#on the one hand after church she'd be there for an extra hour and a half + to do the next one right....so we could like watch a movie in

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART SEVEN

previous chapters | welp. it's here. this one is a DOOZY, and i'm so sorry. i never expected it to get this long but oh well!!! go grab a snack and get settled cause this one is kinda wild. love u guys sm. i proofread this very quickly so i apologize if there's any mistakes!! and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip 💕 chapter summary: the pressure is building in more ways than one. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her early 20s), innocent/inexperienced reader, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mentions of religion, catholic guilt, sexting, n00ds, oral (m receiving), lap-sitting, thigh riding, alcohol, lemme know if i missed any! word count: 15.6k ao3

You're beginning to learn that Joel runs hot and cold.

There have been moments with him, intimate and special and warm, moments that make you feel light on your feet and send butterflies wilding through your stomach. Moments where he's open and present and wants all his attention to be on you, on your body, your pleasure. His touch sets you alight, his words send tingles down your spine.

And then weekdays happen and you start second guessing yourself all over again.

On Sunday you'd attended church with your parents, another attempt at appeasing your mother in lieu of all the lies and deceit. You've only gone to a select few services since you came home, something you know they've been silently judging you for and just waiting to hold above your head. Admittedly you'd been afraid of bumping into people you knew, having to switch on your teenage persona of Good Catholic Girl™ and lie through your teeth about how good it feels to be back home again. Luckily in the few services you'd attended, you'd only run into some elderly family friends, managing to avoid anyone you went to high school with.

Your luck had to run out at some point, though. This service you'd been accosted by none other than Bethany, one of your childhood friends who you'd practically left in the dust when you'd gone away for college. Her friendship was always full of judgement, perfection, and not to mention heaps of Catholic guilt. She'd taken one look at you, appraising you up and down as if assessing you for imperfections, then pulled you into a tight hug.

"It's so good see you," she'd said when she'd pulled back, a wide - and borderline frightening - grin plastered on her face, "My momma told me you were back, thought I woulda heard from you by now!"

Your mother, standing beside you in your pew, had furrowed her brow at this, clearly confused. You hadn't understood her reaction completely until Bethany had headed off to go say hi to someone else.

"I thought you had lunch with her and Alice the other week," she'd murmured softly to you under her breath, giving you an accusatory look, "Said you'd be helping them out over the summer. That's what you told me, anyway."

Fuck.

"O-oh, right," you'd had no idea what else to say other than that, biting down on your lip and staring straight ahead as the service began. She hadn't said anything else about it, but you'd sat in discomfort and anxiety for the next hour.

In a panic, you'd found Bethany after the service and quickly asked if she needed any extra help at Sunday School, to which she'd responded with enthusiasm - a little too much - that they always needed extra hands on Thursdays to help with lesson planning. You'd jumped at the chance, telling her you'd be there.

That night you'd texted Joel. You hadn't heard from him all day despite it being a weekend, and part of you had been hoping you might go over and see him once your parents were asleep.

guess who's volunteering at church now? this idiot.

You'd expected words of comfort, maybe a joke, at least something that would make you feel better about the situation. However, his response to yours had been brief, short, simple:

Rough. Get some sleep x

This trend of short responses has only continued throughout the rest of the week. He's distant when you text him, responds with a few words at best, short and simple and almost like an entirely different person. It's hard to believe it's the same man who whispers good girl in your ear and tells you how well you're doing, how wet you are, how pretty you look. His texts are some ghostly version of him, constantly fading in and out, barely showing interest or desire - that is, if he texts you at all.

It makes your skin itch, sends your insecurities into a tailspin. Why does this always seem to happen? You can't make heads or tails of it - you know he's busy, know that his job takes a lot out of him, and yet you can't help but feel that there's something more he's not telling you. He'd told you on his back deck all about how he wasn't very happy at his job, how he'd prefer to be retired by now, living life on his own terms - so why can't he just do that? It's clearly taking a toll on him, and while part of you feels empathetic and yearns to comfort him, another part feels angry, irritated.

You'd gone to your friends with these concerns, hoping for some sort of answer or solution to the problem. Instead, they'd been more sympathetic to Joel's plight than yours.

you gotta remember you're not in a relationship with him babe

right!! men are v simple creatures. they see things black & white. ur his fuck buddy and he prob doesn't rly want it to go beyond that.

now THAT'S going too far. she's more than his fuck buddy definitely. he wouldn't have told her his whole life story last weekend if that were true.

telling her he had a fucked up childhood isn't necessarily his whole life story. most guys had shitty childhoods lbr

but he opened up!!!!! fuck buddies don't do that.

exactly

i wish you guys were here :(

i'm honestly 5 secs away from booking a flight to texas bestie. gotta use my dad's frequent flier miles somehow.

--

"My friend Tasha is coming to visit this weekend," you tell your mom on Wednesday evening with a smile, turning your phone toward her to show the Airbnb you'll be staying at, "We're gonna stay at this little bungalow, have a girls' weekend."

Her brow furrows, "Why can't Tasha stay here?"

Because Tasha would terrify you, you want to say, because Tasha doesn't wear pants unless absolutely necessary. Instead you just smile again and say, "I think a change of scenery would be good for me, it'll be like a mini vacation. Plus there's a hot tub."

"Now that's something we need," she turns back to her book with a shake of her head, "I swear, your father is more interested in buying that boat we'll never use instead of something new for the backyard." You hadn't been asking for her permission, but her indifference sends a wave of relief through you; you've still been trying to be on your absolute best behavior lately to make up for the lies.

You head out to the backyard and seat yourself in a lounge chair by the pool, unlocking your phone again and swiping to your last conversation with Joel from last night.

hope you had a good day :)

I'm sure yours was better. Sleep well x

Curt and to the point, not at all what you'd wanted him to reply with. You recall one of your first phone conversations, the one where you'd been experiencing the same lack of interest in his texts, what he'd said to you: Don't think for one second that I don't think about you. But how can you not? How are you supposed to feel desired when he's being like this?

can you call me tonight?

You try not to wait too long before biting the bullet, not wanting to talk yourself out of it, but you do stare at the message with your finger hovering over the send button for longer than you really need to. The sound of the back door sliding open forces you to send it, locking your phone again as your mother walks over and seats herself beside you in another chair.

"It's nice to see you wearing that again," she says with a nod to your chest, referring to your crucifix - after wearing it again last weekend you'd thought that keeping it on might please her. "You're starting to really settle in here again, aren't you?"

You try not to grimace, "Yeah, it's nice being home."

She leans back in her chair, letting the suns rays hit her for a little bit without speaking. You sit there waiting for her to say something else, discomfort flooding through you. You're reminded of how easy it was to sit with Joel in his backyard last weekend, how little pressure there was to put up any kind of front - sitting here with your mother is the exact opposite.

"So, you lied to me," she finally says, voice quiet.

Your eyes widen and you sit up a bit, turning to her with panic already rising in your throat, "Wh-what do you mean?"

She doesn't turn to look at you, continuing to stare at the sky, eyes covered by her comically large sunglasses, "You know what I mean."

You sit there, staring at her with a mix of confusion and fear. There's no way she knows about Joel, how could she know? Who would have told her? You wonder if perhaps one of her neighborhood friends saw you leaving his house, saw you in his car... but the guise of lessons is your cover now, so how would any of that point to your relationship?

Some relationship, you can't help but think to yourself, based entirely on sex and only communication on the weekends.

"Bethany and Alice," your mom finally states, and you feel the panic in the pit of your stomach loosen immediately - oh.

"Mom," you say immediately, shaking your head, "I-I know. I'm sorry. I know I told you we met up but..." you bite your lip, trying to come up with some kind of excuse but coming up empty.

Instead, you do something that surprises you entirely - you tell the truth. Or at least... half of it.

"I really feel like my friendship with them has passed," you admit with a frown, "I'm... I'm different than I was when I left, you know that, don't you? I'm sure you've noticed."

She's still not looking at you but you catch her nodding slowly, thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry I lied but... I didn't want to disappoint you. And I didn't want you to worry about me being alone all the time. I'm actually rarely ever alone at college so it's been nice to have some time to myself," you smile, thinking of the girls in your group chat constantly waiting for new updates, "Having lunch with two people I haven't talked to in years just... didn't seem appealing to me. I have different friends now, you know? I'm older, people outgrow each other."

"Friends like Tasha," your mom states, bitterness in her voice, "Tasha who you don't even want me to meet."

You make a face, "Mom..."

She puts her hands up in defeat, shaking her head, "It's fine. You can do what you want and so can she," the words are drenched in judgement, "But you should remember that there are rules for staying here, young lady. And honesty is one of those rules."

You take a deep breath, swinging your legs around the edge of the chair and placing your arms on your knees, your face in your hands. You're so close to snapping back at her, making a comment that'll surely start an argument, but you shove it back down as best you can, counting to ten in your head.

"I'm sorry," you finally say through gritted teeth, "It won't happen again."

"It better not." She stands up then, disappears from the chair as quickly as she'd settled in it. You watch as she walks to the back door again, reaches for the handle.

Your mouth can't stop itself.

"Have you told Dad about my guitar lessons yet?"

She freezes, turns and stares at you for a moment without saying anything, then opens the door and heads back inside, slamming it behind her.

Checkmate.

--

I will when I get home.

Your anxiety is through the roof as you pace back and forth in your bedroom after darkness has fallen, freshly showered and pampered and already out of distractions. Without really thinking much about it, you pull Joel's flannel from under your mattress and wrap it around your shoulders, breathing him in as you sit on your bed and try your best not to keep checking your phone. When it finally vibrates you're not even embarrassed when you pick up on the first ring.

"Hey," you murmur, settling into your sheets and closing your eyes, "Is everything okay?"

"With me?" he asks, voice tired and gruff, "Thought it'd be the other way around."

Your brow furrows, "What do you mean?"

"Thought you'd wanna talk about this church volunteerin' stuff," he's moving around as he talks - you hear the sound of a cupboard banging and the clang of a glass against a countertop.

You don't speak for a moment, listening to the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and Joel taking a swig. There's no sound of the tap - you'd be willing to bet that it's not water he's drinking.

"No, I..." you frown, "I was worried about you."

You hear him take another sip, swallowing loudly and then placing the cup back down with a clink. More pouring. You swear you hear the faint sound of a chuckle before he takes another swig.

"Well that's silly," he states, and you suddenly notice there's a strange difference in his voice, a heaviness you're not used to.

"Are you drunk?"

He chuckles again but there's no humor in it, "Nowhere near as drunk as I'd like to be."

You frown, readjusting yourself against the pillows. You hear him take another sip, "Did something happen?"

He sighs then, deep and tired. You hear him put the glass back down on the counter, "No, babygirl, nothin' happened," hearing him say your pet name makes you feel a little better, the anxiety ebbing away a bit, "It's just that my job is the bane of my fuckin' existence."

He sounds genuinely exhausted, words tinged with resentment. You pull his flannel tighter around yourself, breathe him in, pretend you're in the same room as him, "Talk to me," you say softly, "Tell me what's wrong."

He doesn't reply for a moment - you can make out some footsteps on the other end, the creak of his stairs as he goes up to his bedroom, "No, darlin', it's nothin'. Shouldn't be talkin' about this with you."

"Hey, if something's bothering you, I wanna hear about it. I wanna make it better... if I can."

You hear him settle onto his bed, a satisfied little noise emanating from his throat that makes you smile, "That's the thing, babygirl. You can't. This is just the way life works. You do shit you hate and then you die, plain and simple."

"Joel," you admonish quietly - it's the first time you've said his name aloud since last weekend, it feels right on your lips, safe. He sighs but doesn't say anything else, breath evening out in your ear. "What is it? Really? I've been worrying about it all week."

"Oh honey," he murmurs softly. "Shouldn't be worryin' about me, there are more important things."

"Not to me," you admit, closing your eyes and shaking your head even though he can't see you, "First I thought maybe you were just busy, but-"

"Busy," he scoffs, "Right, yeah, busy. That's my middle name at this point. Fuckin' busy."

He really doesn't sound like himself - you know you still don't know him very well at this point, could be wrong about so many things, but part of you just knows that this isn't Joel. You know his softness, his safety, his kind eyes and crooked smile. This version of him sounds so sad; you can't help but wish you were in his bed right now, able to hold him close and run your fingers through his grey curls. You want him to open up to you.

"You don't wanna hear this shit, angel, you don't," he continues, voice gentler this time, "I know you're thinkin' somethin' is wrong, thinkin' somethin' in particular happened to make me feel like this, but the truth is..." he sighs again, deliberates for a moment and then simply states, "Truth is I'm just bein' stupid."

"You're not stupid," you say immediately, and he chuckles.

"God, you're so sweet, babygirl," he murmurs softly, "It's nice to hear your voice."

Your feel your skin heat up at the words, crossing your legs together unconsciously, "It's nice to hear yours too," you whisper with a smile, "I've missed you this week. Every time you've texted me it's felt like it's not really you."

"I'm sorry, baby," you can hear the sincerity in his voice buried underneath the tiredness and alcohol, "I'm just... I'm a mess." You hear him shuffle a bit in bed, like he's turning onto his side, "Work is always puttin' me in a shitty mood lately and I just...I don't want you to see this side of me."

"But why?"

Another sigh, then-

"'Cause I don't want you to look at me differently."

You bring the sleeve of his flannel to your lips, "I could never look at you differently, Joel," you whisper, "Promise."

He's quiet for a moment and you hope you haven't upset him, hope he's just thinking about what to say. You mean your words; it really would take a lot for you to look at him differently. You know you probably shouldn't feel that way considering you've known him less than a month, that the feeling should scare you... but it doesn't.

"I'm tired, angel," he finally says, voice sad and distant, "I'm too old to be doin' this job."

You wait for him to speak again, listening as he takes a shaky breath on the other end of the line, almost like he hasn't told anyone this. And maybe he hasn't.

"But it's hard to admit that to myself," he continues, "And even harder to admit it to you of all people. I don't want you to see some washed up, tired, old geezer, ya know?" he says it with humor but you can tell that he means it, "I mean I used to... god, I used to be able to do shifts like this no problem. Be up at five and home by midnight and able to do it all over again the next day. Now it's like I'm runnin' on a half empty tank of gas. Got no joy in this job anymore and my back is killin' me and-" he cuts himself off suddenly, "And I need to shut the fuck up before I scare you away."

"You're not gonna scare me away," you whisper, and you mean it, "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughs softly to himself; you're not sure if he believes you, but you're choosing to hope that he does, "Ya know, I didn't even wanna tell you my age when we were first together? I wasn't gonna tell you, I really wasn't. But then you were so sweet and vulnerable and honest with me-"

You scoff, "Yeah, lying about knowing how to play guitar, that's certainly honesty."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," he chastises - you can hear the sudden smile in his voice, "No, darlin'... when you told me you hadn't done anythin' before. That's when I knew I had to tell you, 'cause it wouldn't have been right otherwise," he makes an odd noise in his throat and then corrects, "Not that any of this is really right, but..."

"It feels right," you say softly, staring down at the plaid lines on the flannel shirt shrouding your body, reminding you of what it means - that you're his.

"It does," he agrees, voice rough and low, "Right and wrong in all the right ways, huh babygirl?"

You nod to yourself, unable to help the grin that spreads across your face, "Exactly."

The both of you are silent for a few moments but just like last weekend, it isn't uncomfortable or awkward. It's calming and safe, just listening to each other's breathing. You can tell he's tired, can hear it in his slow exhales; again, you can't help but wish you were lying beside him. And you can't help but wonder if a more sober Joel would have even said any of this to you, would have just kept it to himself and continued to deal with it in silence, not bothering to tell anyone how he's been feeling. It breaks your heart a little bit.

"It'll be okay," you whisper gently, soothingly, "It won't be like this forever, Joel."

He sighs, deep and sleepy, "You really are an angel," he murmurs, "So sweet and lovely, babygirl. Love hearin' you say my name like that."

His words send warmth throughout your body - no one has ever spoken to you the way Joel speaks to you, makes you feel the way he makes you feel. You close your eyes and bury your face in the sleeve of his flannel, listen as his breathing gets slow again.

"You should get some sleep," you whisper, even though you really don't want to end the call - but Joel is tired and you want him to feel better, "Text me tomorrow, okay? Even if you're grumpy."

