Crimson red (once blue, transformed upon becoming a vampire).

Skin: Ghostly pale, untouched by time or death.

Height: 5’5”–5’6”, deceptively delicate but impossibly strong.

Style: Wears dark, gothic attire, blending elegance with an edge. Despite her rejection of faith, she sometimes wears a rosary—not as a symbol of belief, but as a cruel reminder of what once was.

☆ personality:

Quiet, observant, and unnervingly calm.

Holds a deep resentment for the divine—if God exists, she wants Him to see what He has created.

Detached but not heartless—she understands suffering and only preys on those who cause it.

Speaks with a haunting, almost ethereal presence; every word measured, every glance a warning.

A hunter of the wicked, delivering judgment in the form of fangs and blood.

☆ with a lover:

Love is a concept she abandoned long ago, but if someone were to break through her walls, they’d find a protector as fierce as she is broken.

Doesn't love gently—her devotion is intense, possessive, and eternal.

Struggles with trust; the last time she relied on something greater than herself, it failed her.

Would rather die (again) than let someone she cares about suffer as she once did.

☆ strengths:

Unmatched patience—she can stalk her prey for years if needed.

A lethal force—her body is a weapon, her mind even more so.

Impossible to intimidate—what is fear to someone who has already lost everything?

Master of blending into society; she can be anyone, anywhere.

☆ weaknesses:

The remnants of her past—she may have killed her demons, but their whispers remain.

The sun—while it doesn’t burn her skin, prolonged exposure drains her strength.

True faith—though she scorns it, a priest’s blessing or holy relics can still wound her.

Loneliness—she may not admit it, but eternity is a long time to be alone.

☆ relationships:

Count Dracula: Her reluctant sire, the only being she considers an equal.

Enemies: Corrupt priests, warmongers, abusers—anyone who thrives off the suffering of others.

Potential Companion: If she ever lets someone in, they will find a woman who is both an angel of death and a tragic echo of the girl she used to be.

☆ extra:

Prefers to hunt at night, watching the sins of the world unfold before deciding who deserves to die.

Keeps a single relic from her past—a rosary with a broken cross, worn more as a mockery than a keepsake.

Speaks German, Latin, and several other languages, learning as she drifts through time.

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calamaroo · 3 months ago

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Hearing A Noise! Professor Atka Sergei Natquik ====================

Grrrrrrrrrr, I love him sm grrrrrrrrr

Natquik : His design has changed a hundred times through my time drawing Octonauts, and at first he was albino, then he wasn't, then he was again, and so and so on. But the more I thought of it, I didn't like his design, although I did enjoy the albinism part, so it stuck around to be strictly "Ocular Albinism," which only affects the eyes and is consistent with his species, because Arctix foxes have poor eyesight. He wears snow goggles most of the time to help his eyes out (it's what he's holding in the artwork).

I also thought about how I was going by "their skintone represents their fur/animal skin" so I finally decided I'd make him a grey-ish dark hue to match Peso and Barnacles (and the other bears). I just made everything a little more de saturated, and I finally got an outcome that I love! He is adorable and baby and itty bitty and old and a sweet heart <33

Now for a bit of LORE because he's honestly one of my favorite characters, and I have yet to talk about his lore :

He is of mixed Russian and Chuckchi (Siberian Natives, technically different from Inuit but similar) blood, Chuckchi on his mother's side, and Russian on his father's. He speaks both languages fluently, along with English, but when alone or with the bears/close friends (Octo-Dads included), he prefers his native tongues. His Native name, "Atka," means "guardian spirit," and his Russian name, "Sergei," means "protector." His parents (and me) thought it would be a poetic touch to be promised protection and the strength to protect others in both of his cultures.

In his youth (16-19) years, he lives isolated in the Siberian tundra with his parents and siblings, but he has always enjoyed exploring the farther reaches of his homeland. So, while wandering one day, he came across a group of explorers from England, and during their stay, they taught him English and sparked his interest in a life beyond the Arctic. So, at 19, he traveled back to England with the explorers and went to college to become a professor [he used to be more in touch with the explorers, but now they have all gone]. After that was when he returned to the Arctic and became the Polar Bear Scouts Leader and taught Barns and the other bears until he quit (shortly after Tracker joined, and when Barns was 16) and vanished without a trace. Barns, of course, was extremely upset, but Natquik, seeing him as a son-figure, left him a note explaining that "why I left is not your fault, but just know that I will be fine and that I will always miss you."

Why he left only he knows, even to the modern day. Barns wants to ask, but because of how modern-day Natquik has.... kinda lost it (isolation for 30 years will do that you) he doesn't for fearing of breaking Natquik more. In the present day [60 years old], Natquik is paranoid, skittish, and prone to panic attacks, but well-meaning, cheery, and ready to help. He loves his new job as an Ocotagent but worries himself sick he's doing it all wrong (again, he forgot how to socialize. It was isolation's fault).

He prefers his alone time and personal space while having no sense of it for others. He's clingy, especially with loved ones (ships and canon relationships), and calls Barnacles nearly every night just to talk. It keeps him sane.

This was all very headcanon-y and self-indulgent, but I'm having fun and doing my best to stick to canon personalities, albeit with a bit of offscreen ✨️flavor.✨️

====================

@snowy-yoshi figured I'd mention you because you like the Professor, too ^-^

Of course, I'd get my spark for art back right as friggin' school is about to start back up again 💀

#octonauts #octonauts fanart #octonauts above and beyond #octonauts above and beyond fanart #octonauts au #calamaroo's au #octonauts professor natquik #professor natquik #i love that stupid old russian man you go goofy guy yeaaahh #hes so silly aaauuuhghhhhhghgfhhhff #(holds gently before shoving in my mouth and gnawing) /aff

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storiesfromafan · 10 months ago

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Requests are open.

Sneak Peaks

Obsessed

Series

Antisocial Bookworm, Confessions of the Heart

Traitor, Dandelion, The Battle (new 7/12)

The Argument, Reflection

Dance Class 101, Beautiful Swan, The Waltz

Guilty As Sin, Part Two

Obsessed, Part Two, Part Three

One-Shots

Moral of the Story

Yule Ball

Temptation

Why Me?

Spin The Bottle

Her

His Nightmare

Don't Do It

Catching Feelings

What's Mine Is Mine

The Prank/Do Revenge

Moments #1/Moments #2 (new 7/12)

Or Something

He's So Annoying/He's Not So Bad (18+) (new 27/11)

Christmas Wish (new 25/12)

Just His Best Friend (new 4/1)

Sebastian Sallow

Moments #1/Moments #2 (new 10/2)

One-Shots

Chaos

Sneak Peaks

He's My Husband, I'm His Wife

Look Who's Jealous Now

Benny x Married Plus!Size Reader (new 27/1)

Series

Angel on Wheels - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (On Hold)

Spitfire - She's A Spitfire, He's My Husband, I'm His Wife, Leavin' On Your Mind, I'm Sorry Baby, Vandal Family Picnic (inprogress)

One-Shots

Spark

Diner Girl

Jealousy Does Look Good On You/Look Who's Jealous Now

Warm Lazy Summer Day's

Birthday Girl

Choices

His Hands

Drinks/Persistent/Insane/Ride

All I Dream Of / Easy On My Eyes / Mr Sandman / My Girl / Wish I Were Her

Fall Time

Late Night Moments

Two Worlds

I Want You (18+)/I Need You (18+)

Halloween Carnival

Insecurities/I Want All Of You (18+)/Mini Dress (18+)/Protector (new 12/1)

Car Trouble

Heart Felt Gifts (new 24/12)

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys/When He's Gone/Missing Him/Her Was Dark Grey (new 26/1)

Foolish (18+)(new 1/2)

His Girl

Sneak Peak

His Girl (2/12 new)

Series

Untitled

One-Shots

Rumours/MIA/Return

His Girl (18+)

Gaze (new 1/3)

Series

Little Bird - Part One / Part Two (new 16/11)

Wally Clark

Princess / The Jock (new 22/3)

Request Here

Benny Cross - The Bikeriders

In The Rain, Kiss of Life

In The Rain, Kiss of Confessing Feelings

Series master list post here.