He almost laughs but he's so close to sleep that it comes out slurred and low, "Okay, baby, I will. Promise."

"Goodnight, J-"

"Wait wait wait," he suddenly sounds a bit more alert, rousing himself from sleep, "You didn't tell me 'bout this church thing. You okay with it?"

You giggle at his sudden concern, "It's nothing, really. Just helping an old friend out with lesson plans for Sunday School. Not very exciting."

"Fun," his voice is sleepy and low again, "What're you gonna wear?"

You have to bite down on your lip to stifle another laugh, shaking your head even though he can't see you, "Go to bed, you perv."

He chuckles, "Okay, okay. Goodnight, angel."

"Goodnight, Joel."

You're about to end the call when you hear him murmur one final thing, so soft you're surprised you can even make it out - but you do:

"Hope I dream about you."

You fall asleep with a smile glued to your lips.

--

You end up wearing the same outfit you'd worn to Joel's last Saturday, though you leave the stockings at home; you doubt the women at church will be offended by your bare legs. You fasten your crucifix around your neck and make sure your mom gets a good look at you before you leave the house; you haven't spoken since yesterday afternoon but you still want her to see you're putting in some effort, as surface level as it may be.

She's in the living room when you come down the stairs, and her expression can't help but turn to one of surprise when she looks up from her book to see you standing there in your Sunday best.

"I'm going to the church," you explain softly, "Gonna help out Bethany with the lesson plan for Sunday School."

She assesses you up and down, eyes fixing on your crucifix for a moment before trailing back down to her book. She doesn't say a word.

Silent treatment. Typical.

Fifteen minutes later you find yourself being greeted by Bethany, blonde hair flowing down her dress as she stands outside the church with a bright smile plastered on her face. You recognize the forced expression immediately, one that you yourself have become an expert in feigning, though for different reasons. You haven't seen her in years but you still know her well enough to tell when she's less than thrilled about something - this time that "something" is you being there.

"I'm so excited you're here!" she tells you, voice shrill as she immediately takes a step forward to envelop you in a haphazard hug that feels neither excited nor genuine.

You should have known it would be like this. When you'd left for college a few years ago you'd promised to keep in touch with both Alice and Bethany, the only "solid" friends you'd managed to keep throughout all the studying, the tutoring, the church services, the extracurriculars, volunteering, etc. It's a miracle in itself that your friendship had even lasted through high school, if you're being honest. You'd begun to distance yourself from them a bit in those final years as you started to lose your faith while theirs only seemed to grow stronger. Leaving for college had been the last nail in the coffin.

"Me too!" you lie, feigning a similar smile as you both pull back from each other.

Though her grin is unrelenting, you can see the distance in her eyes, the sourness and disdain for your presence extremely evident. She doesn't like you. There's an awkward few seconds of silence where she assesses you up and down again, like she had at the service on Sunday.

Why did you even say yes to me coming here? You want to ask as you stand in front of her awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. If you didn't want me here you could have just said there wasn't anything for me to do. But you already know why you'd still been invited despite her obvious disdain for you - keeping up appearances means everything to these people; actually being honest about her feelings would have been disastrous for her reputation.

"Was sure you'd forgotten all about me," she finally says with an edge of malice still shrouded through her smile, "Haven't heard from you in what? Three years? And then you just show up outta the blue, huh?"

You grimace, "Uh, yeah, sorry about that. There was... I mean, I've just had a lot going on, I guess." You kick your feet awkwardly; this is not the conversation you want to be having right now.

"A lot goin' on, huh?" she echoes, eyes still scanning you up and down, "Right. Busy with college?"

You nod quickly, "Yeah, it's been kinda crazy."

She raises an eyebrow, "What are you studyin' again?"

"English Lit."

She snorts then, shaking her head and taking a step back, "Right. Reading. Sure sounds crazy."

Your brow furrows, "It's more than that."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she puts her hands up in defense, fake laughing and smacking her lips together, "Just find it funny that an English Lit degree takes up so much of your time." She's being pretty bold with the sarcasm but you suppose she has a right to be angry, though you'd never assumed she'd be this pissed about you cutting her off, "Anyway, we should get inside, they're waitin' for us."

"Bethany," you take a step toward her, softening your expression, "I'm really sorry."

She just shakes her head again and turns away from you to reach for the handle on the front door, forced smile finally fading into a natural frown, "Forget it."

Great start.

You don't talk much after that, not after you're led into a side room off the chapel where a few other women are sitting in a circle with binders in their laps. Bethany simply gestures for you sit down in an empty chair and the meeting begins. Everyone immediately begins their rapport, discussing their plans and reading quotes aloud from their binders while you just kind of sit there unsure of what to do or say. A few of the women give you a tentative smile or two, but the way Bethany periodically glares at you is enough to keep them from actually speaking to you directly. You're okay with it though; as awkward as this is, you'd rather sit in silence than have to pretend. Still, if you'd known it would be like this you never would have come - it's not like your mother appreciates it anyway.

Your phone vibrates at one point, a text from Tasha confirming her flight information with lots of !!!!!!'s that make you smile. As if sensing your sudden mood shift, Bethany puts her hands up with another grin that doesn't reach her eyes.

"We keep phones in our purses" she says sweetly, "So we don't get distracted."

You nod and slip it back inside your bag, a gesture that's more of a peace offering than anything else; it seems to appease her.

It's strange being inside this part of the church again after so long. You'd attended your own Sunday School lessons here, prepped for choir and readings, learned your scripture. It certainly doesn't feel as safe or inviting as it once did, though you have to admit that there was always an undercurrent of pressure, of judgement - an energy that still remains today. Bethany watches you closely, quietly assessing you as you nod along to everyone's suggestions and ideas and try to keep up your long-time façade of obedience. You push down the new parts of you that long to take back a bit of control, maybe say something shocking or suggest something ridiculous just to see how they'd react.

You've been sitting in silence for about forty five minutes when Bethany announces its time for a quick phone break. Like clockwork everyone in the room pulls out their devices and starts checking for missed calls from their kids, their husbands. You pull yours out and your eyebrows go up in surprise when you see a text from Joel on your lockscreen:

How's your day going angel?

He didn't forget his promise. A smile plays at your lips as you start typing out your reply, but it quickly fades when you feel Bethany's eyes on you, watching.

"I'm, uh-" you stand up, smoothing out the creases in your dress and gripping your phone tightly, "I'm gonna take a bathroom break."

--

The bathroom is the same as you remember it, high ceilings and white walls, your footsteps echoing loudly as you walk over to the sinks and lean your back against the countertop. You continue typing out your reply to Joel:

well all the church ladies are giving me the silent treatment til i'm worthy of being here again lol. but jokes on them cause my mom is also giving me the silent treatment so i have training! anyway i miss you. wanna hug you. hope you're feeling a bit better today 💕

You turn around and face the mirror while you wait for his reply. You're still smiling - it's impossible not to when you're thinking about Joel, but this smile is bright and genuine, unlike the forced grins you've been sharing with Bethany for the past hour. God, you can't remember the last time anything made you feel as free and happy as Joel makes you, like nothing else really matters. Your phone buzzes and you tear your eyes away from the mirror to read his reply:

Aw baby I'm sorry. I wanna hug you too. Wanna do a bit more than hug if I'm being honest, but you know that already.

You bring your other hand up to your mouth, smiling even wider into it as his typing bubble pops up again only seconds later:

And I'm sorry about last night. If I said anything stupid please forget it ever happened. Me and alcohol don't mix that well sometimes. I'm alright, don't worry about me x

But I do worry, you want to say, I want to make you feel better. But how can you do that from a church bathroom, miles away from wherever he is right now? You're suddenly reminded of something he'd told you a few weeks ago, something you hadn't quite understood in the moment - You can text me whenever you want, tell me all about what you're doin', brighten up my workday. Maybe send me some pictures.

Oh.

You look at yourself in the mirror again and carefully place your phone down on the edge of the sink. Your hand slowly comes up to push aside the collar of your dress, pull the stretchy material past your shoulder and down your arm. You do the same to the other side, slipping out of your sleeves and tugging down the high neckline of your dress to expose your bare chest to the mirror, putting your cleavage on display. You bite your lip, willing yourself to see what Joel sees, a pretty girl in a pretty dress, bra straps clinging to her skin and a crucifix hanging from her throat. Filthy.

You grab your phone and turn it toward the mirror, opening up your camera app and moving it close enough so he can see only your torso, sleeves hanging limp at your sides while your other arm comes up to squeeze your breasts together a bit, accentuating your cleavage even more. You snap a pic and send it to him before you can talk yourself out of it.

He replies seconds later:

Fuck

A grin spreads across your face and you make quick work of slipping your bra straps down your shoulders as well, just as another text from him comes in:

Send me another baby. Please.

Already one step ahead of you, you think to yourself as your cheeks warm and you pull down the cups of your bra, your breasts spilling out into the cool air of the bathroom. You squeeze them together again, nipples hardening tightly as you take another picture and send it along with a coy message:

better?

He must be staring at his phone, waiting for it, because his typing bubble appears instantaneously. You can't help but feel a sense of pride at the power you're holding right now, a change of pace from your usual naivety.

Oh babygirl. This is just what I needed.

i know :)

You glance at the bathroom door and then at the time - you still have a few minutes before the meeting starts up again and your mind is already racing with what you can do with those few minutes. With barely any hesitation you tug your dress up over your thighs, pulling your panties to the side and aiming your phone underneath. You frown when you pull your phone back up to find that it's dark and blurry.

"Hold on," you whisper to no one, then carefully lift your leg and place your heel on the countertop for support, pulling your dress up again and aiming your phone a little better. You pull back your panties and aren't surprised in the slightest to feel that they're suddenly damp.

This picture comes out much better. Your pussy is bare and a little wet, clit poking out past your lips, panties pulled against your inner thigh. You already know it's gonna make him crazy as you hit send.

Jesus Christ

He's already typing something else when you receive it and you can't help but giggle, covering your mouth and trying to picture where he is right now, what he's doing. Is he in a bathroom too? On a break? Or is he in the middle of a job, surrounded by other people? The latter thought makes you even wetter somehow.

Fuck you have such a pretty pussy baby.

thank you mr. miller :)

Will you hold her open a little for me? Show me that sweet little hole?

Who are you to deny such a request? With heat radiating all over your body you bring your phone down again and scissor your lips apart, exposing the innermost part of yourself to your phone camera. You can feel your own slick on the tips of your fingers, and when you push yourself open you feel a bit of your wetness dribble down onto your palm. Fuck. This is hotter than you'd expected it would be. You'd thought it would be a good way to make him feel better, get him through his work day like he'd said; you never thought you'd enjoy it this much.

Oh sweetheart. Look at that.

You feel another rush of pride as you take your leg down from the counter and tug your dress back down, rubbing your thighs together and doing everything in your power not to touch yourself again even though you want to. A quiet whimper unconsciously tears itself past your lips at his follow-up message:

Who's that perfect pussy belong to babygirl?

You've never typed a message back so fast in your life.

you. it's yours mr. miller.

That's right. Good girl.

Your skin is on fire, body tingling in all the right places. You smooth a hand down your bare chest, cup one of your breasts, gently squeeze. It's impossible for your eyes not to roll back a bit when you imagine Joel's hand on you instead, big and firm and callused and perfect. Your pussy throbs in your underwear and another whimper slips past your lips.

i'm really wet now :(

I know angel. Come over tonight and I'll take care of it, Ok?

Your heart leaps at the invitation, even more wetness pooling in your panties at the thought of what Joel might want to do tonight, if there's another “lesson” he has in mind.

yes please

Eyeing the time again, you bite your lip in disappointment when you realize you should probably be getting back. You wait until Joel has finished typing his final response, a message that makes your skin burn with anticipation:

Don't touch yourself til you see me. Keep that soft little pussy hidden, baby. Promise me.

i promise x

Just as you hit send you suddenly hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps down the hall, quickly approaching the bathroom. Your eyes widen in the mirror, gaze snapping to your bare breasts, sleeves still hanging loosely at your sides. In a panic you hurriedly attempt to stuff yourself back into your bra before you have company – but you're not that lucky.

The bathroom door bangs open and you freeze with one arm halfway through your sleeve, breasts still completely exposed in the mirror as you turn on the spot to see none other than Bethany standing there, frozen in place.

“I-” she looks flabbergasted, expression one of pure horror as she takes a step back from you and grips the knob of the door like she could rip it off at any moment. Your free arm that isn't trapped in a sleeve comes up to cover yourself as best you can, but you know she's already seen everything.

“I'm- I was just-” You're similarly taken aback and at a complete loss for words, unsure how the fuck you can explain what exactly she's just walked in on.

Her eyes fall to the phone in your hand, like she's putting the pieces together, then she shakily takes another step back and leaves without saying another word, the click of her heels echoing back at you loudly until the door finishes closing behind her.

Shit.

You don't have time to stand around thinking up an excuse; you do briefly consider escaping through one of the windows to avoid facing her, but you know it would just delay the inevitable. Instead you hastily finish pulling your dress back on and stare at yourself in the mirror for one final moment.

Your smile is gone. So is the light in your eyes. You suddenly begin to feel that familiar sense of guilt creeping in, the shame, the sin. You blink a few times and find that there are tears welling up in your eyes, a lump in your throat. A tiny voice in the back of your mind, one you've been attempting to mute for years, whispers to you: What have you done?

--

Bethany doesn't speak to or look at you for the rest of the meeting. It's not much of a change from before you'd gone to the bathroom, but there's something new in her silence now, something you can see in her eyes as she stares down at her binder while the other women talk. Fear. You've known her for most of your life, can sense certain mood changes from a mile away; you've frightened her. And somehow that just adds even more to the guilt building in your stomach.

You'll apologize to her after the meeting, it's all you can do. You genuinely feel horrible that she'd walked in on something so private, seen something she never intended or desired to ever see. You wonder if there's anything you can use to pass off as an excuse; maybe you spilled something on your dress and were cleaning it off? Maybe it was too tight and you needed a breather? Anything is better than the alternative – the truth – but you somehow doubt she'll believe anything you say at this point. That bridge was broken the second you left for college; there's no repairing it now.

The meeting ends with a few pleasantries exchanged and several comments about picking kids up from school, getting home to cook something for dinner, normal things that remind you how abnormal your own situation is in comparison. Half an hour ago you'd felt on top of the world, in control, had power in the tips of your fingers. Now you just feel small again, inconsequential.

You wait until the other ladies have left before taking a step toward Bethany, ready to unload your apologies and beg for forgiveness. She surprises you by speaking first.

"I'd think twice before wearing that again,” she hisses at you, venomous and pointed. Your eyes widen.

"Excuse me?"

"I said,” her words are slow and full of bitter intention, eyes glaring daggers at you, “I'd think twice before wearing that again" she gestures to the crucifix around your neck and you unconsciously reach up to take it between your fingers, glancing down at it before looking back up to meet her angry gaze.

“I'm...” you feel overwhelmed, tears pricking in your eyes again at the sudden burst of rage being directed at you, “I don't...”

"You might not understand this,” she practically spits through her teeth, “but that symbol actually means something to the people here."

"I know what it means.” It comes out as barely a whisper, voice shaky as she takes an intimidating step toward you with nothing but malice in her expression.

"So that's why you've got your breasts out in a public bathroom? A church bathroom?”

“Bethany, I-”

“You're not welcome here anymore, understand?” her voice is full of finality, “You can come to church with your parents-” The mention of your parents sends your anxiety into a tailspin, heart beating frantically in your chest as she continues to step closer and closer toward you, “And you can pretend you're their good little girl. But I know the truth. And it's not welcome in my Sunday School ever again. Got it?”

My Sunday school. The superiority complex is strong and you know deep down that this is all completely rooted in her own fears, her own desires, her pride, but none of that seems to matter when she's staring you down like this, holding you captive with her hostile words.

"Got it,” you whisper, nodding shakily.

"Good. Now go home and take," she points toward the crucifix, the tip of her finger close enough to faintly brush against the shape of it, “that,” she suddenly prods it, giving you one final sneer, “off.”

It takes you twenty minutes to leave the parking lot after that, tears blurring your vision as you cry in your car and try not to let the shame completely envelop you.

--

Going to Joel's that night carries none of the anticipation you'd felt earlier this afternoon; instead you feel nothing but shame as you steal your mother's house key from its dish in the hallway, closing the front door behind you as softly as you can and hurrying out into the night. There's no excitement or rush like the last time you'd done this. You feel like you could cry at any moment as you approach Joel's house, climbing his front steps with a heavy weight on your shoulders that wasn't there before, that hasn't been there in weeks.

The door opens before you can even turn the knob – he must have been watching from his window, waiting for you in anticipation for tonight's “lesson”. Your stomach lurches.

“There's my little Sunday School girl,” he murmurs, taking your hand and tugging you gently inside.

“Please don't call me that,” you say quietly, head down.

He shuts the door behind you and takes your hands in his – you can feel his eyes on you but you're unsure of the look on his face, what expression is on it. Does he sense there's something wrong? Or is he waiting for you to jump his bones?

“Hey,” his voice is soft, concerned, “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, still staring at the floor.

“What happened, babygirl?” he murmurs, one of his hands releasing yours to come up and stroke your cheek gently, thumb grazing the wetness beneath your eyes, “Why're you cryin', darlin'? C'mere.” His finger travels down to your chin, pushes your face up to look at him.

His expression is worried, brow furrowed and forehead creased, a frown playing at his lips. You feel your heartbeat slow, the weight on your shoulders decreasing just a little bit as safety settles in your bones. He cares.

“I had a horrible day,” you whisper, feeling tears trickle down into the corners of your mouth, “I know you want to...want to...” you shake your head, “Whatever we were gonna do. But I don't think I can tonight, Joel. I don't feel good.”

“Oh, babygirl,” he breathes, releasing your chin and immediately wrapping you up in his embrace, arms tightening around you as he pulls you against his chest, “We don't have to do anythin', don't even worry about that.”

You bury your face in his chest, breathe him in. His flannel underneath your mattress is nothing compared to the real thing, the real smell of him overtaking your senses and filling you with a true feeling of warmth and safety. His arms are so big – he's so big – and without meaning to you find yourself going completely limp in his arms, bones turning to jelly. It's like finally breathing in the fresh air after holding your breath underwater, a natural reaction to finally being where you belong.

He doesn't question your body's response, almost seems to understand completely as he pulls you up from the floor and adjusts you slightly to cradle you in his arms, carrying you past the living room, past the kitchen, up the stairs and to his bedroom. You just close your eyes and bury your face in his shirt, inhale the scent of sawdust and sweat and cedar and Joel.

He tips you gently onto his bed, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before settling in beside you without saying anything. You feel his arm wrap around you, tug you in closer beside him as he noses your hair and lets you just exist.

Minutes pass before you finally break the comfortable silence, voice quiet and small - “I feel so ashamed.”

You feel his brow furrow in your hair and you turn around to face him, bringing your arm up around his torso and pressing your hand firmly against his back. He looks at you with confusion, concern.

You tell him everything. About Bethany, your friendship with her and Alice before you left for college, the way you'd already begun to lose your faith even then. You tell him about your mom, about the silent treatment and her reaction to the white lie, the lie that's practically nothing in the grand scheme of deceit you've been weaving these past few weeks. You talk about church and Sunday School and all the guilt you'd felt in that little room growing up, how being there again felt wrong and uncomfortable. You tell him how free you'd felt in the bathroom with your camera, the power you'd felt, reclaimed, and how all of it had been snatched away from you the second Bethany had entered. How she'd destroyed any semblance of confidence you'd been able to find today, how she'd shamed you for the crucifix that you don't even want to be wearing. It's the most you've ever told him, the most you've ever talked to him about anything.

And he listens.

He doesn't seem put out by your venting, annoyed or irritated or ready to send you home at any minute. He just nods, frowns at the right moments, strokes your arm and your cheek, kisses your forehead when you start to cry. Wipes the tears away when you apologize for crying. He stays with you and remains present and attentive, lets you talk and talk until you start to apologize for how much you've been talking.

“I know this isn't even what you signed up for,” you blubber, shaking your head and bringing your hands up to cover your face, “I'm sorry I keep bringing so much- so many complications into your life.”

“Shh,” he soothes, placing his large hands on yours and pulling them away from your tired eyes, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, “Stop apologizin', baby. Stop. You've got nothin' to be sorry for.”

You suddenly sit up in bed, leaning back against the headboard and bringing a hand up to touch the crucifix still clasped around your neck. You hadn't taken it off like she'd told you to do; you'd felt like doing so would have made you weak, would have been like giving up, even though you'd never wanted to even wear it again in the first place.

“Why does this little thing have so much fucking power over me?” you ask aloud, not directed at Joel but more-so to yourself, “My whole life, no one has ever seen me, they've just seen this.” You shake your head, squeezing the tiny cross in your hand. “And wearing it again has just brought all that shit back, it's done absolutely nothing good. Wore it for my mom and she still gives me the silent treatment. Wore it for Bethany and she still treats me like garbage, tells me to take it off. It's just a fucking necklace.”

Joel sits up beside you, places a warm hand on your thigh and peers at you with those soft brown eyes, lulling you back into a sense of calm, of serenity.

“Give it to me,” he says quietly.

Your brow furrows in confusion. You stare at him for a moment, then watch as he carefully brings his hands up to graze his callused fingertips against your neck, brushing the chain.

“I'll take it off your hands for a bit,” he murmurs, “Outta sight, outta mind. And if you want it back, I'll have it ready for you. How's that sound?”

You nod slowly to yourself, feeling your eyes begin to sting again at his words, “...Good. Th-that sounds good.”

Without saying anything else you hear the sound of the clasp being undone, feel the chain slip away from your skin as Joel takes it from you. You turn your head to watch as he fists it in his palm for a moment, gaze thoughtful and faraway as he traces the shape of the cross with his thumb. A few seconds later he opens his bedside table and carefully places it inside, then shuts the drawer.

And just like that, the weight is gone.

--

You take a shower in his bathroom again, wanting to wash this day off you and start over, clean slate. You could have had one when you got home from the meeting earlier but you'd instead opted to just lay in bed feeling sorry for yourself for much longer than you'd needed to. Now you close your eyes and let the hot water envelop you, wash yourself with Joel's body wash and allow yourself to become his again, picturing him laying in his bed in the other room, waiting for you. This is what matters. This moment. Right now.

You enter his bedroom wrapped in one of his towels, drops of water still spilling down your skin onto the hardwood floor. He's sitting up in bed, shirtless with his legs hidden under the covers. He's seemingly deep in thought as he stares at his phone screen, brows scrunched together. You watch as he pulls the phone away from himself, eyes squinting and lips parting a bit, then pulls it back, like he can't see what he's looking at properly. You realize that's probably the case.

“You need glasses,” you say with a soft giggle, and his expression relaxes when he sees you standing there, phone going back on his nightstand.

“I have glasses,” he admits sheepishly, giving you a tender smile, “Just hate wearin' 'em.”

“Of course,” you roll your eyes and take a few steps forward, still gripping the towel around yourself. His eyes fall to the parts of you that are bare, revelling in the way the lamplight reflects on your wet skin. You feel tingles erupt through your senses under his gaze.

“Are you naked?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, “Wearin' pants, don't worry.”

You stand there for a moment, staring. He just stares back, eyebrows going up a bit while he waits for you to say something else. When you don't, he tilts his head slightly, appraising you.

“Do you want me to be naked, babygirl?”

You're answering before you even really know what you want, "Yes."

Without needing to be told twice he reaches under the covers with both hands and shimmies his way out of his pajama bottoms, staying hidden under the sheets as he tosses them out onto the floor. You bite your lip, still just standing there staring at him without moving. You're still dripping everywhere, a little puddle of water forming at your feet the longer you stay frozen.

He raises his finger and playfully curls it toward himself with a smile, "C'mere, baby," he murmurs, "Be naked with me."

You don't need telling twice either.

The towel drops from your body, landing in the puddle of water on the floor - easy cleanup. You feel heat radiating through every inch of your bare skin as you walk toward the bed, avoiding Joel's eyes and quickly slipping in beside him. You really don't know what you're doing - you'd said when you got here that you didn't want to do anything, not tonight, and it's still true. But part of you just aches to be close to Joel, to feel his warm heat, his rough skin, be connected to him somehow. It's what you've wanted all week.

You inch in beside him, back against the headboard, your bare thigh touching his lightly beneath the sheets, and you find yourself tensing up unconsciously. He clocks your reaction immediately.

"You don't gotta be nervous, angel," he tells you softly, soothingly.

You swallow and take a deep breath, "It's hard not to be," you whisper, though there's no reason to, "I'm just... I'm so..."

"What?" he asks, brown eyes seeking yours in the dim light. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb swiping beneath your eye again like he's checking for more tears - luckily you're feeling much better in that department.

You sigh, shrugging slightly, "I don't know what I'm doing," your eyes fall down to the duvet, knowing that if you pulled it back you'd see your bodies touching underneath, his rough and tan skin pressed against yours, soft and untouched, "I mean, I don't even know why I came tonight. I knew I didn't- that I didn't want to-" you sigh again in frustration, unable to find the right words, "I just... I missed you," your eyes travel back up to meet his, "I just wanted to be near you."

His expression softens, still stroking your cheek as he peers into your eyes, "You feel safe with me, don't you?" You nod. "You know I won't do anythin' you don't want me to do, right?" Another nod. "So it's okay to just relax when you're with me."

You grimace, "How can I relax when we're naked in bed together?"

He chuckles, dropping his hand from your face and shuffling down into the bed a bit, away from the headboard, "Okay, time for another lesson."

You feel your heart sink again, worried that he's not understanding - probably because you can't explain it right - but he smiles reassuringly at you and curls his finger slightly, urging you to follow him downwards. With a quiet inhale you slowly inch away from the headboard and further down into the bed, beneath the duvet. You both stop moving when your heads hit the pillows, laying down fully beside each other.

"Gettin' naked doesn't always mean there has to be sex," he says softly, and you watch as he very slowly brings his hand down beneath the duvet; you know where it's going before it touches you, but you still shiver when you feel his fingers brush lightly against your bare arm, "Us bein' naked in bed together doesn't mean anythin' has to happen."

"But earlier today I said..." you trail off, shaking your head, "I promised that-"

"Earlier is earlier," he brushes your arm again, tender and comforting, "Circumstances change, your day got shitty. Mine was no better. It happens."

His hand travels downward, toward the skin of your hip. He curls his palm around your bare flesh and gently massages it, thumb stroking the edge of your tummy. It's intimate and new, but somehow it feels more safe and comforting than sexual, like he's simply doing something casual, normal.

"Sometimes you just wanna lay in bed with someone" he murmurs, still touching you tenderly, "No expectations, no pressure. No nothin'. Sure, it's fun to touch each other and be together like that, but if you just wanna sleep..." his fingertips brush your back gently, then press firmly into your skin as he pulls you a bit closer toward him, "If you just wanna lay here with me, that's okay too."

You're not sure what to think, staring at him with a million different thoughts flooding your mind. Your interpretation of what men want has always been a bit of a grey area, but you've heard enough from both your family and your friends to know that most of them are just after one thing. You'd heard it from your parents your whole life who always warned about non-Christian boys and their sinful thoughts, then from the girls at college who dealt with disrespect and catcalls, men who turned on them in an instant the second they realized they weren't getting any.

Joel isn't like that. Sure, he wants sex - that's been obvious since day one, when he'd invited you inside his house within minutes of meeting you. He'd only had one thing on his mind, just like your parents had always said. But he hadn't thrown a fit when you'd said no, and up until this point he's made it abundantly clear that the ball is in your court, that it's up to you what happens between the two of you.

"I know all this stuff can be scary," he continues softly when you don't reply, "I know you're embarrassed about bein' so inexperienced, but you don't need to be. I'm here to make it easier for you; I want you to be comfortable."

He nudges forward a bit and slowly begins to wrap his arms around you, warm and inviting. You let him, body going loose and comfortable in his grasp as you feel your eyes close; safe. You feel so safe.

"You're so warm," is all you can think to say, loving the way it feels to have his broad and hairy chest pressed up against your bare breasts, his big and strong arms winding around your smaller form.

He chuckles softly and you feel him press a gentle kiss to your cheek, beard scratching your skin in your favorite way. You bring your arms up and hug him back beneath the blankets, feeling your naked thighs press firmly against his. You're aware of his cock - it's hard not to be, not when it's pressed gently against the base of your tummy, soft against your skin - but he doesn't rub himself against you or do anything to initiate more than this, more than just being together like he'd said.

He really means it, you know he does.

"I can't wait to have sex with you," you hear yourself whisper in his ear; it sounds dirty but you don't mean it to be, "I just...I'm really glad it's gonna be you."

And I'm pretty sure I'm falling for you.

--

You wake up the next morning to a firm and solid presence at your back, bare and warm and comfy. You're surprised you're awake before Joel's alarm, wondering what exactly woke you up in the first place - and then you feel it. Something wet and sticky against your lower back, something pulsing and twitching every so often against your skin.

Good morning.

He hadn't pressed his cock against you like this last night when you were cuddling, hadn't asked you to touch it or even acknowledged its presence. But sleeping Joel is an entirely different person, his big arms wrapped around you tightly, one splayed across your belly while the other holds your right breast, cups it like it's meant to fit there. He holds you in place firmly, breath at your neck, nose in your hair.

You're not sure how much time you have left before his alarm goes off. The sun is only barely starting to come up outside the window, so it could start ringing at any time now. All you know is that the sensation of having him so close to you like this, his most intimate part so close to yours, so wet and warm, it's making you all wet and warm. Your skin almost feels itchy, especially at your neck where his warm breath leaves a damp spot beneath your ear, a spot you're suddenly longing for him to kiss, to lick.

"Joel," you breathe, unable to wait any longer, scared that at any moment he'll have to leave the bed and start getting ready for work.

No response.

"Joel," you repeat, a bit louder this time, and with his name you carefully grind back against him a little bit, the wet head of his cock trailing back and forth against your warm skin. He makes a grumbling noise in his chest, pulls you in a bit closer, "Joel, wake up," you moan, painfully aware of the shape of his balls against your ass, big and heavy and suddenly the hottest thing you've ever felt in your life.

"What?" he groans, rousing from sleep, "What is it?"

It's all the confirmation of awareness you need to suddenly turn in the sheets, bring the duvet down to expose your naked bodies to the both of you. His eyes are bleary and tired as he watches you from beneath heavy eyelids, sees where your gaze has settled.

His cock lays long and thick and loose against his tummy, round tip drooling precum into the hair smattered above his belly button. God, he's so big. Your lips part, saliva filling your mouth like it had the last time you saw it, like somehow your body knows exactly what the next step is.

"I wanna put my mouth on it," you whisper, pushing your hair back behind your ears and turning your gaze back to Joel's face, "Please."

His eyebrows go up in surprise, eyelashes fluttering with sleep. He's probably wondering where this is coming from, how the girl in his bed right now is the same one who just wanted to be held last night, but he doesn't seem to be complaining. He nods quickly, stretches his arms above his head and tries to rouse himself even more from sleep.

"Of course you can, baby," he mutters huskily, voice deep and dripping with arousal, "Go ahead."

"Tell me if I'm doing something wrong," you murmur softly, and before you can even fully process what you're doing or question if you'll even be good at it, your lips are pressing against the warm heat of his wet tip.

He hisses immediately and you pull back, frightened for a moment that you've already fucked up somehow. He shakes his head quickly at you, "No, no, you're good baby, that's good," one of his hands comes down to settle against the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, "Give it a kiss, just like that."

And you do. Time is already not on your side - you feel like there's a countdown clock hanging over your head as you press another kiss in the same spot, his precum sticky on your lips. You'd thought it might be gross, had heard lots about blowjobs from your friends and how unpleasant they can be, but when your tongue darts out to carefully prod against where he's leaking, you find that it doesn't bother you that much at all.

"Tastes funny," you murmur softly, peppering a few more kisses around the wide head and then down to his shaft, thumbing the prominent vein on the underside as you do it.

"Kinda gross, huh?" you hear him say softly above you, a strained edge to his voice that makes you smile against him.

"I think I like it, actually," you admit softly, tongue darting out once again to slowly lap up a bead at the tip. You're not lying; there's something masculine and sexy and inherently Joel about it, something you hadn't been expecting.