#mattheo x reader #masterlist #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #cal x reader #the bikeriders cal #buck x reader #gale cleven x you #gale cleven x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastiansallowxreader #sebastian sallow x y/n #sebastian sallow

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grounded-gryphon · 3 months ago

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I'd Die (Again) for Y'all part 16

Masterlist

Danny woke up clinging to a bare sliver of bed, held in place by slim, strong arms wrapped around him. It took his confused brain a few minutes to figure out what was going on. Right. Even though it had been early, he, Tim, and Jason had all dozed off together after some truly epic sex.

He had thought to slip away and let them have the bed (he still didn't know how they'd all fit on it), but Tim had quickly squashed that idea. "No sneaking off," he'd said muzzily and wrapped his arms around Danny's waist even as he fell asleep.

Those same arms were still wrapped around Danny now but he thought he might be able to slip out without disturbing anyone else.

The moment he started to move, those arms tightened. "Where are you going?" Tim mumbled in Danny's ear.

"Nowhere, I guess."

"Damn right," Jason growled from the other side of the bed. "No more running, Protector."

Danny sighed and relaxed back onto the bed. "I wasn't…"

Tim rolled over, taking Danny with him, and suddenly Danny was pinned between him and Jason.

"You were running last night, weren't you?" Tim asked sadly. "As soon as you thought we were okay without you, you were gone."

Danny cringed. He hadn't thought of it that way, had just been trying to not intrude, but he could see how…

"You been doing nothing but running and fighting for years now," Jason said, nuzzling at Danny's neck. "We get it. But you promised me, Protector."

"Yeah," Danny's breath hitches, "Yeah, I know. And I won't. Or… I don't mean to, I just…

"No more running, Danny," Tim murmured, and leaned over to kiss him. "We aren't letting you go."

Danny finally let himself relax back on the bed. "No more running. But what are you going to do with me then?"

Jason and Tim smirked at each other before closing in.

From Sam Manson To Lois Lane Subject: Re: Ghost Boy says I'm not a fruitloop.

If you are lying I will make you regret the day you were born, and Superman himself will not keep you safe from my vengeance.

Call (xxx) xxx-xxxx at 8am Central Time tomorrow. I'll give you one hour.

In the dark of night, Cyborg watched through remotes as Flash approached one of the sites they had identified as a GIW operation. The plan was infiltrate and harass. They didn't want a full war with the GIW, they wanted to shut them down legally and peacefully.

That was the theory anyway. After seeing the medical reports on Phantom Cyborn wouldn't have been very disappointed if they ended up attacking the GIW directly.

From what little they'd been able to find, they thought this location was for weapons testing and development. On the surface, it looked like any other industrial park, but when Cyborg turned /his/ sensors on it, it was obviously nothing of the sort.

Flash was a fast bugger, no way Cyborg's remotes could keep up. But that was okay. He kept his remotes stationed on perimeter, watching for anyone who might show up unexpectedly. One of the Lantern's, John Stewart, was above, ready to come bursting in if Flash needed backup.

Cyborg gave Flash the 'go' and the speedster took off, racing over the perimeter fence and into the building. A moment later, Cyborg picked up a new wifi signal from within the building. Flash had gotten him access. Cyborg immediately uploaded one of his specialized viruses into the comptures and began downloading any and all files he could find.

"Oh my god, Cyborg."

Flash's voice, over the comm. Fuck. This was supposed to be a silent mission.

"What's wrong?"

"Their weapons' testing? They're testing them on living… er… existing beings."

"WHAT!"

"They have… these little glowing blob creatures? Dozens of them trapped in these containers. I can't just leave them here."

"I'm going in," Stewart said. Cyborg waved him on.

Animal experimentation? For ghosts?

Cyborg remembered again Phantom's injuries and shuddered. "Keep your eyes out, Flash. Find every, and I mean /every/ location they may be hiding their subjects.

"I'm calling in back up."

By dawn, the GIW base didn't exist any longer. From roof to sub-sub-sub basement it had been pulled apart. The captive creatures -- the Flash's immense relief they never found anything other than those creatures -- had been relocated and Dr. Atom and Flash were tearing through the GIW files trying to figure out what they were and how to care for them.

For the time being, they were being held in one of the restricted portions of the Watchtower. They didn't seem in any pain or distress in their little containers, so the team had reluctantly decided to leave them there until they had more information. For all they new the little blobs needed something in those containers to survive…

Jason cursed sleepily as his phone rang. "What?"

"Hood."

"Fuck you." He was not dealing with Bruce at this fucking hour of the morning. Yesterday had been amazing. For once there had been no emergencies, no disasters. Just a whole day that he and Tim and Danny had been able to spend together, taking turns taking care of each other. God they were a messed up bunch, but by some miracle…

"Hood."

"It's too goddamn early for your bullshit."

"I need to know if you are still on contact with him."

Jason rolled his eyes, and looked down to were Danny was sleepily cuddled up against him. "Yeah, I got a way to get a hold of him. But he's still not going to want anything to do with you assholes."

"Hh. Flash, Lantern Steward, and Cyborg took down a GIW base last night. They found… captives."

Jason bolted upright. "WHAT?!"

Danny was blinking up at him. Damnit.

"They appear to be a living blob. Atom and Flash believe they are some kind of ghostly animal. We need to know how to care for them and if it is safe to release them."

"Fine," Jason allowed himself a moment to glare at the phone. "I'll talk to him."

He hung and flopped back on the bed. "So… That was asshole with some news."

----

AN:

As usual, cleaned up version hits AO3 next week. Thanks so much for being patient with me the last year or so, but I am back and ready to write, so expect another update in two weeks.

#dpxdc #brain dead #dead tired #brain dead on main #i'd die again #jess mahler's writing

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gouraminnow · 4 months ago

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If it's okay can I request a yandere sir crocodile x single mother reader. I've been thinking about what would happen if the reader had a baby, like would they take the reader and leave the baby or take the reader and the baby. If they did take the baby what would happen, would they be mean to the baby, nice to the baby, or just distance. Would they become a platonic yandere. I'm so sorry if I already sent this in, I can't remember if I did or not.

Yeah I got the first one, but dw about it lol tumblr can get weird with asks anyway.

Rambling under the cut! Not sure if you meant literal baby, child is of ambiguous age but can talk.

Hoo boy you've handed me a rough one, huh? I don't think Croc is a kids guy. But I don't think he'd be outright horrible to a small, unthreatening child- if not because of standards, but because it just isn't worth his time or energy to direct actual hatred toward. Yes, he was willing to destroy a whole country and hundreds of lives which no doubt included children, but I think that degree of faceless separation is very different from looking at a kid directly and going "Yeah I'm gonna kill this. Personally. With my hands." Vivi was 16 and Luffy was 17 iirc but one is an important opposing political figure with crucial information on his misdeeds, and Luffy... is Luffy. Idk. What I'm saying is at the very least I don't see him being abusive or disposing of the child- he does like you, and that's a pretty surefire way to destroy you and any reason you have to cooperate.

It could be a "cooperate and your child remains happy/unharmed" situation but tbh I don't wanna write that. Child abuse is a topic I'm willing to touch on in specific circumstances, mostly backstory but I don't really want to write about canon characters doing it. So I simply won't lol. Reader inserts can be held against their will and mistreated but I don't want to involve a kid in that dynamic, so if I write something where the reader is caring for a kid (such as Galley on 4th) then the yandere in question does things through much softer more under-handed methods.