"That's good, sweetheart," he murmurs, stroking the back of your head gently, "That's so good, angel." You don't know whether he means your opinion on the taste or simply a reaction to the things you're doing with your tongue, but either way you keep going, hoping that the alarm doesn't interrupt you.

You wrap your lips around the tip carefully, pulling it into your mouth and sucking it gently - very gently. He makes a breathless sound above you and you can't help but bring your gaze up to his face, your eyes meeting his as you swallow him down.

"That's it, that's a good girl," he breathes, thumbing a strand of hair at your temple and pushing it behind your ear, eyes dark, "Look at you."

You swirl your tongue around the tip, still making sure to keep eye contact with him as you carefully slip more of him inside your mouth. He's so big, there's absolutely no way you'll be able to fit all of him inside, at least not without some practice. He doesn't seem to mind that you can only take a little bit of him, his thumb coming downward to stroke gently at the corner of your mouth. He wipes away a bit of drool pooling there, brows furrowing.

"You're doin' so good, angel," he whispers, nodding slowly to you in reassurance as you very slowly begin to lift your head up and down, up and down, eyes going hazy, "Takin' that cock so well."

His words spur you on, encourage you to take a little bit more. You've got about half of him in your mouth and you already know you won't be able to take anymore, the spongey tip pushing dangerously close to your gag reflex. You absolutely do not want to choke, don't want to ruin this in any way. You want him to feel good. Feel better.

"Oh, honey," he groans softly when you begin to palm his balls, rolling them gently and feeling their fullness, round and heavy, "This mouth," he touches the corner of your lips again, a bit harder this time, trails his fingers downward to grip your chin, "Made to have my cock in there, huh?" his eyes are boring into yours, pupils blown wide, "You like havin' your mouth full like that, babygirl?"

You nod and whimper around his length, speeding up a little bit and never breaking eye contact with him, obsessed with watching his eyes get darker and darker, filling more and more with lust as he watches you pleasure him.

"Yeah, you do," he murmurs, voice soothing again like last night, calm and safe, "What a good girl you are, wakin' me up to suck my cock. Couldn't wait, could ya, baby?" you shake your head and the head of his cock slips past your throat a little too far, so much that you have to pull off him quickly to be sure you don't gag, "Aw, baby, that's okay," he reassures you gently, "It's a lot, I know."

Your eyes are hooded and your jaw is already starting to ache - you're not used to doing something like this and he knows it, strokes your cheek gently as he takes his cock in his hand and carefully pushes the tip against your lips.

"You just kiss it, baby," he whispers, dark and deep, "Kiss that cock 'til I come, okay?"

You do as you're told, lips parting slightly as he rubs the head of his cock against your lips and strokes himself a few more times, bringing himself close to the edge. He's so gorgeous like this, so rugged and almost animalistic as his chest heaves, groans escaping his mouth as he watches your lips. His hand is still in your hair, grip getting tighter and tighter as you lean down a bit so he can gently fuck the tip of his cock back into your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and you can feel your pussy throbbing against the mattress with every thrust, lips tight around him.

"Ah, fuck," he grits out suddenly, then pulls his cock away from your mouth and releases all over his chest and stomach, thighs tensing up as you watch his eyes practically roll back into his head. Your eyes are wide and attentive, locked onto the white ropes of come that spurt against his bare skin. You find yourself wondering what it would feel like at the back of your throat instead, on your tongue, what it would taste like...

Your thoughts are interrupted by Joel's alarm going off, loud and obnoxious. Before he can pull himself up to turn it off, you lean over to the nightstand and do it yourself, swiping it off and turning back to his blissed out form. He lies there panting for a moment, eyes closed. You can't help but smile, feeling pride swell in your chest again at the knowledge that you made him feel like this.

"Don't go back to sleep," you whisper softly, "You gotta go to work."

He groans then, but opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile and a wink, expression still sleepy and satisfied, "Who needs an alarm clock when I got you, huh?" He gestures with his finger for you to move closer and you do, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Mornin', darlin'," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Morning," you whisper back, and you revel in the smile on his face when you pull away, "Sorry for jumping your bones so early."

He just shakes his head with a wide smile, "Never apologize for jumpin' my bones, baby." His eyes fall to your naked body, settling on your pussy, still wet and aching against the sheets, "Aw, sweetheart, lemme take care of that for you."

You shake your head, pointing to his phone, "We don't have time, you gotta get to work and I gotta get home before my parents wake up," you slip out of bed and reach down to pick up the clothes you'd stripped yourself of last night before your shower. He starts to protest but you put your hand up with a soft laugh, "It's okay, Joel. I wanted to do this for you, start your day out right. Give you a chance at a good day."

He peers up at you from the bed, face smooshed into the pillow as he watches you get dressed, "Doesn't seem fair."

You just roll your eyes, pulling on your panties and shorts and pointing to his phone again, "Really, we need to hurry," you bite your lip as you slip your t-shirt over your head, "I have keys this time but I still don't wanna risk it."

"Okay, okay," he grumbles softly, "I'm goin'."

He slips out of bed and stretches, tilting his body back and forth. You both hear the way his bones crack, the noise that emits from his throat when he bends his back a certain way. You watch his expression change, going from content and sated to embarrassed and grumpy in seconds.

"And just like that, the illusion is gone," he mutters to himself, limping away from the bed and toward the door without so much as a side glance to you, clearly upset by the sudden reminder of his age. You frown, watching him go and feeling an ache in your chest that makes a home there for the rest of the morning.

--

He'd made you breakfast last time, so it's only fair that you make something for him today. Unfortunately cooking has never been your forte, so about fifteen minutes later you're waving a dish rag at the fire alarm while the sausages you'd managed to burn are smoking in the sink. Joel comes running down the stairs after his shower with a look of concern on his face, only for it to fade into one of amusement when he sees the situation.

"Now why am I teachin' you guitar when you clearly don't know how to even use a stove?"

"Oh, shut up," you can't even pretend to be mad at him, grin spreading across your face as you shake your head and breathe a sigh of relief when the alarm stops going off, "Help me clean this up."

You end up making toast instead.

"You know, we've still got about ten minutes," he says across from you at the table as you eat, peering down at his watch quickly.

"Yeah, 'cause I fail as a cook," you mutter, making a face at your slice of toast, "I was gonna do eggs too, you know."

"Let's not reach for the stars too quickly now," he says with a sly smile, putting his hand up quickly when you prepare to retort, "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"What did you-" you look up from your toast and see him beckoning you toward him again like he had last night, finger curling toward himself with a sly smile on his face.

You look at the clock on the oven, biting your lip.

"It'll take five minutes tops," he says, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

"Really?" you challenge, "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes."

That, you'd like to see. Dropping your toast back onto the plate, you stand up and walk to the other side of the table, unsure what exactly he wants you to do. He spreads his legs a bit, points to his thigh.

"Sit here, babygirl," he says, voice low and hypnotic, "Wanna show you somethin' new."

Yes please.

You situate yourself on his lap, one leg going between his thighs while the other dangles carefully off the other side of the chair. He pulls you down, big hands coming up to palm your hips and hold you there firmly. You swallow tightly, unsure exactly what he has in mind.

"You know what feels really good?" he murmurs, thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin between your shirt and your shorts.

"What?" you whisper, peering down into his eyes with intrigue.

"This," he says softly, then very slowly begins to move your hips, dragging you carefully back and forth along his thigh. Your eyebrows shoot up, lips parting as you feel the ache in your core immediately return, the pressure of his thigh and the movement of his hands setting your nerves alight.

He looks down at his own handiwork, watches as he moves you back and forth, back and forth, rocking you over and over again until you're whimpering in his lap, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. He just smiles up at you, doesn't stop his movements.

"Yeah, that feels good, doesn't it?" he breathes, watching your expression closely, "Feels good to finally have somethin' touchin' that pussy, huh baby?"

You moan at his words, hands slipping from his shoulders to wrap around him as you lean forward to bury your face in his neck. He just starts to move you faster, chuckling softly to himself when your hips buck against him. It's amazing how such a simple action can feel so fucking good, the constant stimulation against your clit through layers of material making you writhe and whimper.

He removes one of his hands from your hips and slips it inside the leg of your shorts, fingertips tickling your inner thigh gently. You grapple onto him even tighter, hugging him like a koala as his thumb slowly begins to stroke you through the wet spot of your panties.

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about this pussy yesterday," he murmurs, thumb rubbing your clit over and over in little circles, "Those pictures were so filthy, baby."

You moan against his shoulder, gripping him tighter as his thumb begins to pick up speed. He presses a kiss to your neck, wet and hot; it makes your eyes roll back.

"And this little hole," he murmurs in your ear, suddenly adding a finger inside your shorts to circle your entrance slowly, "Kept thinkin' about this tiny little hole, all open for me."

God, when he talks like that you can't even fucking think, brain running on autopilot as he pulls you impossibly closer and lets you bare down on his thigh, his finger and thumb trapped under your weight, pressed firmly against your core.

"Who's gonna fill up that hole, babygirl?" he whispers in your ear, soft and secret, "Huh? Who's that hole belong to?"

"You," you whimper into his shoulder, eyes shut tight as he strokes his finger up and down through the fabric, adding even more pressure to the overwhelming sensations you're already feeling "It's yours, Mr. Miller."

"And what's gonna go inside it, sweetheart?"

"Hnhng," you can't speak, inhaling shakily as Joel's other hand presses harder against your hip and continues to guide you, fucking you back and forth against his thigh. He just watches you, eyes dark, lips parted, brow furrowed.

"Words, babygirl," he reminds you softly, "Use your words. What's gonna go inside that tight little hole? Huh? Tell me."

"Y-your cock."

"That's right," he murmurs, the tip of his finger prodding inside you gently, taking the damp material of your panties with it, "Gonna fill you up so deep with my cock, honey. You're gonna feel it right here," he moves his hand up and places it at the base of your belly, pushes against it softly, "Gonna be so big inside you, sweet girl."

Oh fuck.

"I want it so bad," you groan, wrapping your arms even tighter around him, "I need it Mr. Miller."

"You do need it," he agrees softly as he kisses the top of your head, bringing his hand back down from your belly to guide you again, moving you back and forth "Need to be fucked so bad, don't you baby? Til you can't even think straight."

You nod frantically, continuing to grind yourself down against his thigh over and over and over, "Please," you whimper, almost a squeak, "Please, Mr. Miller."

"Shh," he soothes, pulling you in closer and moving your hips against him, looking at you with those big brown eyes full of lust and safety, "I will, babygirl. Soon. I'll fuck you so good, honey. I promise." Your body hitches in his lap as you near the edge, eyes going wide and mouth popping open as your orgasm starts to hit you, "Yeah? You like thinkin' about that, huh? Me fuckin' this soaked little pussy into my mattress? Fillin' you up so deep you can feel me in your stomach?"

You can't hold on anymore, eyes shutting tight and high pitched whimpers flowing past your lips as you start to come. He pins you against his thigh, holds you there tight and firm as your pussy pulses and throbs through his pants. You lean forward to bury your face in his neck as you ride it out, feel his hand press against your back.

"Oh, good girl, that's it, baby," he murmurs, kissing your temple gently and stroking your back in little circles, "Come all over my lap, sweetheart. Show me how wet she can get, there you go. Good girl."

After a moment of catching your breath and willing yourself to pull your face away from his neck, you both bring your attention to the clock on the stove - five minutes have passed.

"Told ya," he murmurs, pulling you into one more hug, hitching his chin over your shoulder and rubbing your back gently as your head lolls against him.

You're too blissed out to tease him back.

--

The arrivals gate isn't as busy as you'd expected, thankfully. You lean against your car a few hours later, still reeling from your morning with Joel as you wait for Tasha to show up. You'd told him about your weekend plans before you'd left, insisting that despite spending time with Tasha you'd still be attending your Saturday lesson.

"Can't wait," he'd murmured to you, low and deep in your ear after giving you one final kiss at the door, "Got somethin' real special planned, babygirl."

You'd practically melted down his front steps.

"THERE'S MY FAVORITE SLUT!!" you suddenly hear someone shout, and you look up to see Tasha at the sliding doors, bags dropping to the ground as she sprints at you head on and collides with you seconds later, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

She's just the same as she was the last time you saw her, high spirited and excitable and sweet, practically vibrating in your arms with joy. Only she could rock a bright purple cowboy hat and sweatpants, not to mention the lime green flip flops.

"Oh my god," you gasp in her ear, hugging her back and spinning on the spot, "You're insane."

"I'M EXCITED!" she squeals, pulling away from you and clapping her hands together, "We're going out tonight!!! Together!!! For the first time ever!" She brings her hands up and places one on either side of your face, lips turning down into a pout, "My baby bird is leaving the nest," she sighs dreamily, shaking her head, "I never thought this day would come."

"Please get in the car," you laugh, popping the trunk and gesturing to her bags, "before I change my mind and send you back."

--

You give Tasha the complete run-down on Joel as you get ready at the Airbnb, updating her on everything that's happened since you'd last checked in. It feels so good to actually talk about it, not text or simply mull it over and over in your head. She gasps at all the right spots, makes ridiculous faces in the mirror as she curls her hair, nearly drops the curling iron on the floor when you tell her about this morning.

"AND YOU LIKED HOW IT TASTED?" she practically screams, running out of the room and then running back in like she has no idea what to do with herself, "Oh my god, you are down bad. Jesus Christ," she makes a face, "Sorry, I mean- uh, fuck."

"Tasha," you roll your eyes, "You can say Jesus Christ."

"I can?" her eyes widen and she sighs in relief, picking up the curling iron from the floor, "Thank god."

You're going clubbing tonight for the very first time; a night of dancing and cocktails and flirting and living out all the college dreams you still have yet to experience. You're a bit tentative about the flirting part though, a concept that floors Tasha immediately.

"You can't go clubbing and not flirt," she says with faux shock, spinning in front of you as she assesses her dress in the mirror, "It's the best part!"

"I have a-" you cut yourself off, making a face at your reflection.

"You do not have a boyfriend," Tasha says immediately, "There has been no definition, babe. You need to keep reminding yourself of that."

"But it's not just fucking," you argue with a grimace, "I mean, it's not even fucking at all, we still haven't taken that step yet."

"I know, I just don't want you to get your heart hurt, honey," she frowns, leaning toward the mirror and applying some lipstick, "Boys are mean."

"Well, Joel's not a boy," you say quietly, fingering the hem of your own dress, a short and cute pink number that Tasha had brought specifically for you to wear, "He's a man."

"Mmhm, so you keep telling me," she raises an eyebrow, "I think I need to see this man for myself. Give you my honest opinion, see if he's really this gorgeous, perfect hunk you make him out to be."

You bite your lip, trying not to smile as you think back to this morning, how he'd looked in the early morning light, naked and sleepy and beautiful. And all yours.

"He is," you murmur softly.

--

You're supposed to be going clubbing, supposed to be out dancing and drinking cocktails and living out all your college dreams for once in your life. But where are you instead?

"O'Neil's!!" Tasha says excitedly, pointing to the red neon sign outside the bar you've just arrived at, throwing you a shit-eating grin that just makes you playfully roll your eyes.

You never should have told her the name of the bar Joel frequents, because she's now made it her mission to find him, get a good look at him and judge for herself if he's really all you're making him out to be. It's your own fault, you suppose, considering that you don't have any pictures of him or any frame of reference to articulate exactly the way he looks. For Tasha he's shrouded in mystery, but not for much longer.

Your ears are already ringing when you get inside the bar, the chatter and buzz of other people's conversations flooding your thoughts. You're not used to being out like this, being around drunk people or high people or literally anyone whose ideal night out is spending time at a bar. It's nerve-wracking and you instantly feel like a fish out of water, gripping onto Tasha's arm after showing your ID to a man who ogled both of you way more than he needed to.

"So this is where he hangs out," Tasha says, assessing her surroundings and leading you towards the bar where most people seem to be gathered, "Quaint. Little divey. Definitely not for our crowd but hey, we're learning new things tonight." She taps the counter and tilts her head toward the bartender with a smile, "Watcha got on tap?"

You wrinkle your nose, "I thought we'd be having cocktails."

"Oh we will at the club, don't you worry. But if we want the authentic dive bar experience, beer is necessary," the bartender lists the options and Tasha orders, though you barely hear what either of them are saying over the loud music and conversations. Your eyes scan the bar for any sign of Joel, but people are packed so tightly in here that it's hard to really see anybody, faces and bodies melding together.

The bartender hands Tasha the drinks and she throws him a wink, "Thank you, darling."

You envy how easily she navigates a situation like this, so natural and graceful despite her surroundings that are anything but. She hands your beer to you with a smile and holds hers up in front of her, tilting it toward yours until they clink.

"To you finally coming out with me," she toasts with a grin, "It's about damn time."

You smile back and take a sip, trying your hardest not to wince at the bitter flavor. It's not like you've never tried alcohol before, you just already know that you hate beer.

"Delicious," you lie, and Tasha just laughs and gestures toward a suddenly empty booth in the corner of the room.

"Let's sit there while we suss him out," she mutters to you, pulling you along with her and slipping inside, "Now, what's he look like? You've been pretty vague about those details." She waggles her eyebrows, "Be honest, is he bald?"

You almost spit out your second sip, shaking your head furiously, "No, he's not bald. Full head of hair."

She puts her hands up in defense, "Hey, it's not that crazy to assume!"

You just shake your head and laugh, turning back toward the bar and the people and trying to get a gage on where he might be. You know he usually comes here with his contracting crew, but what the hell does a contracting crew even look like?

"Help me out, gimme a description!" Tasha says eagerly, wiggling in her seat a bit and following your gaze, "He has facial hair, right?"

"Yes, it's kinda messy and scruffy," you bite your lip, squinting a bit as if that'll help you.

"And what's his hair color?"

You don't look at her as you reply, "Um.. grey."

Tasha's hand slaps down on the table and you jump, eyes going wide as you turn back to her, "What?"

"Grey? Girl, how old is he?" she doesn't sound angry or judgmental - she sounds intrigued. And almost... impressed? You gnaw on your lip, scrunching your eyebrows together as you look back toward the crowd of people.

"Um... he's..." you stop short, freezing when your eyes land on a familiar shirt near the bar, a red and black plaid button down that you'd seen only hours ago, "There! He's there!" You point at him quickly, ducking your head a bit and motioning for Tasha to lean in closer to get a good look.

"Oh... my god," she breathes, and you feel a rush of pride at her response, unable to stop the grin from plastering itself to your face as you peer at him.

There's something different about him that you can't place - maybe it's just because you haven't seen him in a public place like this, aren't used to what he looks like when it's not just the two of you. You try to put your finger on it, and while you're doing so he does something that makes your heart positively swell in your chest.

He smiles. That beautiful crooked smile that pulled you in the day you met him, set your skin on fire and brought you to the point of no return. Those crinkly eyes, the grey in his beard, the softness of his eyes, they send that familiar feeling of safety rushing through your bones. And you realize there's nothing different about him at all. That's your Joel, sitting on a bar stool after a long day of work, nursing a glass of whisky and chatting about his day. He's the same Joel who you'd woken up with this morning, just in a different setting.

You're so distracted by his rugged beauty out in the open like this - overwhelmed by his charm and his smile - that it takes you a few seconds to see who exactly he's smiling at.

You feel your heart in your throat.

There's a woman sitting beside him. Not just beside him, but so close their stools are touching, so close her legs - long and lean and beautiful - are brushing his. It's not subtle the way her ankle moves against his calf, up and down, up and down. She's wearing jean shorts and a halter top, skin dark and gorgeous and exposed in all the right places, beautiful brown braids cascading down her back and shoulders. You can't see her face but you already know she could be a model. She probably is.

No. No, something isn't right.

Maybe it's not him.

Time feels like it's frozen, like everyone in the bar has stopped moving except the two of them, like a giant spotlight is shining directly on where they sit, where they touch, where they smile at each other. Because it is him. It's him in all his gorgeous Joel glory, peering into the eyes of a woman who isn't you, a woman who's probably more his type, closer to his age, a woman who's somehow making him smile like that when she shouldn't. That's how he smiles at you. That's your smile.

A woman who's now leaning in for a kiss.

No. Please no.

A woman who he kisses back.

This isn't happening. This isn't real. This is just some sick and twisted nightmare you're about to wake up from at any second.

His hand comes up to cup her face.

"I'm gonna throw up," is all you manage to gasp out to Tasha as you yank yourself from the booth and sprint out of the bar, hand splaying across your belly as you bend over and release the contents of your stomach all over the sidewalk.

You feel Tasha's hand on your back, pulling your hair behind your ears. She's saying something but you don't understand it, ears continuing to ring despite being outside in the cool air, away from the loud music and chatty conversations, away from them.

"Oh honey," you finally hear her say, soft and kind as she rubs circles into your back, a comforting action that brings no comfort to you, not now, not after what you've just seen. "I'm so sorry."

[ultrone]

⣷♱🪽🕊️

─ ౨ৎ ‧˚ rebel!reader who was failing yet another one of their classes, and their parents forced them to get tutoring, threatening to send them away for the summer if they didn't comply. after class, you approached your teacher to discuss the possibility of extra tutoring. unfortunately, her schedule didn't align with yours. as a last resort, she arranged for laura lee to assist you. laura had recently started volunteering after school to help students excel in subjects she excelled in, one of which happened to be the class you were struggling with.

you both agreed to meet three times a week, much to your dismay. you clearly couldn't care less about that particular class, and the fact that you now had to attend not only the class but also endure hour-and-a-half tutoring sessions three times a week made you want to end it all. and to make matters worse, the two of you weren't even friends, which added to your lack of enthusiasm. most of your free time was spent with your best friends, lottie, van, and tai. you occasionally hung out with nat too, but usually separately or with lottie. laura, on the other hand, was in a completely different league when it came to friendships. it wasn't that you mocked her; in fact, you’ve always thought she’s a very sweet person. it was just that she had always been too uptight for your taste, which left you completely disinterested in forming any type of bond with her. 

or so you thought until your tutoring sessions began. initially, it was dull, the same old routine of reviewing confusing topics. but as the minutes dragged on and boredom set in, you found yourself inexplicably staring at her face. her neatly combed blonde hair, so soft-looking, her smooth skin, rosy cheeks, and the way her pink lips moved while explaining topics with ease and enthusiasm—all of it made you realize just how pretty she was, something you'd never noticed before. you didn't say anything about it, though; you simply admired her from a distance.

what truly captivated you, however, was simply her. she was not only the sweetest person you had ever met but also far more interesting than you'd ever imagined, and her patience in explaining the same things to you over and over again without a hint of irritation made your cheeks flush each time. whenever stress got the best of you, she would gently rub your forearm, wearing a small smile on her face, and suggest that you take a break. she'd then open her backpack and share some of her snacks with you while you talked about random things. her unwavering faith was admirable too. even though you respected it, you had always thought she was a bit too religious, attending church every weekend, saying prayers before meals, and before bedtime. this, coupled with her prudishness—never uttering a single curse word, abstaining from parties or social events, and avoiding alcohol, essentially steering clear of the typical teenage activities most students indulged in—was something you always found quite weird, or uncommon. although, you had to admit that her dedication in upholding her beliefs was impressive. what truly struck you, though, was the genuine peace and satisfaction that radiated from her whenever she engaged in these activities. she seemed whole, and you yearned for that same feeling.

it didn't take long for you to realize you wanted to feel that completeness too, but by her side. so, you did what you did best: you flirted. you were careful not to make her uncomfortable, keeping your advances subtle, at least initially. you'd drop compliments about how pretty she looked that day, how smart she was, and you even gifted her a beautiful rosary necklace she had been wearing ever since. the best part was catching her shy smile and the way her cheeks reddened at your words, looking away while opening her textbook to continue with the lessons.

eventually, you mustered the courage to ask her out. to be honest, you were a bit nervous. you weren't usually the timid type, but despite the prolonged flirting with her, which she seemed to enjoy, you didn't actually know if she was into you or if she even liked girls, which worried you the most. as the days passed, you grew closer, and you feared that her beliefs might cause her to react negatively and jeopardize your friendship. however, you knew it was worth it, she was worth it, so you took the plunge. during one of your sessions, before you both headed home, you asked her out.

initially, she innocently interpreted your invitation as going out as friends, causing you to chuckle. you then clarified that you meant going out on a romantic date. she blushed and stammered a bit, clearly not expecting that, but to your surprise, she said yes.

─ ౨ৎ ‧˚ some hcs

literally not a single one of your friends believed you when you told them laura lee and you had just started dating 😭 it wasn’t until they saw you walking to practice hand by hand that they realized you were being serious.

“laura lee, y/n? are you serious?” “isn’t she like a pilgrim tho? how’d you even manage to hit? wth”

you convinced her to come to one of jeff’s parties once, and she vowed never to go again. long story short, she drenched shauna in holy water and tossed her pocket bible at her face because she was vomiting and mumbling things in spanish while being really drunk. “i know what a drunk person looks like and believe me when i tell you she was not drunk.” “people vibrate in lower frequencies when they’re drunk and attract demons more easily.” ☠️☠️

studying got a lot more fun since you started dating. she promised that if you get all the answers right, you’ll both watch a movie and cuddle all night. but even when you get them all wrong, you always manage to convince her to do the same anyway 🤭

you began attending church with her every sunday. waking up early in the morning is a hassle, but you understand how much it means to her, and you just want to see her happy. so, if that's what it takes, then so be it.

you were low key surprised her playlists weren’t just gospel songs LMFAOO (much to her parents dismay 😭😭)

whenever you fuck up and do something wrong, she always goes “it’s okay, baby, you’re beautiful in the eyes of our lord.”

once, van, tai, and you offered her $10 in exchange for saying a curse word. you begged her relentlessly, and she felt so pressured that she finally said one. but as soon as the word left her mouth, she burst into tears because she felt awful and guilty 😭 you felt terrible about it so u went to church with her that same day and asked for forgiveness in front of her LMFAOO

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

An Ode to the Homoerotic Friendship

Sometimes I think she was my soulmate. Maybe soulmates are a myth, and she was just a person that I loved. But, no, she was more than that. She was the first person I ever fell in love with.

I loved her. I loved the way her knuckles bent over the bridge of her guitar when she led worship at church. I loved the way her glasses slid down her nose when we studied at the seminary library. I loved that she'd wake up at two in the morning and decide to make pancakes from a box of cake mix. Plug in her electric griddle in the hall of our dorm, sit on the floor, and flip pancakes onto paper towels. I loved that I always knew it was her, because why else would the dorm smell like pancakes in the middle of the night?

I loved that when I had panic attacks, she pulled me into her extra-long twin bed and held me until I calmed. "I'm right here, okay?" she'd say. "I love you. You're safe." She held me afterward, too. So often that three days of the week, I was sleeping in her bed, our bodies curled together. I had never been held before. Never had someone play with my hair like that before. Never woken up next to someone who was soft and warm, someone I loved, and felt her breath hot on my neck. But we were just friends. Or so we told ourselves. It was Christian college, and we were nothing if not devout. We were not allowed to be anything else.

I loved that when we watched movies, I could lay my head on her lap and she'd rest her arm on top of me. Just rest it there. I loved the weight of it, the gentle rhythm of her fingers running through my hair.

Most of all, I loved that she made me feel safe. That she didn’t take energy from me. With her, I could just be. In her senior year, when I was still a sophomore, she took a pottery class for an art credit, and she fell in love with it. She'd spend late nights in the campus studio, working on her art. She tried to teach me, but I hated the texture of clay. So every night after dinner, we'd make our way to the empty studio, and she would sit at the wheel, and I'd sit and write. We played worship music in the background, and we didn't speak for hours. It was beautiful, almost holy.

I often woke up next to her in the mornings, but one morning in particular lingers in my memory. We were alone, her roommate gone home for the weekend. The light streaming in through the sheer curtains was perfect, as beautiful as light through stained glass. It was quiet, early. I remember that she pressed her body into mine. She took my hand and placed it over her waist, so I could hold her closer. Then she buried her head under my chin, wrapping her own arm around me, and I felt lighter in spirit than I have ever felt in my life. It was unbelievable to me, unknown, unthinkable, that she wanted me touching her like that, so close, so intimate. I would never have thought to. It would not have crossed my mind. But here we were, and I could not explain why it felt so good. I could not bear to examine it. I felt the rise and fall of her chest, soft and steady as she slept. I ran my fingers through her hair, and I thought if I could wake up every morning like this, I’d start every day happy.

I never thought I was gay. I never thought that anything we were doing went beyond the bounds of friendship. And maybe it didn’t in the strictest sense. We didn’t have sex. I never even kissed her.

I thought about it just once. In her bed, a double now, at the apartment she moved into after graduating. The apartment I spent every weekend at after classes ended, where I had my own drawer in her bathroom and a quarter of her closet. She was upset about something; I don’t recall what. She’d been crying, and I held her, and I kissed her forehead. I told her that I was here and that everything was going to be okay. When she’d calmed, she apologized for getting snot on my shirt, and I said it was alright, I didn’t care. But she still looked so sad, so fragile, and it hurt everything in me. I wanted her to feel better, I wanted to do something to make her feel better. And for just a moment–just one, small moment–I imagined kissing her. I would kiss her softly, so softly. My fingers gentle against the skin of her face that I knew so well. I wanted to kiss her just to show her that I loved her. That I would take care of her. And for a just a moment I entertained it, tried to rationalize it as a “just friends” kiss. But deep down I knew there was no such thing. That it was more than that, and the thought scared me. So I banished it as quickly as it had come and settled for pulling her close.

When she started seeing the man, I was furious, inexplicably outraged. I nearly cried when she told me, voice giddy, about how he taught her to French kiss.

"What did you think would happen?" she demanded. "That we would never find husbands? That we would live together forever? Why can't you just be happy for me?"

My face was red and angry. I felt like crying. "I don't know," I admitted. Later, at home, hot, angry tears streaked down my face. I think I did know, then, why I was so angry, so hurt. But I was not willing to admit it to myself.

I was her maid of honor when they married. And after the wedding, when we all took photos, she asked for one with just me. She wrapped me in her arms and placed a kiss on my cheek. After the reception, I sat in my car in a hotel parking lot and wept. Because I knew, then. I finally knew. I thought I was scared that I would never find someone I loved enough to marry. But, no, that wasn't true. I was scared the only people I loved enough to marry were women.

I was three years into graduate school before I came out of the closet. I'd stay awake at night, wondering if I was going to hell. I'd look at myself in the mirror and practice saying it, "I'm a lesbian," and "I'm gay," as if I were reviving a dead language. She was married, had a child, and when I called to tell her, she said, "I still love you."

But it was an I love you in spite of... rather than a true I love you. "You can still honor God," she pleaded with me, when I told her I didn't really care if I went to hell. I was too relieved to be myself. "I'm not naturally attracted to men, either. But I love my husband!" I tried to explain that when I loved her in college, it hadn't been like a friend. That the things we did, we said, we felt, those were not the markers of friendship. They were markers of more. But she wasn't ready. And I was.

We don't speak anymore. Not for years now. I grew weary of the way she'd imply that I was living a life of sin. Weary of dredging up the Ancient Greek we'd spent so long learning at the library, debating the finer points of Koine translation to justify myself. Most of all, I grew weary of her indifference–when I'd get called a dyke on the street, when I'd get cornered at work by church members praying for my "freedom" from my lifestyle. She didn't care. She might even condone.

And there came a day where I knew that I could never make her be ready. And that I'd have to let her go, no matter how badly I wanted her to be ready, too.

Sometimes I see her on social media. Her and her husband and their children, at an Easter service or picnicking or throwing a birthday party. And I miss her. Or, rather, I miss who we used to be together. But there is no getting that back. And, truth be told, I am better for it.

I wonder if, twenty years from now, when her children are grown and her marriage stale and fractured, if she will finally, finally be ready. If I get a phone call, will I answer it? If she finally says, "When I loved you in college, it was not like a friend," will I want to hear? All I know is that I am not willing to wait to hear it.