Honestly? The best way I see this working out is Pre-Alabasta arc where Crocodile is still seen as a hero by the masses. There's a good chance that, at least initially, his affections start and end with you. Is irritated if he finds out about the kid after he's decided that he likes you. But you- you're a little slice of domesticity, you fit into his life rather nicely, he thinks. Plus you and the brat help round out his image as a wholesome do-gooder, don't you? A protector of the people, and a loving husband and father to boot. The... dark parts of his business all swept under the rug and kept away from you both, of course.

His dates with you are no doubt extravagant, but he prefers your kid not accompany the two of you on these. Probably prefers to shower them in expensive gifts, rather than spend much one-on-one time with them. I think he could get attached but he'd be in denial about it for a bit. He's able to rationalize the lack of time spent with them to you, specifically in public- he's a notable figure, is he not? While he's a Warlord and could no doubt protect the both of you(his pride will NOT have you believe otherwise), he just doesn't want the risk. You're an adult with full comprehension of the possibility of being targeted, so it's different. He is a good actor, though. While he doesn't spend as much time with the kid, he's good enough that they don't feel actively disliked. A bit... put out, maybe. It's possible your kid just... thinks he's really cool, despite it. Mysterious, close yet distant, someone who makes mom happy and is the reason they both have all this nice stuff, now. Which can be annoying, but stroking the ego doesn't hurt the kid's case. Liking the bananawanis would score them a couple points too...

"Do you think I could, um, meet them sometime? Y'know, if you aren't busy..." Crocodile raises a brow, taking in the brat sitting in a chaise lounge chair. They're leaning forward, looking hopeful- swinging their little legs in anticipation. They look comically small compared to the chair. He chuckles, takes a drag of his cigar- turning his head away from the child to exhale. "...I'm not sure if I can do that without consulting your mother first," he muses, watching the kid visibly deflate. Even if he knows the bananawanis will listen to him, that they would pose no threat if he did not wish them to do so- he preferred you to be happy. Introducing your small child to the large, imposing reptiles used as guard-dogs behind your back would be unwise. "So I'm afraid you'll only be looking from a distance or through glass, unless we can get her approval. We could always ask though, hmm?" The kid grins at him- and Sir Crocodile feels a disquieting lack of disdain.

#one piece x reader #yandere one piece #... pretty light on the yandere tbh #basically he begins only treating the kid well to ensure your affections but starts liking them #for angst maybe he does finally start connecting with em only for the strawhats to finally rock up and expose everything with Vivi :')

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novaursa · 7 months ago

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Bonsoir Madame

Can I have a fem!hightower x grayne x Criston

Where she’s Alicent younger sister, she grow up most her life in king’s landing. Ser Criston is kinda obsessed with her, he’s her knight so he had to protect her always. And one night when he’s standing behind her door, he clearly hears her make her little business. But when he try to watch he find out that she’s with her own brother Gwayne.

H eventually confronted her (that little bitch had no shame to thinks is superior and attack someone..) but Gwayne came to her rescue and with all his sarcasm make him shut up

Behind the Chamber Door

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Ser Criston was appointed to guard you by your sister, Queen Alicent herself. He overhears something that makes him confront both you and his heart’s desire.

- Pairing: Gwayne Hightower/hightower!reader/Criston Cole

- Note: The reader is Gwayne's and Alicent's younger sister.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The night is heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional flicker of torchlight outside your chambers. The faint glow bathes the stone walls in a soft, wavering light, casting long shadows that dance across the floor. Criston Cole stands vigilant, a statue clad in gleaming armor. He has always been there, lingering outside your door—Alicent’s loyal shield, your appointed protector. His presence is supposed to offer comfort, but lately, his gaze feels too watchful, too piercing. You feel his eyes on you whenever you pass, but tonight it is different.

Tonight, he heard.

The muffled sounds from your chamber had not been intended for any ears beyond your own and your brother's. Gwayne, your beloved brother, had left not long ago, slipping back into the quiet corridors of the Red Keep. The door had closed behind him, but the echo of his presence still lingered—along with the heat of his touch. You knew you shouldn't feel this way about him, but you couldn't help it. You had always shared an unusual closeness, one that had grown into something far more dangerous.

The weight of that intimacy presses against your chest even now as you sit on the edge of your bed, still breathless from his visit. Your heart pounds as you think of Gwayne’s whispered words, his touch—his love. But you are startled from your reverie by a sound at your door.

A sharp knock.

You rise, instinctively pulling your robe tighter around you. The door creaks open, and there stands Ser Criston Cole. His face is tense, jaw clenched, and there’s a look in his eyes that you have never seen before. He steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. The silence between you stretches taut, thick with unspoken words. His dark eyes are ablaze, and you know in that instant—he knows.

"You should be more careful," Criston says, his voice low and harsh. "The walls have ears, Y/N."

You feel your stomach drop, the fear prickling at the back of your neck. "Criston..." You start, but the words falter on your lips. His name sounds fragile in the charged air.

His gaze flicks toward the bed, then back to you. "You’ve made a mockery of your family’s name, of your own. Do you understand what you've done?"

His tone cuts like a blade, the weight of his accusation sinking deep. You swallow hard, trying to regain some sense of control. "You don’t understand."

"No," he interrupts, stepping closer, his face inches from yours now. His anger is palpable, his breathing ragged. "I understand perfectly. I heard everything." His voice drops, the words hissing through clenched teeth. "Your brother… Gwayne Hightower. You let him—"

He doesn't finish, the disgust in his voice enough to paint the image vividly in your mind.

Your heart races. You look away, unable to face the fury in his eyes. "It's not what you think," you manage, but even to you, the words sound hollow, unconvincing.

Criston’s hand comes up, grasping your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. The touch is both gentle and commanding, a contradiction of the conflict within him. "You think I haven't seen the way he looks at you? The way you look at him?" His grip tightens slightly. "Do you think this is some game? A secret you can keep forever?"

You shudder, your breath catching. "And what would you have me do, Criston? Deny the feelings I have? Deny him?" The vulnerability in your voice betrays you. You want to resist, to push him away, but there's a part of you—somewhere deep down—that craves his attention, his anger.

His jaw tightens, his hand dropping from your chin, clenched now into a fist. "You don't understand," he whispers, his voice breaking, and for the first time, you see the struggle in his eyes—more than just his disgust, his duty. His own feelings are tearing him apart.

"Why?" you ask, your voice soft. "Why do you care so much?"

His eyes darken, and for a moment, he says nothing, the words caught in his throat. But then, finally, he breathes out, "Because... I care for you." The confession spills out like a dam breaking, raw and unguarded.

You freeze. Criston Cole—your sworn protector, the man bound by oath—cares for you. More than that, the way he looks at you now... it's more than duty, more than protection. It's something deeper, something dangerous.

"Ser Criston—" you begin, but before you can finish, the door swings open with a sharp creak. Gwayne strides in, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as ever, taking in the scene. He sees Criston’s clenched fists, the tension in the air, and the way you stand frozen between them. A smirk curls at the corner of his lips, as if he finds the whole situation amusing.

"Ser Criston," Gwayne drawls, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is this how you treat my sister? Should I be worried?" He steps between the two of you, placing a hand on your shoulder, possessive and casual all at once.

Criston stiffens, his eyes narrowing. "You should stop what you're doing before it's too late," he warns, voice trembling with barely suppressed anger.

But Gwayne only laughs softly, shaking his head. "Ah, Ser Criston. Always the righteous knight." His gaze shifts to you, softening. "Perhaps you’re jealous. Is that it? You wish to be in my place?"

Criston's face hardens, the words cutting deep, but he says nothing. The silence stretches again, heavy and suffocating.

Gwayne's grip on your shoulder tightens. "Go, Ser Criston. You’ve done your duty for the night." His voice is commanding now, dismissive.