I hope that when I get that call, I am old and happy and have a wife who knows the wrinkles of my face and the brand of toothpaste I like. I hope we still dance badly in the kitchen, that we laugh together, that when we go to sleep, we hold each other close, and it no longer feels illicit to me. I hope I love my wife so much that I have not thought of her in twenty years. So that when she calls, I say, "Oh, I'd forgotten." And the memory is just that: a memory.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Dumb "Caligari" hcs because it's that kind of night

Despite how awful he is, Caligari actually is qualified to give psychological diagnoses. However, he just gives out completely bullshit ones because he thinks it's funny and has no moral compass. Tells his patients stuff like "you have anxiety, stress, and attention issues, which means I'm diagnosing you with lycanthropy. You're a werewolf. Sorry"

Jane was a Weird Kid (tm) who, despite her parents' best efforts, always had a bit of a morbid streak. When she was a child, to shut her up during fancy dinner parties, her dad would give her one of his medical books so she'd be occupied with pictures of skeletons the whole time

Holstenwall celebrates Christmas, but they don't have a Father Christmas/Santa Claus figure. There's only Krampus.

Francis frequently comes up with shipping names between himself and Jane, or himself and Alan. Jumped out a window once when Jane asked him what "Frolsen" was

Francis will alphabetize everything.

Cesare's makeup never comes off. It's just like that. Don't question it

Francis and Jane keep a tally of how often they've heard Alan swear, which has been less than ten times. They also have a dictionary of "Alan swears," which are completely inoffensive interjections that he'll say far more frequently. They teased him for the "Alan swears," until they both accidentally started saying them in place of actual cursing.

Cesare isn't used to most foods, especially sugary ones. Ate a piece of chocolate off the ground once and actually did see the future

Most people in town have crushes on Alan, but he thinks they're all just really really nice to him. He's a super affectionate person and shows romantic interest in the same way he shows platonic love, which usually includes things like hugging, writing people poetry, sending them flowers, etc. As a result, Jane, who isn't romantically interested in Alan, thinks he likes her, while Francis, who is, thinks he only sees him as a friend. They're not a love triangle; they're just a hot mess.

Caligari keeps extra business cards in his hat. The hat is also specifically tailored to make Caligari taller than Cesare, because he's very insecure about the fact that he's shorter than him.

When the trio were kids, Alan and Jane would always play execution with Jane's dolls. Alan always wanted to play the doll that died, so he could reenact a dramatic death scene. Jane would "execute" his doll as punishment for ridiculous "crimes," such as not saying "please" and "thank you," as a way to vent her frustrations with her parents' strict rules. Francis would sit in the corner reading and ignore them the entire time.

Holstenwall has a serious crow infestation. The steep triangular rooftops don't do much to ward them off, as they always roost everywhere else. Alan loves the crows; Francis is scared of them. Cesare will sometimes grab them out of the sky with his bare hands while asleep.

The church in the middle of town is more frequently used for exorcisms than sermons. Many Holstenwall residents practice an odd strain of folk Christianity very loosely based in Biblical teachings, with very little resemblance to major Christian denominations at all. There are saints, but they're all very specific- there's a Patron Saint of Isosceles Triangles, a Patron Saint of Forgetting Dreams, etc. The town's older residents especially adhere to a number of strange traditions and superstitions, such as wearing striped neckties upside-down on Fridays to ensure good weather, despite the fact that the weather in Holstenwall is often overcast regardless. Francis has always made a point of defying local superstitions.

Alan is very accident-prone. He likes to bake, but often burns whatever he makes because he forgets he put it in the oven, leaves, and remembers at least an hour after he was supposed to take it out.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Delicacies of Time

Chapter 44: A Happy Ending

"There are details!" she breathlessly exclaimed when she pulled away from him. The reality of a wedding tonight was settling in, romantic as he knew she'd find it, the planner within her was starting to overwhelm. "There are things that need done…people, announcements, at this hour-"

"I'll take care of all that," he promised with a shake of his head. "Marry me."

Her smile spread once more as she nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

"Prepare your vows? Meet me in an hour? I'll do the rest."

"Where?"

"The well," he answered without thinking. To him it was as normal as answering with "in a church" in this realm, but the more he thought about it…

It might have been a cheesy tradition in his old village, but it worked for them. The well was someplace special for them even here.

"The place we first kissed after the curse broke, after you came back to me. Give me a chance to make a promise to you there that I'll keep for the rest of our lives."

She beamed. Then nodded her head as her eyes glazed over with tears. "In an hour then," she answered, her voice choked with an emotion that he no longer thought was from grief but rather joy.

It was appropriate. He felt the shift too.

Quickly he leaned forward to kiss her, then moved away the second he managed to tear himself free, and left her in the library, knowing he'd see her soon. As much as he hated to do it without giving her the ring in his pocket, parting was necessary. The truth was that there were things that needed to be done if they intended to do this today, but not nearly as much as she thought.

People and announcements…those were wants. Not needs.

Needs for a marriage were quite simple.

They needed a place. And they had one. The well.

They needed an officiant, someone who could pronounce them officially husband and wife. He wasn't one for a Holy Man, but being who he was, he knew there was someone in town who was licensed in an official and legal capacity, who might not mind doing the deed.

He found Archie still at Granny's with the others. The man went pale when he pulled him aside to speak with him privately, not that he could blame him. Not only was he the Dark One, but he was also Mr. Gold, a man who never smiled unless something sinister was afoot, and yet he couldn't keep himself from smiling even now. But color returned to the man's cheeks as he explained the situation, as he told him that he knew he was friends with Belle and couldn't think of anyone else who might not only consider performing the wedding but might actually enjoy it. He expected a lecture from the cricket who prided himself on being a conscious to people who were acting against their own, but instead, he'd nodded his head and said, "I'd be honored."

A place secured, Archie preparing, the details given, a ring in his pocket already that he simply couldn't wait to give away, he realized that the list of "needs" had been fulfilled. Thirty minutes remaining didn't give him a lot of time to fulfill many "wants," but it allowed for some. He drove home quickly, changed suits, selected a steal gray tie and pocket square, then added a scarf for a bit of extra flair, and summoned a fresh white flower to fix to his lapel. Eighteen minutes to spare, he took the car and headed up into the back woods of the forest, where he knew of a spot to park his car for the well.

Archie was already there, Pongo in the backseat, he leaned against his car with a flashlight in hand. "Bit dark for a midnight wedding…I don't think there's any lighting at the well."

He couldn't be annoyed at the nitpicking. It was impossible. So instead, he answered that it wouldn't be a problem when they arrived, and the two of them began the short hike up to the well.

Another want he could accomplish…setting the mood.

With a sweep of his hands, he covered the well with glowing white candles that even made Archie gasp. "Ah…yes…well…that will work just fine."

Between the candles and the moon, it would indeed work just fine.

Seven minutes to spare.

If he knew Belle, she'd be right on time.

There was time enough to do something more, he knew. Time enough to fulfill another "want," but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything that would be appropriate. His mind felt hazy. There was a lump that was somehow managing to swell in his throat. Concentration was beginning to feel impossible. But when he heard a branch break at four minutes to go and turned to see her step out of the clearing…

He couldn't think at all.

He could barely breathe looking at her.

Time slowed to a crawl as she walked toward him, a vision in white…in every single literal way he knew of.

It was true. That vision that he'd seen so long ago in the castle when he'd caught her after she'd fallen from the ladder, the vision that produced so many small little glimpses of a future he wasn't sure or hadn't wanted to believe were real…one of those visions had shown him this. Had shown him her. Dressed exactly like that.

On their wedding day.

It hadn't shown him Archie. It hadn't shown him Belle clinging to her father's arm, only her as she made her way to him, eyes fixed and nearly in tears already.

She was gorgeous. And he wasn't sure this was the best idea he'd ever had, or the worst because he'd taken so damn long to get to this place.

"It is my great honor to officiate this most lovely union," Archie began when they were toe to toe, and her father had stepped away. The shock of his voice had him glancing over at him, reminding him that they weren't alone at the moment. His mind seemed to keep forgetting that. It kept blocking out everyone and everything except her and that gaze of hers. "If you'd like to begin, your vows…" Archie prompted, glancing at her first as he realized…

A need that he'd forgotten…his vows.

"Rumpelstiltskin…" she began with a swallow. "This thing we have it's…it's never been easy. I've…I've lost you so many times," she cried, struggling to breathe through her emotions. Oh, he wanted to take her in his arms even then. "I've lost you to…to darkness, to weakness, and-and finally…to death. But now I realized…I realize that I have not spent my life losing you…I've spent my life finding you!"

Beautiful vows. Simple and elegant, just as she was. Just as he had difficulty being, especially when he went into something entirely unplanned and unprepared. How was he supposed to say anything half as good as that?

But then again…

There was nothing he could tell her she didn't already know. What had he said to her in the library? He wanted to make a promise to her that he'd actually keep. What was a vow if not a promise?

"Belle…" he began, doing his best to look at her and go back to that place where Archie and her father didn't exist. The things he wanted to tell her now were things he had only ever uttered to her in the privacy of their bedroom or the back of the shop. He blushed to think others might be witness to it, but that was the point after all. He just needed to block the others out so he could get them out of his mouth. It was just the two of them here at this well. It was the two of them making these promises. "When we met, I wasn't just unloved and unloving. I was an enemy of love. Love had only brought me pain. My walls were up, but you brought them down. You brought me home." He swallowed hard and tried not to be distracted as tears rolled down her cheeks. "You brought life into my life and chased away all the darkness. And I vow to you, I will never forget the distance between what I was and what I am."

That was it…the "want" he had time to provide for her. He wanted to do right by her, wanted to be everything that she wanted him to be. That was a vow, a promise that he wanted to keep. A gift that he could give…plus one other she didn't yet know about.

He glanced at Archie as he pulled the ring out of his pocket, more to let the cricket know he had it than to seek his permission, but he was happy when he nodded all the same. Her jaw dropped as she stared at it, and he reached for her hand to slip it over her finger.

"I owe more to you than I can ever say," he explained, settling it into place and feeling the magic solidify. "How you can see the man behind the monster…I will never know."

"But that monster's gone," she argued with absolute certainty. "And the man beneath him may be flawed…but we all are. And I love you for it," she insisted, squeezing his hands tighter in her own. "Sometimes the best book has the dustiest jacket. And sometimes the best teacup…is chipped!"

A small laugh spread over her face, taking him right back to one of their earliest interactions, when she'd dropped that cup, chipping it forever, and he'd made a not-so-funny joke that she'd still laughed at all the same. It was strange how a moment like that could evolve, the places it could lead to the challenges that would arrive to dismantle it. They'd conquered their demons, climbed their mountains, and come through the other side. And now there was only one thing left he could think to do.

Vows said, ring given, he stepped forward in front of that well, and the few there to witness it, and kissed her, proclaiming to all the world they were now and forever, finally, husband and wife.

[swallow17]

I guess we still need rituals.

Today, one of my friends had a freaking big exam. The freaking big exam, the one she was crying over on my kitchen floor three months ago. It's a tough one, one I passed six years ago; you have to pass two parts of that thing, and, even if you do, there's no guarantee you'll get the job. And it was extra difficult for her; she didn't study the degree that gives you the best chance to pass the first part of the exam —that one that basically examines you of the contents of that four-year degree she does not have.

And she passed the first part. With a 70%, no less.

You can believe me if I tell you that's a lot. She basically had to study a degree all on her own, while working, and she freaking did it. So, big accomplishment; but today was the second part of this exam, and, for me, personally, the worst one. 'Cause it's the one in which you don't have to write, but to speak. You have to defend your project in front of a comittee that will decide if you're suit for the job or not, and you must do it perfectly. No mistakes allowed.

So yeah, she was nervous. And I didn't have the stomach to let her face this shit alone, even though she insisted. "I can do it on my own," she said that like a hundred times. Followed by about a thousand "I don't want to bother you", "It's a lot to ask", etc. Well, the thing is she wasn't asking. I wanted to help, so I didn't give her the chance to say "no". I travelled early to the city where she had the exam, that is not the home place of any of us, drove her from the hotel to the examining board, waited there with her trying to keep her calm, and took care of her things when she finally entered the exam. Then, I had two hours for myself.

I honestly didn't feel like sitting there for two hours. I literally can't just wait around, so I decided to search a church on my phone and go light a couple of candles. I really don't know if I believe in God and all of that, but that's what my grandma would have done if I was the one facing the exam. And I feel strangely compelled to keep her alive, somehow.

So, I found a church. I lit some candles to the carving of Mary, 'cause I feel a certain sympathy for her and she makes me think of nature, forests and rebirth. Also, I bear her name, so in case there's really someone listening, she might be proner to help me. I stayed there for a while, looking at my little flames, enjoying the coolness of the air inside the temple, the silence.

I left a bit later and I found a supermarket where I grabbed a couple of sandwiches, a giant bottle of Nestea and some chocolate, and run to wait for my friend outside the place where she was doing her defence. I assumed she'd be hungry, after such a long morning. I don't know. Sometimes I just act on impulse, but I like to think that's what anyone would do. Trying to help, I mean.

She exited the premises a few minutes later, and she was a mess. She was immensely happy 'cause the ordeal was finished; she was kinda satisfied 'cause she felt the committee liked her work. She was shaking from the stress and anxiety she'd been juggling for months. And she bursted into tears when I handed her the food. It was like watching the breaking of a dam; once the water started to leak, it couldn't be stopped. So I hugged her, at my best capacity, and let her cry until she was finally relaxed. Then, we walked to my car.

She was talking non-stop then, about everything she wants to do this summer, all of her plans for the future, and also the ones for our shared part of this future. And then, suddenly, she said "I'm gonna cry a lot when I finally see you in your wedding gown, y'know?" I don't remember what my answer was, but I guess I joked or said something silly, 'cause that's what I always do. I drove her to the train station, so she'd catch the train that would take her back to the place she was born, the stretch of land between the desert and the sea, under a million stars. She made me promise I'd visit her there soon. I guess I'll go, if I can.

So, after that, I hopped back in my car and drove back to the city, to meet another friend. It is amazing, the number of friends I have for the unbelievable dull person I am. Anyway, we spent the afternoon walking around this fairytale forest, right by the river banks, under the shadow of Snow White's castle. And I kept thinking about those words.

Why would anyone cry just by seeing me in a wedding gown? I'm getting married next year, yes, but that can't be unexpected to anyone. I've been in love with my fiancé for the last ten years; we went back and forth a lot, that's a fact, and there were other in the middle, but our comicly messy love story would make for another full post. Anywise, our wedding is something that's been largely anticipated. It's just a confirmation, a way of putting into the eyes of gods and men what's already been obvious for everyone; that I love that man, and I'll do until my dying day. And that he feels the same way about me.

So, why all the fuzz about the wedding gown?

I couldn't reach any conclusion, so I just enjoyed the coolness of the river. July in Spain can be boiling hot, so we refreshed our hair with water from a nearby creek and, after a while, I headed back home, in a different, duller town. No fairytale castles. No magical rivers.

Why would anyone cry over my wedding?

I arrived home, greeted my beautiful giant cat, waited until the nightfall to open the windows and refresh the house. Then, I hopped in the shower and open the cold water tap.

I was still thinking about the wedding thingy. I imagined the moment at the altar, that moment where I would say the words, "I take thee to be my lawfully wedded husband" and all of that (in a different language, ofc) and I suddenly started giggling like a teenager over the thought of kissing my husband there. My husband.

I have been called "cold" in multiple occasions. I am afraid I am, indeed, quite cold. I'm not good at physical contact, it makes me overly anxious. I'm not good opening myself to others, the words just refuse to leave my throat. I'm excedendly good at being alone. I kinda like being alone.

I guess I am, somehow, cold even with myself. I still don't completely understand what makes me so happy about the wedding, but it does.

In the end, it comes all to the same place. The little flames in the church, my white gown and the red poppies on the wedding invitations. None of those mean a great deal by themselves, but there's a shine that only our hearts can provide. The candle which is hope for a better future, a bearer of good wishes. The white dress my mum and one of my friends helped me pick, that makes me feel beautiful. The red poppies that combine his favorite color with my soul raised between wheat fields.

None of those are that important, as such. But they're part of a ritual. A ritual of asking for help for those we can help no more; a ritual to celebrate love, life, a shared future.

So here I am, writing down my thoughts. Putting them into words, in a language that's not my own, trying to force them to make sense, capturing them in such a way I can get some distance. In a way I can understand them. Because that's the ritual I've always used to survive.

Society has grown out the need of many things. It appears that we don't need faith anymore, nor traditions, nor all of those rituals that marked the years and seasons for my gipsy orthodox grandmother, for the celtic catholic one. Churches are more of a touristic atraction than a place of worship. Local festivities revolve around loud music and alcohol. And I don't see that many people paying attention to legends and folklore, though there's a sort of revival of that last one in some circles.