For a moment, Criston hesitates, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes meet yours one last time, searching, pleading, before he turns on his heel and storms out, the door slamming behind him.

Gwayne lets out a low chuckle, leaning in to kiss your temple. "He'll get over it," he whispers, his hand sliding down your arm. "He always does."

But you can't shake the feeling that nothing will be the same after tonight.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #alicent hightower #gwayne #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #criston x y/n #gwayne hightower #criston x you #criston x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole #hotd gwayne #hotd criston

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oceandolores · 8 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴,"

summary: life has been perfect, just you and him, but the shadows of both of you and Joel's past has been haunting you again...

CHAPTER 4

masterlist of the series

previous | chapter 3

next | chapter 5

The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter these days, casting a warm glow over your life since Joel had become more involved in it. His presence brought a newfound sense of safety and comfort, not just for you but for him as well. Joel, once a cold and distant figure, began to soften, melting into a warmer, more open person whenever you were around. It was as if the world belonged to just the two of you, and the bond you shared illuminated both your lives in profound ways.

Joel was now a regular at church, attending Sunday services and every fellowship event with renewed purpose. His participation didn't go unnoticed, especially by Tommy, Ellie, and Maria, who observed the positive changes in him. Joel still remained a man of few words, guarded and cautious, but your presence had undeniably brought a light into his life, guiding him out of the shadows.

For you, Joel became the protector you desperately needed. Whenever your father’s temper flared, you could escape to Joel, finding solace in his arms. He calmed your storms, just as you eased his burdens, becoming each other's anchor. You often sneaked out together to the lake or climbed into the back of Joel’s truck to gaze at the stars. Those moments felt like the world stood still, with only the two of you and the infinite sky. Joel found himself no longer lost in the darkness; instead, he had found his light in you.

However, you both had to maintain a facade, keeping your relationship discreet to avoid the prying eyes of the community. Sneaking out, lying to your father about being at a friend's house, and stolen moments of intimacy became part of your routine. While you hadn't taken your relationship to a sexual level due to your trauma from Jamie, the nights spent cuddling, kissing, and talking were enough for Joel. Though he sometimes felt the stirrings of desire, he respected your boundaries, focusing instead on the depth of your connection.

Joel sometimes took you out of town, exploring Austin or Houston. You visited night markets, played in arcades, and strolled through bustling streets. Joel despised arcades, but the sound of your laughter and the sight of your carefree smile made every annoying game worthwhile. Every time you smiled, it was as if a sunbeam pierced through the clouds in Joel's heart, warming a place he had thought forever cold.

"Got another project comin' up," Joel said one evening as you sat together in his truck, overlooking the hills. "A big one. Tommy thinks it's too much work for the crew we got, but I reckon we can handle it."

"Tell me more about it," you prompted, even though construction details often went over your head. You loved hearing Joel talk about his work; the passion in his voice made you feel closer to him.

"It's an office building downtown. Gonna be a challenge because we gotta keep the old facade. Means a lotta careful demolition, precision work. Gotta bring in some new folks, too, ones who know their way around older structures."

You nodded, trying to visualize it. "Sounds complicated."

"It is," he admitted, a touch of pride in his voice. "But we got a good team. Tommy's been talkin' to some contractors. We need people who can do the job right, you know? Can’t afford any mistakes."

"I believe you can do it," you said earnestly. "You’re amazing at what you do."

He chuckled softly. "You’re sweet." Joel's hand reached up, his rough fingers gently caressing your chin. His touch was like a warm breeze on a chilly evening, comforting and electrifying at the same time. Joel’s gaze held yours, his brown eyes deep and intense, like molten chocolate, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher but felt deeply within your soul.

Every touch, every look from him, made you melt. It was as if you were a snowflake landing on a sun-warmed pavement, vanishing into a pool of warmth under the intensity of his presence. You giggled, the sound light and musical, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel shook his head slowly, his smile spreading across his face, tender and genuine. "Nothin', darlin'," he said, his voice calm, gentle, and sincere.

Joel couldn’t fully grasp his feelings, but being with you made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in years. He knew this might be wrong, but it felt so good, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds, casting colors on a world that had been grey for too long. Ever since Sarah and his wife had passed, his life had been a landscape painted in shades of grief and loss. Ellie had brought back some light, but what he felt with you was different, something more vivid, more profound.

His world had been a desolate canvas, splashed with only the darkest hues. But you were the burst of color, the brush of a vibrant dawn, illuminating the shadows that had consumed him. You were his beacon, guiding him from the darkness, painting his existence with the brightest of shades. And though it scared him, it also filled him with a warmth and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

***

After school, you found yourself in the familiar warmth of the kitchen, the comforting scent of vanilla and sugar filling the air. Your mother, in her element, was bustling around, gathering ingredients for a cake and cookies.

"Can you grab the eggs from the fridge, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded, reaching into the refrigerator. As you handed her the carton, her hand brushed against your back, right where the still-healing bruises were. You flinched, unable to hide the sharp intake of breath.

Your mother's eyes widened, guilt flashing across her face. "I'm so sorry. Does..does it still...um hurt?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, Mama, it's okay. It's getting better."

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on you with a mixture of worry and sorrow. "I know I haven't... I haven't done enough to protect you," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for that. I'm just... I’m so afraid of your father."

You placed a hand on her arm, trying to offer some comfort. "Mama, it's alright. I understand. Let's just focus on the baking, okay?"

Your mother nodded, her relief palpable. She turned back to the counter, trying to regain her composure. "So, have you noticed how Joel’s been coming to church more often lately?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of Joel, careful to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, I noticed."

Your mother smiled, though it was tinged with curiosity. "You know, he’s changed a lot over the years. He used to be so different when Sarah and his wife were alive."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. You knew bits and pieces about Joel’s past but had never heard the full story. "What was he like back then?"

"Joel was a wonderful father and husband. He adored Sarah and Jane," your mother said, her eyes softening with nostalgia. "Jane and I were good friends. They were high school sweethearts, you know. Joel got Jane pregnant in high school, and they got married right after graduation. He worked so hard to provide for them."

You listened intently as your mother spoke, the rhythm of her words blending with the sounds of baking—mixing bowls clinking, the oven humming softly. Joel had never brought up his past daughter and wife when he was with you. It was as if a part of his heart was still locked away, guarded against the pain of revisiting those memories. You felt a mixture of sadness and curiosity, wishing he would open up to you but understanding his need to protect himself from that pain.

As your mother continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Joel’s heart was still closed off, like a house with the windows shuttered, sunlight struggling to seep through the cracks. "After they died, Joel was never the same," your mother said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her memories. "He isolated himself, barely spoke to anyone. He stopped coming to church, buried himself in work and alcohol. It was like the light went out of him."

You continued to bake, your hands moving automatically as you processed your mother's words. The more you learned, the more you understood the layers of grief and resilience that made up the man you had come to care for so deeply.

"Did you know his wife well?" you asked, curious about the woman who had once been such a significant part of Joel’s life. You felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that Joel had once opened his heart fully to another woman, something he hadn't done with you yet.

Your mother nodded, her smile tinged with sadness. "Yes, she was one of my closest friends. Jane was kind and loving, always had a smile on her face. They were perfect together. Losing her was a blow Joel never really recovered from."

You felt a pang in your chest, imagining the life Joel had once had—a life filled with love and happiness that was abruptly shattered. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, understanding the depth of his loss and the strength it took for him to keep going.

Your mind swirling with thoughts. Joel had been through so much, yet he found the strength to care for Ellie and, in his own way, for you. He was like a fortress, strong and unyielding, yet vulnerable to the storms that battered him.

Your mother’s voice brought you back to the present. "Since he adopted Ellie, he's shown glimpses of the old Joel. But he still struggles. He’s still grumpy and distant. It was as if he built a wall around himself, shutting out the world to avoid more pain."

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for Joel. He had been through so much, yet he found a way to care for you and Ellie. "And now he's starting to come back to church," your mother said softly.

"It's good to see him more involved again. He deserves some happiness."

You smiled, though your heart was heavy with the knowledge of what you shared with Joel. "Yeah, he does," you agreed, hoping that somehow, against all odds, you could both find the happiness you deserved.

Your mom glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "I wonder what’s changed in him," she mused. "Maybe he’s finally opening up his heart for another woman."

Your body tensed at her words. She continued, "Ever since he became a widower, there have been plenty of women interested in him. It’s a small town, you know. Everyone knows everything. But he's always been so... cold and distant. Joel is handsome, successful, and a gentleman. Don't tell your father I said that." She chuckled, and you just smile to her.

Inside, you couldn't help but agree. Joel was indeed handsome and a gentleman, so different from your father. Your father, who should have been the epitome of kindness and morality as a preacher, was anything but. His exterior was polished and righteous, but inside, he was rotten. Joel, on the other hand, seemed rough on the outside but was truly good at heart.

Your mother sighed, "It’s good for Joel, though. It’s about time he moved on and built a new life. Maybe he’ll find a nice woman his age, someone who can be a good mother to Ellie. Adam needs his Eve, after all."

Her words made you uncomfortable, a knot forming in your stomach. You couldn’t bear the thought of Joel with someone else. The jealousy gnawed at you, knowing your mother would lose her mind if she ever discovered you were the reason for Joel’s recent change. You also felt a pang of insecurity, realizing how much older Joel was, how he could practically be your father. There were so many women in town who were more age-appropriate for him, attractive and mature, whereas you felt small and insignificant in comparison.

You focused on mixing the batter, trying to push away the uncomfortable thoughts. "Yeah, maybe," you mumbled, not trusting yourself to say more.

Your mother didn't seem to notice your discomfort. She continued to chatter about the town gossip, but your mind was elsewhere. You wondered if Joel ever thought about these things—marry a nice woman and built a new life? You knew he cared for you, but could he see a future with you, or was this just a fleeting moment in his life?

As you finished the cake and placed it in the oven, you couldn't shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. Joel was a beacon of light in your life, but the future felt uncertain. You wished you could ask him, but the fear of his answer kept you silent.

The cookies were done baking, and your mother placed them in two jars. "Take these over to Joel’s house and then to Tommy's," she said, handing you the jars and placing them in a sturdy tote bag to make it easier to carry on your bike.

You nodded, appreciating the excuse to see Joel. As you rode your bike through the familiar streets, the wind swept across your face, carrying the sweet scent of summer and the promise of evening. The sky was a canvas of blue and orange, painting a picturesque scene straight out of a movie. You loved this town—the southern charm, the way everyone knew each other—but part of you hated it, longed to escape its confines and the shadows that lurked within your home.

Arriving at Joel’s house, one of the bigger ones in the neighborhood, you parked your bike in the driveway and grabbed one of the cookie jars. Knocking on the door, as you always did instead of using the bell, you expected Ellie to answer since Joel’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.

The door opened, and instead of Ellie, it was Joel standing there. His face softened the moment he saw you.

"Hey, Mr. Miller," you said, deliberately using his formal title to tease him a bit.

Joel chuckled, his eyes warm. "Hey, doll."

You lifted the jar slightly. "Mom sent some cookies. She thought you might like them."

Joel took the jar from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. "Oh, that's nice of her, well, do want to come in?"

"Maybe for a little," You followed him inside, the familiar coziness of his home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Joel set the jar on the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You alright?" he asked, sensing your unease.

You smiled, trying to brush off your worries. "Yeah, just... thinking about stuff."

Joel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin. His touch was rough but tender, sending shivers down your spine. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You nodded, looking up into his eyes. They were deep pools of warmth and safety, and every time you looked into them, you felt like you could melt. "I know," you whispered.

For a moment, you just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. Joel’s eyes held something you couldn’t quite decipher, a mix of emotions that made your heart race. You giggled nervously, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, feeling self-conscious.

Joel shook his head slowly, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Nothin'."

You giggled again. "You have to stop looking at me like that."

Joel raised an eyebrow, still smiling. He's leaning in to kiss you, "Like what?"

You blushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Before Joel could kiss you, you both heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Quickly, you stepped away from each other.

"Oh, hey, I thought I heard someone knocking," Ellie said, entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Ellie," you greeted her. "My mom and I made some cookies, and she sent you some. I thought I’d drop by for a bit."

Ellie grinned and walked over to you and Joel. She glanced at Joel, noticing his slightly flushed face, and raised an eyebrow. "You okay, Joel?"

Joel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, just, uh, a bit of dust or somethin'."

Ellie opened the jar and took a cookie. "These are great. Thanks!" She turned to you. Joel took a cookie as well, taking a bite and nodding in approval.

"You made this?" Joel asked, looking impressed.

You blushed a little. "Well, I just helping my mom."

"I take that as a yes and this is good," Joel said, his eyes warm.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth from his compliment.

Ellie turned her attention to you. "So, how’s school? I haven’t seen you much lately."

You shrugged. "Just busy with a lot of things."

Ellie nodded. "I heard you’re in charge of the church dance troupe for the event next week."

"Yeah," you said, smiling.

Ellie smirked playfully. "And I heard Pastor Ben picked you as soon as he saw you. I think he likes you."

Joel’s expression changed, his jaw tightening slightly. "Who's Ben?"

Ellie glanced at Joel, oblivious to his jealousy. "Pastor Ben is the new young pastor who’s going to be taking over while Father Gibson is away for a couple of weeks."

"Yeah," you added. "He’s just helping out while my dad is on a trip to New Orleans for the church."

Ellie nodded enthusiastically. "He's super popular with the girls at school. They all think he’s really handsome."

You laughed lightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "He’s just being friendly, Ellie."

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he forced a casual tone. "How old is he?"

"Not sure," Ellie said, shrugging. "Maybe late twenties?"

"Oh," he said.

Joel's face remained impassive, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his emotions. He didn’t want to show too much, to let on how much it bothered him that someone else might have an eye on you. After all, anyone would notice your beauty—your presence was like a beacon, drawing people in with your pure, radiant light. Men and boys alike found themselves captivated by you, your allure almost heavenly. Joel, despite not being religious, found himself silently praying that he could keep you to himself.

He knew that your beauty wasn’t just skin-deep. There was something about you that felt untouched, ethereal—a stark contrast to the gritty world he had come to know. You were his salvation, a glimpse of purity and hope in his otherwise dark and turbulent life.

Ellie changed the subject, sensing the awkwardness. "Anyway, are you excited about leading the dance troupe?"

"Yeah, it should be fun," you replied, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It’s a lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it."

"Maybe you want to join, Ellie?" you said teasing her, "Oh hell nah," Ellie answered making a disgusting face, you chuckled.

Joel remained quiet, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie. You could tell he was still processing the idea of Pastor Ben, but he seemed to be trying to push it aside.

"Well, thanks for the cookies," Ellie said, taking another bite. "They’re delicious."

"Glad you like them," you said with a smile. "I should probably get going. I need to drop the other jar off at Tommy’s."

Joel’s expression softened as he looked at you. "Let me walk you out," he said. As Ellie remained engrossed in the cookies, Joel gently took your hand, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"When is your father leaving for New Orleans?" Joel asked in a low voice as he guided you towards the door.

"Tonight, around eight," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Joel’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Can you sneak out tonight?" he whispered, his hand lightly caressing yours.

You smirked and nodded, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

Joel’s eyes darted around, ensuring no one was watching. "I’ll pick you up behind your house at nine," he whispered, his voice a mix of excitement and caution. His rough hand felt like a contrast to your soft skin, a stark reminder of the different worlds you both came from, yet a perfect match in this moment.