But my friend will cry when she sees me in a wedding gown. I'll giggle at the thought of saying "I do". My dad will read the words I asked him to in a cracking voice, because he'll be giving his daughter away. It does not matter if I already live with my fiancé. If does not matter if, for the last three years, we've been inseparable. It will be in that place, at that moment, when it will be palpable, undeniable.

It is a ritual. And, for us, it's the ritual what makes it real.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

how the Fuck does anyone learn 70 instruments and how the Fuck does anyone learn Any instruments as a kid.........i mean i guess once you get the hang of a few instruments a lot of the rest aren’t completely different but still, jeez. i get the habit thing smh samesies......and same with how i’ve only ever lived that Last Minute Life. can and will procrastinate until the night before........but the misery of Auditioning all on its own is a lot i’m sure....i haven’t auditioned for anything since i was like....10, which hardly counts. fingers crossed that the whole process leans less horrible 

fuck i never had to do Church Every Day which i’m so glad about ugh.....my mom was pretty serious about the ol christianity but even she had her limits. there was a lady at our church who was nice enough but a bit too flanders-y Constant Jesus Full-Throttle-y even for my mom. once her daughter gave us (uhh, the seventh? eighth graders? fuuuuck i had to go to sunday school from k-8 and THAT was another torment....and being catholic means having to do that confirmation shit in 8th grade which just means slamming your head against the wall EXCEPT i think i got credit for helping a nun bake cookies which was a lot of fun, b/c the nuns were great ANYWAYS) us whatever-graders and our moms? i guess? a talk about like....morality in ur adolescent adventures and even my mom was like “hmm that was a bit Misogynistic”.......e.g. she was lecturing us about how the radical role-reversaling of the then-recent release of “enchanted” was unnecessary and how girls ought to wear modest clothing because ig their future husbands deserve No Spoilers about what the fuck their wife’s physical form looks like....and my mom was like “well it should be about the girl’s own sake actually not defining it for some guy” and i was like that’s the spirit mom.....idk like my dumb ass was 11 and i’m still relaying this mess b/c i was like “this is the most useless hour and a half i’ve ever experienced” idek what it was meant to be about

i Was lucky to have escaped the realm of sunday school before my mom read in some priest’s blog or something that “religious education is as important as regular education and kids go to school thru 12th grade so why not sunday school thru 12th grade” and i think my unfortunate brother had to live through that. and i didn’t have to do Church Every Day but i DID have to do all the extra days of Required Church which like, from post-xmas through early january there’s like this streak of 2 weeks with three extra days of You Gotta Go To Church on top of the usual sundays and it’s like, well fuck my whole life i guess. very much know that ian deforge life(tm) having to go to church with your freaking mom all the time

hanging around the nuns was great though actually. that’s not Usual but we just so happened to have some great nuns nearby and my mom got involved so by extension we were like oh hey chillin at the monastery with the nuns.....helping out with things on occasion.....they were all very nice and many of them very fun. and the side effect of 2304823402834 hours of Church Things is that now i have a decently expansive knowledge of technical christian lore. a bit too much lmao like, great, now i wish i knew more about the other abrahamic religions. but i guess at least i’m a resource for protestants who are mystified and weirded out by catholicism? fantastic, but hey let’s all commit to storming vatican city. we’re all in this (storming vatican city) together

[vasiktomis]

Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

[a-serial-killer-and-an-eggplant]

The smell of bleach hung over the house, causing his lungs to burn as he finished scrubing the bathroom. He looked into the mirror that hung above the sink and gazed blankly at bruises and bumps in his skin, as if just noticing them. They'd become almost a natural part of him, so much so that he rarely noticed when a new one formed. When he was younger, maybe 7 or 8, he'd try to remember how he got each one. Keep track of which were his parent's doing and which were faults of his own clumsiness. But now it was less than futile.

He blinked and stopped staring, gently squeezing the wet washcloth in his hand, causing tiny soap bubbles and water to coat and rundown his hand. He sighed and washed away the extra soapy water before simply setting the cloth aside with the knowledge he'd probably use it later to scrub himself.

Today was a rather quiet and simple day when it came to the Baker family, although he didn't expect it to stay that way. No, with every inch of his body he believed tonight would be his last night in this dreaded house. And as long as his father slept deeply that night, he'd be fine. 

He went back to his room to change, as his clothes had become soaked in a mix of soapy water and cleaning supplies, making the fabric hug his chest. A feeling he despised to say the least. As he shut his door quietly and pulled off his shirt his hand moved to gently touch a pale burn wound on his chest. His mother's doing. He couldn't remember in perfect detail of why she'd done it, only that it'd been encouraged by her odd and in his opinion, scary friends. A few always claimed he was a demon child for how he looked. They bragged about how the lord had blessed their children with lovely bright eyes and luscious hair that was usually some pale blond.

Markus on the other hand didn't have that. He didn't have pretty eyes, or nice blond hair that layed oh so perfectly and styled nicely for when they went to church. Instead he was stuck as someone seen as nothing more than a creepy demon boy who always looked a mess and could never remember the right words for his prayer in public. 

There were times he believed it to be true, thankfully school was a different place. A worried thought hung in his mind, on whether or not he'd be allowed to go to the same school after he got out. If he did manage of course. As hopeful as he was, there was still doubt. He was fully convinced that doing this was completely risking his life. 

Every inch of him shivered at the thought of what his father would do if he got caught. An almost picture perfect vision of his own body lying mutilated in some ditch under a bridge hung in his mind. If it weren't for that fear he told himself he would've been smart enough, brave enough to tell someone, to get help. 

He sighed and sat down on the floor, digging under his bed for his comfort 'friend'. A rotted cat body named Gerald. It used to be a living cat of course, but it simply couldn't last forever. It must've been atleast 3 years that he'd kept the old thing, keeping it safe from bugs and other things in a box under his bed. He stroked the matted old furr comfortingly for a while until he heard his father home again. He tucked the cat away again and climbed quietly into bed, pulling the covers over his head with just a tiny space to watch his door through. 

For a while it was silence, minutes passed by like hours and the sun quickly fell from the winter sky. He shivered under his blanket before carefully climbing out from beneath it. He watched the floor, keeping mental note of where the floor tended to creak. He cracked open the door and peaked out, listening to the silence still, sighing with soft relief as he left his room. 

He snuck down the hall and into the kitchen, his bare feet padding softly against the floor. It felt like ice but he didn't want to risk going back for socks. He grabbed the receiver off the counter and started dialing, looking around the kitchen before focusing on the phone. As a woman answered the phone he felt his voice start to shake with worry. What if he wasn't loud enough? Or too loud? What if she didn't believe him? 

"Hello? Is someone there?" The woman repeated this twice before he managed to get a word out.

"I-I, m-my name is m-markus baker a-and, I n-need help," he whimpered. She seemed sympathetic and her voice further softened. 

"Alright, can you tell me what kind of help you need Markus?" 

"I- my dad- he- he hurts me, a-alot and I need help..." 

"Right, where do you live? we can send officers over to help." He nodded and told her his address. "Can you stay on the line Markus?" 

"I-I think so..." he decided after a moment before hearing footsteps down the hall. He panicked and squeezed the receiver tightly, hopping his dad hadn't noticed he was up. Sadly that hope was quickly fleeting as a rage filled shout filled the kitchen.

"What the fucking hell do you think you're doing?!" Markus yelped softly, and felt his eyes begin to water as he dropped the receiver. 

"I-I- I wasn't-" he squeaked before the back of his fathers hand smacked hard against his cheek. 

"I feed you, raise you, clothe you, and this is how you repay me?" He shoved him against the kitchen counter onto the floor. "I'm sick of this behavior, of this utter bullshit!" He ripped open a kitchen drawer and grabbed a steak knife. Markus tried to scramble away but his father held his hair near to the scalp, holding his head firmly in place. He stabbed the blade firmly through his left hand, driving it into the wooden counter through it. He laughed sickly as he watched his son's hand bleed. "Caught red handed, for the last damn time." 

His attention was temporarily drawn to the still hanging receiver as he let go of Markus' hair, hanging up the line as he ripped the blade out again, making him sob harder. 

A loud pounding hit against the front door, startling them both. The knocking continued, policemen announcing themselves as they banged on the door. He gripped the knife tightly as it burst open. Almost instantly guns were drawn by two officers while a third officer motioned Markus over.

He was hesitant, but as he watched his father stand motionless at gun point, he ran over in a heartbeat, clutching his hand tightly, tears still stinging his cheeks. The officer looked over his injury cautiously before leading him out to get medical help. 

He glanced back through the door as his father was cuffed. He was glaring, much colder and more hatefilled than he ever had before. It all left his emotions in a blur. Adrenalin, fear, relief, everything was mixed together until he didn't know what to feel.

"Hey," he looked back at the officer, who smiled comfortingly. "You'll be okay now kid," he nodded slightly as he helped him into the police car. "Try to stay awame hntil we get you to the hospital okay?" 

"Y-yes sir...: he nodded quietly, holding his hand tightly against his chest. It burned more than he'd ever felt before, but he tried to assure himself that it would get better. And under his breath he began to mutter to himself. 

"I'm going to be okay"

[morbid-n-macabre]

Bart Corbin: The murders of the dentist:

Bart was a very successful dentist in Lawrenceville, Georgia, and he was married to Jennifer Corbin. Together the couple led a nice life, they owned a beautiful new home, nice new vehicles, and they had two perfect little boys, Dalton and Dillon. The family had the means to take extravagant vacations, like cruises to Italy; everything seemed to be so perfect, on the outside anyways.

Jennifer had not been happy for some time now. She was aware of the affair her husband was having with his secretary. Jen had been lonely, and Bart was not exactly kind; he could be abusive, not only towards Jen, but also their young children.

In January of 2004 Jennifer decided to work on herself, she was determined to get her confidence back. She began working out to lose her extra baby weight, and she picked up a day job working at a church's preschool while the boys were at school. Then Jen's mother surprised her with an online game called EverQuest, mom had been playing it and decided that her daughter might want to join.

Jen was soon obsessed with her gaming, and she and Bart were fighting more than ever; she'd even asked Bart for a divorce!

See, Jen had met someone on EverQuest; his name was Chris, a man from Missouri. They had been sending constant emails, and chatting on the phone at all hours. Jen felt special again, she fell hard and quick; this new couple began making plans for a new life, plans which did not involve Bart Corbin. The dentist, having had his own affairs, quickly picked up on the signs of infidelity.

On Friday, November 10th of 2004, Jennifer's new world game crashing down. Chris couldn't keep up his charade, and admitted that he was really a she. Her name was really Anita Hearn, she was a married mother with children of her own; Jen had been catfished. She was absolutely devastated; Jen told her sister about her affair, and admitted that she still loved her online lover, regardless of the person's gender. The couple were planning to meet on Thanksgiving weekend, and prove their love for one another.

The Corbins spent Thanksgiving at her sister's house; Jennifer seemed happy enough, but Bart was brooding; the dentist had spent most of the holiday locked in the basement. At 6 pm, Bart demanded that it was time they returned home; the dentist made a pit stop at a local grocery store and Jen ran inside real quick. She made the mistake of leaving her phone in the vehicle with Bart, and this is when he found proof of his wife's affair. There were love poems on the device, and Bart confronted Jen immediately. Bart punched Jen right in the face as the boys in the back seat cried. Jen called her father, she and the boys went to stay at his house for a few days.

On Monday, November 29th of 2004, Bart Corbin filed for divorce. The dentist asked for custody of the children and to be awarded all of the couples’ assets, including the home. The very next day, Bart discreetly drove to Troy, Alabama, where he met with his friend Richard Wilson to borrow a .38 Smith & Wesson. He told his friend that Jen had been having an affair and he was afraid for his life. Meanwhile, Bart and Jen's young son had a premonition: the 7 year old child was telling everyone at school that his father was about to kill his mother. Somehow he already knew what was coming.

By December 1st Jen had left her parent's and returned home temporarily, just until she could acquire her own place. When she woke up this morning, Jen found her purse on the floor; her new cell phone, a credit card, and some personal papers were missing. She knew Bart had been in the bedroom as she slept, and that he'd taken her belongings. The couple quarreled, and she called 911; the operator listened as Bart ran over Jennifer's foot with his car. Still Jen refused to press charges; the two decided to try and get along, for the boys sake. Jen wanted peace, but she would never have it.

At 1:45 a.m. on December 4th, Bart's parent's neighbor, Steve, noticed the dentist pull into the driveway of his family's home. Just a few hours later, little Dalton ran to a neighbor's house in his underwear; he was crying, saying that his daddy had killed his mommy. 911 was alerted.

While Jen and the boys slept, Bart had snuck into the house. Using a pillow to muffle the sound, he shot her in the back of the head at point blank range, instantly taking his wife's life. He then pulled Jennifer’s body into a semi-sitting position and placed the gun in her hand, attempting to make the murder look like a suicide. He then left his boys alone in the home to discover their mommy's corpse.

After Jen's murder, Bart didn't even take his boys with him, they were left in the care of Jen's sister. The dentist lawyered up immediately.

This wasn't Bart's first murder. He had gotten away with it years before, and he fully intended to get away with it again.

Nobody left Bart Corbin and survived.

Back in 1987 Dolly Hearn had been enrolled in the Medical College of Georgia School of Dentistry in Augusta. Her father had been a dentist, and she wanted to walk in his footsteps. Dolly was drop dead gorgeous, she reminds me of a young Delta Burke; she was vivacious, intelligent, and charming. Again, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who disliked this bright young woman. It was in dental college that Dolly met Bart Corbin; they had fallen in love and began spending every waking moment together. Within months Bart had proposed; this took Dolly aback, and she politely declined. The ambitious college student had no intentions of allowing anything to come between her and her dreams, and a man wasn't gonna hold her back. But Bart wouldn't take no for an answer, he pestered her to accept his proposal and he became controlling, domineering. Dolly told several friends of Bart’s obsession with her; friends watched helplessly as Dolly began withdrawing into herself. Finally, she gathered her courage and broke off the relationship.

Bart simply couldn't handle the rejection. At first he begged and pleaded for a second chance, he even threatened suicide. Taking pity on him, Dolly began seeing him again, but not in she serious manner. In November of 1989, Dolly was ready to move on, she broke it off for good. Within days of the break up, bad things began to happen. Dolly was finding different windows and doors in her apartment left open, openings which she was certain had been closed, plus her car was vandalized. She knew it was all Bart's doing, and she did report it to police. Still, Dolly's heart was too big; she was aware that pressing charges would ruin Bart's career before it even began, so she dropped the charges. But Bart didn't stop here, he began stealing her dental tools, messing with her contact lens solution, he even stole her beloved cat, Tabitha! Then he ruined Dolly's senior project, a set of dentures which she'd been painstakingly working on throughout the year to make perfect; suddenly this bright young woman was flunking out of dental school. Bart wouldn't stop, and Dolly became so afraid that she borrowed her father's gun for protection.

Wednesday, June 6th of 1989 started out like any other: Dolly went about her usual routine, and Bart called her; she hadn't been home long when a friend knocked on her apartment door. Said friend came into the apartment, and noticed a man standing alone in the dark bathroom; sadly this friend didn't say anything to Dolly about it. They thought that Dolly must know he was there, and maybe she hadn't wanted anyone to know she had a man over. If only this friend had said something, Dolly might still be alive.

Later that day, Dolly’s roommate came home to find her sitting slumped over on the couch, covered in blood; a .38 revolver was laying in her lap. Despite the harassment, despite the fact that everyone said she would never commit suicide, police deemed the death a suicide. For the next 15 years there would be no justice for Dolly. When his first victim's parents heard of Jen's demise, they promptly contacted Jen's family. They immediately knew that Bart had done it again, and these two families who had never met before suddenly had a very strong bond; together they were determined to get justice for the women in Bart's life. Dolly's case was finally reopened, and police realized that the college student had not shot herself.

At Christmas of 2004, Bart was finally indicted for the murder of Dolly Hearn, and the next month he was charged with killing his wife. Thankfully the man who had given Bart the gun just a week prior to the murder came forward; because of this Bart plead guilty to the murders of his wife and former girlfriend. There dentist was sentenced to two concurrent life sentences and will be eligible for parole in late 2020.