You felt a flutter in your chest, a combination of anticipation and desire. His touch was electric, sending a rush of warmth through your veins. You wanted to hold onto this feeling, the thrill of the forbidden, the secret moments that were just for the two of you.

Joel leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to your cheek, ensuring no one was watching. You felt your heart race, the sensation of his lips lingering on your skin.

"I’ll see you later," he murmured, stepping back slightly. "Take care."

You nodded, trying to contain your excitement. "You too," you said softly, your voice tinged with the happiness you felt inside.

The whole way to Tommy’s house, you couldn’t stop blushing. Riding your bike, you felt the wind rush past you, the world around you vibrant and alive. The sky was a brilliant canvas of blue and orange, the southern landscape unfolding like a scene straight out of a movie. Each pedal felt lighter, the anticipation of the night ahead filling you with a sense of freedom and exhilaration.

Reaching Tommy’s house, you parked your bike and grabbed the jar of cookies. Knocking on the door, you took a deep breath, the smile on your face unshakeable. Tonight held the promise of something special, and you couldn’t wait to see Joel again.

The house was a quiet, still tableau of ordinary life, its corners cast in the muted hues of nightfall. Your mother’s soft, tired footsteps echoed as she busied herself with the last-minute preparations for your father’s departure. From your vantage point in the dimly lit room, you could hear the rumble of his stern, authoritative voice as he issued his final instructions for his absence.

“Behave yourself, Evelyn. Take care of your duties.” your father’s voice cut through the air like a blade to your mother, “Make sure the house is in order," He said to your mother.

Your mother then called you from downstairs. “Come say goodbye to your father before he leaves.”

You descended the stairs with a heavy heart, each step a reluctant march towards the formality of your father's departure. His figure loomed large in the dimly lit foyer, his stern face illuminated by the flickering light from the chandelier above. The space around him seemed to shrink under the weight of his presence, a constant reminder of his authority and control.

Your father, already dressed in his traveling attire, turned to face you as you approached. His expression was as impassive as ever, his eyes scanning you with a critical gaze that never quite softened. “I expect you to behave while I’m away. Keep things in order, take care of your house duties with your mother and don’t let any mischief slip through. Pastor Ben will be in charge for the next two weeks."

You offered a formal, almost mechanical embrace, your body stiff as you pressed against him. The touch was brief, a quick and emotionless exchange that spoke more of obligation than affection. His words felt like a final checklist, a list of expectations that you had long learned to adhere to.

With a nod, you managed a polite, “Yes, daddy."

As he turned to leave, he gave one last instruction, his voice trailing off as he stepped toward the door. “Remember, be a good Christian girl. Stay close to God. Make sure you’re not a burden to your mother.”

After he had gone, your mother’s weary voice called from the kitchen. “Sweetheart, would you like something to eat? There are leftovers in the fridge. I’m quite tired and I think I'm gonna go to bed early,”

You shook your head, feigning a lack of appetite. “No, I’m full, Mama. I’ll just head to bed.”

“Alright, dear,” she replied, her tone soft but tinged with fatigue. “Don’t forget to pray before you sleep.”

You watched her retreat to her room, her movements slow and burdened. The house felt emptier as she disappeared from view, and you knew it was time to execute your carefully laid plan.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped out of bed and crept to your window. The night was still and serene, the air cool against your skin as you pushed the window open. The backyard, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, felt like a secret world just waiting to be explored.

You carefully climbed out of the window, landing softly on the grass below. The night sky was a canvas of stars, each one a twinkling reminder of the possibilities that lay beyond the confines of your everyday life. The cool breeze ruffled your hair, carrying with it the scents of the garden—jasmine, freshly cut grass, and the distant promise of freedom.

In the darkness, Joel’s truck waited, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the night. The vehicle was cloaked in shadows, its lights off to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Your heart raced with anticipation as you approached, the thrill of the forbidden making your steps lighter and faster.

Sliding into the truck, you were greeted by Joel’s familiar presence. His face, partially illuminated by the dim interior light, softened as he saw you. A warm smile spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the same excitement that you felt.

Before you could say a word, Joel’s lips met yours in a passionate kiss. It was a moment of pure, unrestrained connection, the outside world falling away as the heat of his touch enveloped you. The kiss was fervent, a melding of stolen desires and whispered promises, each touch a testament to the intimacy you shared.

Joel’s hands were rough and warm, their contrast to your soft skin sending a shiver through your body. As he pulled away, his eyes held a deep, unspoken affection that spoke louder than any words could. “Hey there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet cabin.

The truck’s engine roared to life, a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the seats. The world outside seemed to blur as Joel drove through the empty streets, the city lights casting fleeting golden streaks across the windshield. Each streetlamp was a beacon in the darkness, guiding you through a night that felt like a dream.

With every mile that passed, the weight of your ordinary life lifted, replaced by the vivid colors of this stolen moment. The night sky above was a tapestry of dreams and possibilities, a perfect backdrop for the intimate adventure you were embarking upon.

The truck rolled to a gentle stop at the top of a secluded hill, its path winding through the darkened landscape like a secret road leading to a hidden sanctuary. The night sky stretched out above, an endless canvas dotted with twinkling stars, their cold light a delicate contrast to the warm cocoon of the truck's interior. Joel’s touch was a constant comfort, the warmth of his hand against yours a promise of the intimacy you shared.

You and Joel made your way to the truck's open bed, where a soft blanket had been laid out. The fabric was cool beneath you, but the warmth of Joel’s body beside you quickly dispelled any chill. You settled in together, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace as you both lay back to gaze at the sprawling expanse of the cosmos.

The night was a silent witness to your closeness, the stars above flickering like distant, celestial eyes. The moon hung low, casting a soft, silvery light over the landscape, making the moment feel surreal and dreamlike. Joel’s presence was a soothing balm, his breaths steady and calming against the backdrop of the night.

As you both lay there, the peacefulness of the night was punctuated by your conversation. The topics ranged from trivial to profound, each word a thread weaving the tapestry of your shared moment. The serenity of the night made every laugh and whisper seem more intimate, more precious.

Then, Joel’s voice broke the quiet, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. “Tell me more about this Ben,” he asked, his tone light but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You chuckled, rolling onto your side to face him. “Ben? Oh, he’s just this new pastor. He’s always paying attention to me, it's weird...my friends keep telling me like he likes me, but he's not really my type. He's...too boyish,” you said, trying to convey your disinterest.

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Boyish? He’s an adult.”

You smiled, playfully snuggling closer. “Yeah, but he’s not you.”

Joel’s eyes flickered with something akin to jealousy, though he quickly masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “Jealous?” you teased, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor.

Joel gave a soft chuckle, his laughter mingling with the ambient sounds of the night. “I’m not jealous.”

You continued to tease him, your light-hearted jokes breaking through the quiet night air. Each laugh and playful nudge seemed to draw you both closer, your bond solidified by the shared humor and intimacy of the moment.

However, your mind wandered back to the conversation you’d overheard with your mother. The stories of Joel’s past, of Sarah and Jane, lingered like shadows at the edge of your thoughts. A wave of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension washed over you.

“Joel,” you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper, “how come you never tell me about your life?"

"What do you mean, doll?"

"About Sarah and Jane,"

Joel’s body stiffened beside you, his hand retracting from its position on your waist. The shift was palpable, a stark contrast to the easy closeness you’d just shared. His face hardened slightly, a veil of discomfort settling over his features.

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice guarded and distant.

You felt a pang of regret, your heart aching at the sight of his discomfort. The stars above, once a symbol of wonder and possibility, now felt like distant witnesses to a moment of unspoken pain. You struggled to find the right words, the metaphors of your own emotions becoming tangled in the reality of Joel’s guarded heart.

“I...I just want to understand,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I know about your life, but it feels like there’s so much more you haven’t shared.”

"And you knew about mine, all of it," you said again.

Joel’s silence was heavy, a deep, almost tangible weight that pressed against your chest. The night seemed to stretch on forever, the stars above a cold, indifferent audience to the emotions playing out beneath them. The warmth of Joel’s touch was still there, but it now felt like a fragile thread, tenuous and delicate.

Joel’s gaze softened, but the weight of his past seemed to anchor him, pulling him into a place he wasn’t ready to share. “It’s not easy to talk about,” he admitted, his voice trembling with a mixture of regret and sadness. “Some things are just too hard to revisit.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you reached out, your voice gentle. “You can open up to me, Joel. I want to listen. You always listen whenever I’m down. I’m here with you,”

Joel’s eyes flickered with a storm of emotions, a mix of frustration and something else, but he remained quiet. You pressed on, your fingers lightly grazing his hand. “Do you ever think about them?"

A tense silence followed, Joel’s expression darkening. He clenched his jaw, struggling with the weight of his emotions. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice strained and edged with anger.

You tried to close the distance, your hand still resting on his. “Joel, it’s okay to open up.”

But before you could say more, Joel’s frustration erupted. “I just don't want to talk about it!” he snapped, his voice sharp and louder than you’d ever heard.

You flinched, your heart racing as the sudden intensity of his reaction hit you. The night, once a haven of comfort and connection, now felt oppressive, the stars above seeming distant and indifferent to the turmoil unfolding below.

Joel’s eyes widened as he saw the fear in your gaze, and his anger dissipated almost immediately, replaced by regret and sorrow. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

You tried to steady yourself, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “I’m sorry."

Joel’s face crumpled with remorse, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “No, no, it’s alright,” he said urgently, his hands trembling as they held you close. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You let yourself sink into his embrace, the warmth of his body a balm against the sharp edges of your fear. Joel’s arms were strong and reassuring, his apologies sincere as he gently stroked your back, his touch a contrast to the harshness of his earlier words.

The night around you seemed to settle, the tension easing as Joel’s grip tightened, holding you as if he could shield you from the weight of his own emotions. The stars above continued to shine, their distant light a reminder of the vastness of the world and the smallness of your own worries in the grand scheme of things.

Joel’s voice was soft now, filled with the weight of his remorse. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just...I just can’t talk about it right now.”

You nestled closer against Joel, the warmth of his body enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. “It’s okay, Joel,” you murmured softly, your voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of the night. “I’m sorry to push you, but I want you to know that I am here. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be right here, just like you are for me.”

Joel’s fingers brushed against your hair, a tender gesture that spoke volumes. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, a whisper of affection that traveled down to your cheek and finally to your lips. The kiss was brief but sweet, a promise of connection and understanding. He pulled you back into his embrace, both of you gazing up at the star-speckled sky.

The vastness of the night felt like a canvas, stretching out endlessly before you. You could feel the weight of your desires and dreams mingling with the cool night air, and a yearning for freedom began to take shape in your heart. “Joel,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “I want to go out. I want to get away from all of this. Will you come with me one day?”

The sincerity in your voice carried a longing for escape, for a fresh start where the past could no longer cast its shadow. You wanted to run away, to leave behind the chains of hurt and disappointment and start anew with Joel by your side. The dream of leaving it all behind, just the two of you, was intoxicating—a chance to be free from the constraints of your everyday lives and the ghosts of your pasts.

Joel’s eyes met yours, a flicker of determination lighting up his features. He could see the raw honesty in your gaze, the hope that shimmered like the stars above. “I promise you,” he said, his voice steady and sincere, “one day, we will. We’ll get out of here and start fresh. Just you and me.”

You felt a flutter of relief and happiness at his words, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your heart. The idea of a future together, unburdened by the past, seemed within reach now, a possibility painted against the backdrop of the night sky. Joel’s promise was a beacon of hope, a light guiding you through the darkness.

You lay there, side by side, under the vast expanse of the universe, the stars shining brightly above you. The night felt endless, full of potential and promise. The warmth of Joel’s presence, the softness of his touch, and the certainty of his promise wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, making the future seem just a little bit brighter.

In the quiet moments that followed, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life, one where the past was a distant memory and the present was filled with endless possibilities. With Joel by your side, the journey ahead felt less daunting, and the dreams of escape and freedom seemed like they could one day become a beautiful reality.

***

The sun cast a warm, golden light over the school grounds as you and your classmates, including Emma, practiced your dance routines for the upcoming church event. The afternoon air was filled with the sounds of music and the rustle of your movements as you and your friends rehearsed, perfecting every step and spin. The new Pastor Ben, fresh from Mexico with his wife Jemima, observed with an encouraging smile, his presence adding an extra layer of excitement to the practice.

Pastor Ben, young and charismatic, was the center of attention for many of the girls. His charm and good looks had quickly made him popular, and you could see why. Though you knew he was married, the admiration from your friends was palpable. Jemima, his wife, had been less present in the community, focusing on settling into their new life. You hadn’t interacted with her much, and you were more familiar with Ben’s friendly demeanor and the sparkle in his eyes that made him somehow likable among your friends.

As the practice came to a close, you and Emma walked outside the school, discussing the day’s rehearsals and sharing your thoughts on the choreography. The conversation was light-hearted, filled with giggles and the occasional sigh as you both reflected on the challenges and progress made.

Suddenly, Pastor Ben appeared beside you, his presence both surprising and pleasant. “Afternoon, girls. How did the practice go today?” he asked, his attention clearly focused on you.

You could feel the warmth of his gaze as he continued, “Any difficulties? How are you finding the choreography?”

You answered, your voice steady but with a hint of nervousness, “We’re making good progress. There were a few tricky moves, but we’re getting there.”

Ben nodded, his eyes never straying far from you. “You’re doing really well. I’ve noticed you’ve been putting in a lot of effort. It shows.”

Emma, ever the enthusiastic friend, chimed in, “Oh, we’re just working hard! It’s been a lot of fun, though. Don’t you think Pastor Ben has been so encouraging?”

Ben smiled at her but turned his attention back to you. “I’m glad to hear that. I just wanted to check in and see how everyone’s doing. Is there anything you need help with?”

You felt a mix of emotions—flattered by his attention but also a bit uncomfortable given the context of the situation. Ben’s genuine interest was clear, but it was hard not to feel like you were under a spotlight.

“Thank you, Pastor Ben. I think we’re okay for now. It’s just a matter of practice,” Emma said.

He nodded, “If any of you ever need any extra guidance or just want to talk, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here to help.”

As Pastor Ben walked away, you felt a twinge of relief mixed with lingering confusion. You were still processing the interaction when Ellie’s familiar voice broke through, startling you slightly.

“Oh, that’s Pastor Ben,” Ellie said, a playful tone in her voice. She tapped you on the shoulder, making Emma and you turn to face her.

Emma grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yep, that’s the new hot pastor,"

Ellie looked between you and Emma with a knowing smile. “So, what’s the gossip on Pastor Ben?”

Before Emma could answer, you asked Ellie if she was heading home. Ellie shook her head, her excitement palpable. “Nope, I’m going out with Joel. We’re going to practice shooting. You know, for deer hunting. Joel and I usually do this.”

Just then, the sound of a truck horn pierced the air, and Ellie waved enthusiastically. “Ah, there’s Joel now. See you later, guys!”

You watched as Ellie walked toward the truck, your gaze meeting Joel’s for a brief moment. You tried to hide your blush, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest whenever Joel was near.

Emma then suddenly said, "Ah the town's DILF,"

You choked caught off guard. “What did you just say?”

Emma laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, DILF—‘Dad I’d Like to’—you know the type. Joel’s like the ultimate Southern gentleman. He’s got that rugged charm. He looks like he works with his hands, and I bet he smells like Marlboro Reds. Everyone’s talking about how lucky Ellie is. Goddamn, he's just hot,"

You felt your cheeks flush deeper, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “Emma, stop. He’s much older than us.”

Emma raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh come on, you’re telling me you’ve never thought about Joel that way? I mean, he’s your dad’s best friend in high school, but just tell me you have right?”

You glared at Emma, trying to hide the twinge of jealousy you felt. “Emma, that’s inappropriate."

Emma pouted in mock innocence. “Oh, come on! Don’t be so uptight. We’re just talking. I’m sure you’ve had some thoughts, especially with how close you are with Joel right?"

You shook your head, trying to suppress the tumult of emotions bubbling inside you. “Seriously, Emma, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Emma grinned, undeterred. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But you have to admit, Joel’s a pretty interesting guy.”

You gave her a half-smile, trying to brush off the teasing. “Emma..."

Emma’s grin remained as she walked alongside you, her excitement infectious despite your lingering discomfort. You both made your way home, your thoughts tangled with the events of the day.

As you approached your house, Emma’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey, you know what? My parents are out tonight. How about a sleepover at my place? We can hang out and have some fun. It’ll be a nice break before graduation.”

You hesitated, “I don’t know, Em. I’ve got a lot to prepare for graduation.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun. Jim will be there too, and he’s a blast. Plus, you’ll have me to keep you entertained. What’s the harm?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask your reluctance. “I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

Emma’s expression softened as she playfully pleaded. “Oh, please. It’ll be fine. Just come hang out. If you don’t, my parents might not let Jim over if it's just both of us. Pretty please?”

You sighed, weighing your options. Emma’s persistence was hard to resist, and you knew it would be a good chance to take your mind off things. “Alright, alright. I’ll come. But let me ask my mom first.”

Emma’s face lit up with joy. “Yes! Thank you! I promise we’ll have a great time.”

As you walked inside your house, you found your mom in the kitchen, preparing a simple dinner for herself. The smell of food filled the air, a comforting reminder of home.

“Mom, Emma invited me to a sleepover at her house tonight,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Is it okay if I go?”

Your mom looked up, her face reflecting mild surprise but also understanding. “A sleepover? Well, I suppose it’s fine. Just be sure to come home early tomorrow."

You nodded, relieved by her response. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back early.”

With your mother’s approval, you quickly gathered your things and headed back outside to meet Emma. Her excitement was palpable as she waited for you by the front gate.

“Great! Let’s go!” Emma chirped, grabbing your hand and leading the way.

As you walked to Emma’s house, your mind was still clouded by the earlier events. The thought of spending the evening with Emma and Jim was a welcome distraction from the swirl of emotions you had been feeling. You hoped it would be a chance to relax and clear your head before facing whatever came next.

Hours later, the three of you were lounging in Emma’s cozy living room, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls. After an exciting board game session, you settled down to watch "Gone with the Wind." Emma and Jim sat close together on the couch, their whispered conversations blending with the movie's dialogue. You tried to focus on the screen, but their growing intimacy was hard to ignore.

Emma giggled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. You glanced over just in time to see them exchanging a tender kiss. Their kisses grew more passionate, and soon they were making out fervently. You turned your attention back to the movie, trying to block out the sounds of their affection, but it was no use.

"I'm going to take Jim to my bedroom," Emma said, her cheeks flushed. "Is it okay if you stay here alone?"

You nodded, your heart pounding. "Yeah, it's fine. I want to finish the movie anyway."

Emma smiled and led Jim to her room, leaving you alone in the dimly lit living room. The hours passed slowly, the film a distant backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Their muffled voices and occasional moans filtered through the walls, filling you with a mix of curiosity and discomfort.

The next morning, you woke early and decided to make breakfast for everyone. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the kitchen as you worked. Emma was the first to join you, her hair tousled and eyes bright.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, giving you a warm smile. “Did you have fun playing board games last night?”

You returned her smile, feeling a genuine sense of friendship. "Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for inviting me."

Emma smiling to you, "You're a good friend," you smiled at her.

You hesitated at first, then asked the question that had been on your mind. "So, uh... about last night... did you and Jim...?"

Emma blushed slightly but didn't shy away. "You mean, am I not a virgin anymore? Yes. and I'm really in love with Jim. He's so kind and supportive. We’re thinking about getting married after we graduate, moving to a big city like Austin or Houston to start our lives together. He can work in a garage, and I'll stay home."

Her words made you think of Joel, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. "Have you ever been in love?" Emma asked, noticing your pensive expression.

“I don’t know,” you replied hesitantly. “I think about someone a lot, but I’m not sure what it means.”

“And have you ever... you know, had sex?” Emma asked.

Your body tensed, the memory of Jamie’s forceful actions coming to mind. You decided to lie and shook your head.

“Typical preacher’s daughter, stay pure, hon,” Emma said, her tone sincere rather than mocking.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of discomfort and curiosity. “How does it feel like?”

Emma’s expression softened. “Well, when you’re with someone you truly care about, it can be really special. It’s not just about the physical aspect, but the emotional connection. It’s like sharing something deeply personal with someone you love and who loves you back. It can feel very intimate and fulfilling.”

You nodded, trying to understand her words. “But isn’t it scary? Does it hurt?”

Emma smiled gently. “It can be, especially the first time. But when you’re with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe, it’s a lot easier. It’s important that you feel comfortable and loved.”

You took in her words, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What if I’m not ready for that yet?”

Emma reassured you. “That’s completely okay. There’s no rush. It’s important to wait until you feel ready and comfortable. And remember, there are other ways to show affection and care for someone.”

You felt a bit of relief. “Like what?”

Emma leaned in slightly, her voice gentle. “Like, for example, giving him oral pleasure. It’s a way to show that you care about him and want to make him feel good. But it’s really important that you’re comfortable with whatever you choose to do. Communication and mutual respect are key in any relationship.”

You blushed, feeling a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. “I don’t know much about that. It sounds kind of… complicated.”

Emma smiled warmly. “It can seem that way, but you’ll learn what feels right for you and your partner as you go along. The most important thing is to have open conversations and make sure you’re both on the same page.”

You nodded, absorbing her advice. “Thanks for explaining."

Emma’s words lingered in your mind as you processed what she had said. The idea of intimacy was something you hadn’t explored deeply, shaped by the teachings you’d grown up with. Your father’s sermons had painted it as an ultimate sin, a taboo wrapped in layers of guilt and religious doctrine. The notion of sex had always been shadowed by the fear of moral failure, a breach of sacred promises that could never be undone.

Emma’s perspective, however, was a stark contrast. She spoke of intimacy as a beautiful, shared experience between two people who cared deeply for each other. It wasn’t just a physical act but a manifestation of affection and connection. It was a way to express love, to show that you cherish someone in the most personal and vulnerable way.

You thought about Joel, and how his kindness had touched you. His presence was like a gentle light breaking through a stormy sky—offering warmth, comfort, and a sense of security you had rarely felt before. The idea of pleasing him, of sharing something deeply intimate, seemed like a way to express your gratitude, to show him how much you valued his care and support.

It was as if you were standing at the edge of a beautiful, uncharted garden, its entrance hidden behind a veil of mist and uncertainty. The garden represented a space of connection, where the blossoms of affection and mutual respect could flourish. The thought of stepping into this garden with Joel was both thrilling and daunting. It was a step into the unknown, where the flowers of shared experiences and emotional intimacy awaited.

You contemplated the possibility of finding a way to share this garden with Joel, to offer him a gesture of affection that went beyond words. Maybe through a physical expression of care, you could bridge the gap between your feelings and his, creating a shared space where love could grow and flourish.

Emma’s reassurance and gentle explanations provided a new perspective, one that allowed you to see intimacy not as a forbidden act but as a potential expression of love and appreciation. You wondered if perhaps, in time, you could navigate this new terrain with Joel, guided by mutual respect and deep affection.

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