There's actually a third murder in which Bart was suspected, a colleague and an acquaintance.

Jennifer’s sister, Heather Tierney, has officially adopted Dalton and Dillon. She has raised them alongside her own children. They are reportedly doing well. 17 years after her murder, Dolly Hearn was posthumously granted her Doctor of Dental Medicine Degree.

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on TRR Book 3, Chapter 17

• I'm basically sitting here and thinking "jeez, these guys really want us to know FOR SURE that they don't give a shit about their lone female LI, do they". Like, you gotta admire the dedication this team has to the cause. Like, the audacity of them to put out an entire extra Drake scene while not speaking a word about Hana's sexuality in canon, esp if she isn't your fiancée. That probably takes guts. Or maybe not. Maybe all it really takes is actually giving a damn (or not) about your characters.

• Title: Save the Date. Alternative Title: Proof That Team TRR Has Excellent Memory, Unless Your Name Is Hana Lee.

• The TRR team everytime they need to do their homework on Liam or Drake:

The TRR team everytime they need to do their homework on Maxwell or Hana (but especially Hana):

• So I assumed based on the description and the title (Save the Date), that this would include a RoE-esque selection of dress, decor, cake, all free except for a few choices. So far all we've been able to select for our wedding is food. Today we choose cake via a diamond option, our maids of honor, the kids who will carry the ring down the aisle and our officiant. And gifts for the LIs.

• Madeleine thinks Gladys has "risen" to her "level". Madeleine has a level???

• Okay so we're doing a publicity run of our wedding preps. Are we that desperate to show the rest of the country how much last-minute-wedding-planning we can cram in two hours??

•

Terrence, is this your summer job?? Also, Tina, girl, I saved your ass last book after you screwed me over. The least you could do is say "thank you, O Great One and Saviour of Us All" Jeez, what do I have to do to be worshipped around here these days 🙄

•

PURPLE 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 (Sorry I love that colour it's my favouritest). But wait why am I paying for a dress if I'm going to the bridal boutique to pick out my wedding gown...right? Right?? (Orrr am I going to get a lovely fancy wedding gown for free??? 😀 Who woulda thunk!) (...oh. I have to wait till next week to see my gown. Okay. Okay. 😑)

• So we're now here in this boutique with half the court and Ana de Luca. First on our agenda: the maid of honour. If you're marrying Liam or Drake, you get to choose between Hana, Kiara, Olivia, Penelope and Maxwell. All good options xD If you're marrying Maxwell you get those four. If you're marrying Hana, you get three: Olivia, Penelope and Maxwell. Kiara isn't available because by default Hana picks her to be her MOH. Hana is clearly very, very close to Kiara and values her. Way more than the rest of us in the group seem to do, anyway.

The choices I want for Esther are Hana or Kiara. I love both. I'm so glad they included Maxwell, I like Penelope, Olivia is amazing, and all their reactions are wonderful, but these two are my favourites. (Though I'd say Esther would definitely pick Hana. She's closest to her, even calling herself "the Elizabeth to Hana's Jane").

• Once that's done, the LI gets to choose their Best Man/MOH 2. Liam chooses Drake, and he mostly behaves a little surprised and afraid that he might embarrass Liam on his wedding, which is quite the sweet sentiment and a little sad. Drake chooses Liam and from what I see, the narrative makes it a point to mention that Liam has to force his happiness because he's still not over the MC. He shows this even if the MC has not had romance points with him. Maxwell chooses Drake, specifying that even if they weren't related by marriage, he'd still consider Drake family. Drake is surprised and a little touched by the sentiment. Hana, as I mentioned before, chooses Kiara.

• Time for our ring bearers! The number of choices you have depends on whether you bought the corgi in Book 2 or not. If you do, he shows up as an extra option. The other choices are:

1. Bartie, who will be carried along the aisle via Savannah. I'm getting nightmares of the few times we took my daughter V to church and...nope. Sorry Bartie.

2. Cordonian children. Bertrand tells us that using Cordonian kids, as ring bearers and flower girls, would count as "a sign of commitment to the common people". My headcanon for Esther was that she wanted a mix of both Cordonian and New Orleans traditions (she grew up in the French Quarter), so she took every possible chance she could to highlight how Cordonian a wedding it was so the NOLA elements wouldn't completely alienate people. So she obviously chose this option.

• We now move to the last bit. If you're marrying Maxwell or Hana, Liam automatically becomes an option for the role of officiant, since it is mandatory to have a royal officiate the ceremony. If you're marrying Drake, Liam's not included because he is already Drake's best man by default. The other two options are Leo and Regina. If you choose Regina, the MC views it as fitting, given that Constantine would have been the officiant were he still alive. Regina in that sense would be a fitting stand-in. If you choose Leo, the MC maintains that he would lend "humour and levity to the ceremony" and that's something they all need at the moment.

•

This man and his "my love"s slay me every time.

• BAKLAVA REFERENCE FOR LIAM. ALL THE WAY BACK FROM ROE BOOK 2.

• Esther Noelle DuPont would NEVER leave wedding gown stuff for the last minute. Nor would she wind up on the eve of her wedding not knowing who was designing her dress until the day before. She would be badgering Liam about the cake way before. She would be badgering him about the decor. She'd be badgering him about every little detail. She'd be bridezilla. No way would she be chilling the day before her wedding, ice tea in hand.

• But they did remember that Ana de Luca was originally introduced as a fashion designer from way back in MW! Madeleine also gives Ana some of Krona's finest lace, which makes me wonder if it's a tradition to have lace from Krona on a royal/aristocratic wedding gown. My theory about this gown for the next chapter is that it might be the same for everyone, but will have additional elements behind a paywall. Or will she have options between two or three gowns? Idk.

• We get to choose how we want to be announced, and then comes the diamond option - choosing our cake with the LI.

(Screenshots - @kennaxval for Hana, and YouTube channels Vika Avey for Maxwell and HIMEME for Drake)

This is the breakdown of what this scene looks like in each playthrough:

Liam

Cake flavours: Vanilla Chantilly (white), Mocha Fudge (chocolate) and Sweetened Cordonian Ruby (pink). Liam loves the vanilla one for its subtle and complex flavours, considers the mocha one "strong, daring...somewhat sensual" and finds the pink one full of surprises (due to the Cordnian Ruby flavouring) and that "there's more to it than meets the eye". If you notice all of these are flavours Liam has an established preference for (vanilla, coffee, apples).

Decorations: The Royal design reminds Liam of his parents, so there is an element of nostalgia still there. He loves the colours of the Fairytale design, finds them "fantastically beautiful" and thinks it would be good inspiration in case they would like to expand the palace quarters.

Cake Filling: The filling options are the same across the LIs. Vanilla buttercream, rich chocolate ganache and strawberry mousse. In Liam's case, you can either feed ganache off of each other, simply try each flavour, or have him surprise you. I love my Kinky King so I knew "surprise me" would involve a blindfold somewhere 😂 (Love that option. It's quite sexy). I've also noticed that only Liam seems to have 3 options for the ganache tasting, while the rest have just two.

You also get to choose between Cordonian Ruby Pie and Baklava for a surprise dessert!

Maxwell:

Cake flavours: Coconut (white), Passionfruit (pink), and Spicy Chocolate (chocolate). He thinks of the coconut one as being "pina colada in cake form", loves the element of surprise in the passionfruit and thinks its "non traditional" flavour describes them as an aristocratic couple perfectly, and just says "wow" about the chocolate. The baker, who remembers Maxwell once trying to surprise Bertrand with cheetah cake on the latter's birthday, even sends one as a bit of an inside joke.

Cake Decorations: Maxwell jokes about the royal design being more decked out than some estates but thinks that "nothing says you're a big deal like gilded flowers, gold and jewels you can eat". He loves the castle in the Fairytale design and likes to imagine there are little cake people walking in there.

Surprise desserts for Maxwell include Cordonian Ruby Pie and Cheetah Cake.

Hana

Cake flavours: Strawberry (pink), Madagascar Vanilla (white), and Devil's Food Cake (chocolate). She thinks strawberry makes her think of it as "something...different. Adventurous". She thinks of the Devil's Food cake as "daring" and loves the vanilla because classic white cakes remind her of storybook weddings, and on cajoling from the MC to tell her honestly what flavours are her favourite Hana speaks of vanilla in a manner similar to Liam's.

Decorations: Hana is wowed by the artistry of the Royal design, confessing that she has always wanted to learn to make icing pearls as perfect as the ones on the cake. There is a tiny conversation about her baking that takes a minute, tops. The fairytale option feels whimsical and reminds her of that saying about "building castles in the clouds".

The surprise options for dessert are Cordonian Ruby Pie and Hot Chocolate.

Drake

Cake flavours: Pink Velvet (pink), Old Fashioned Chocolate Cake (chocolate) and Tahitian Vanilla Cake (white). As we all must know by now, he is okay with the flavour but finds pink "girly", doesn't have much to say about the vanilla cake and the chocolate makes him very nostalgic, because the chocolate cake was similar to the recipe his mother would use for his or Savannah's birthday cakes.

Decorations: Drake has reservations about the grandness of the Royal design but thinks it works since the occasion itself is an elaborate one. He admires the structure and craftsmanship of the Fairytale design and both him and the MC speak about the cake reminding them of the towers in Valtoria.

The surprise options for dessert are Cordonian Ruby Pie and S'mores.

• I've noticed that the story clearly references Liam's love for baklava and Maxwell's love for cheetah cakes in this chapter, but for Hana and Drake, they use desserts from their first scenes in Book 2 (where Hana prepares hot chocolate for the MC, and Drake toasts s'mores for her).

• Hmm so apparently there's some sort of surprise that all four LIs are planning for the MC. I'm guessing we'll find out next chapter.

•

My favourite scene in this chapter. I loved how Kiara immediately got protective of Savannah and made it clear that she cared about making Savannah comfortable. I think it's also pretty cool that they remembered to reference the Savannah/Kiara friendship hinted at in Book 2, and it looks like Penelope was quite fond of her too.

• The MC now needs to run to a gift store, because Madeleine lets her know at the nth moment that Cordonian tradition dictates you get gifts for the bridegroom/bride and your closest attendants. Savannah offers to help, in exchange for a little advice on her love life.

• We first pick up wedding favours at a patisserie (chocolates or macarons). I had Esther pick macarons coz she has a liking for French cuisine and food, and macarons are delicate, delicious and versatile.

• We then pass by a shop called "The Gilded Apple" that sells beautiful and rare antiques. Olivia, who loves weapons and artifacts, and is hoping she will find replicas there, is understandably excited. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to find any (unless she did off-screen and we didn't know? Poor Olivia. Why was it so hard to find Nevrakis artifacts/replicas there?)

• So even if you buy that diamond choice to help Bertrand woo Savannah at the Costume Gala, she confesses there are still barriers. Savannah fangirling over Bertrand's "stern, yet sexy eyebrows" is a Mood™.

• Savannah tells us the entire story of how she fell in love with Bertrand, pointing out that she hero-worshipped him and thought him glamorous, and was amazed that he was so protective of her. The MC has a range of joke replies to suggest to Savannah, before telling her seriously that she should confess to him what is in her heart. But my big question is: why are almost all the BertVannah scenes for free? Why couldn't you use that free scene to...idk...properly develop Hana's character maybe??

• So here are our gifts for the LIs:

A Historical Tome for Liam. This is a hand-written history book with a blank chapter left presumably on purpose. The MC points out that he will appreciate either the rarity of the book, or the empty pages. The second option is my favourite, because the blank chapter seems to signify that Cordonia's story is "far from over" and it is "upto Liam to write this next chapter".

Maxwell will get a statue of his namesake. Savannah speculates that even though he looks like little more than an enthusiastic partygoer on the outside, both he and Bertrand can be fierce in their own ways. The MC gets to joke about what the Beaumonts might do with this statue of their ancestor, including imagining a half-drunk Maxwell using his namesake's spear to pop open champagne from a ladder.

Drake's Marshmallows Inside A Whiskey Box is quite funny and the MC gets to roast him a bit. She jokes about how it symbolizes what a softie he is on the inside even though he looks tough on the outside. It can either be spoken of as an inside joke, or as the MC showing him how well she knows him.

Hana's Telescope...well. It doesn't reflect her actual, genuine interests or personal/family history like the other three do, but instead involves some generic messages about "following your path" or "searching out your passions". Which is...eh. Tbh it sounds more like the MC is buying her a Hallmark card or something. This gift doesn't tell us much about HER, but then again when you don't develop your female LI with enough substance, that's what's bound to happen. You'll just throw over any piece of random bullshit to make do.

• I like the little story Kiara gets with her dad using that telescope, though. The one where he fooled her as a child into thinking she could see all of Europe using a telescope. I like the dynamic of that entire family. Sure they can appear businesslike to some but the love and the closeness is clearly there.

• Okay before I say anything...CONGRATS Drake stans. Nice to see so many of your MCs become Mrs Walkers now.

•

(A huge thank you to VioletFlipFlops for this screenshot)

Okay so if you're a Drake stan, you get an extra scene. The MC wants to give Drake a wedding he will be happy with, and Drake would love it too, so Maxwell suggests they elope and he will be their minister/officiant (apparently he got himself ordained to officiate over a wedding between peacocks). So they go to a nearby cliff, where you can have a lovely view of the sunset. Drake brings with him a horse named Lone Star who came all the way from his mother's Texas ranch. They have their secret country wedding and the screenshots I saw look like the stuff out of every Drake stan's dreams. Story wise, this is important for Drake's arc because it shows that he has found his place and he doesn't have to completely leave behind who he is to be the man the MC wants. Both the duel and this impromptu secret wedding bring his story full-circle beautifully.

I had to leave this scene midway though. I couldn't stomach it, couldn't stand it, and for the first time in forever I left viewing a diamond scene before it got over (or before it got to sex if they weren't my LI). I felt a little sick and quite frustrated tbh. And it really isn't because of Drake. My problem here goes deeper than that.

• From the little that I saw, Maxwell was amazing as well. He set aside the bromance jokes for the day because "this isn't about me, it's about the two of you". Oh Maxwell. You really do shine when the writers allotted for you actually bother, and they didn't do you justice this book.

• It's now almost night and our LIs have returned from whatever surprise thingummy they were planning. Everyone's happy and excited and advising the MC to take rest and Mara is here to lead everyone back to the palace. And then a crowd that first looks like a bunch of excited onlookers closes in on the MC, intimidating her, and from among the lot we see...TERRANCE. WITH A GUN. AND A PAPER FULL OF INFO ON OUR WEDDING PLANNING. WTF.

• YOU SHOULD BE IN SCHOOL DOING YOUR HOMEWORK AND PLAYING CLARINET TERRENCE. YOU'RE GROUNDED.

• The tone of the chapter's end sounds like there will be some level of investigation going on but we can't entirely be sure. In any case, I don't know how they will handle both this and the rest of the wedding prep. Let's see.

General Thoughts:

• We'd better get lingerie. I've been through enough I want the kind of sex where my king rips off my clothes and breaks my bed and makes me scream and Gladys has invest in earplugs next and...yeah. I need the right lingerie for that.

• RoE Book 3 could have been better in certain respects but one of the things they did really well was to spread out the wedding preps. It's tougher to do that here, because of all the subplots, but leaving it until so close to the end wasn't exactly the best idea either.

• I'll be honest: the "girly pink cake" comment irked me but didn't entirely anger me. On one level I hate it when people say stuff like that because I'm a girl who grew up hearing those things and I'm a mum who doesn't want my children to internalize that. It may sound like a small thing, like a casual preference, but stereotyping and forcing people into boxes start out with things we believe are "small"...and whether you think he's that kind of person or not, bottomline is the writers shouldn't have had such a massively popular character say that. It could have been ten times easier to just have him say he doesn't like that colour very much or something. See? Crisis averted.

• However, I didn't have as much of a problem with this scene as I did with, say, that scene where the MC and Drake talk to Kiara in Lythikos. Frankly for me, the fact that Drake's sympathy towards Kiara was conditional and depended solely on the MC's responses was way more disturbing. In one option, it's established that Drake and Kiara both struggled mentally in the aftermath of the attack, and that he understands it's difficult for her to get out of that trauma so easily.

But then...if the MC is insensitive and trauma-minimizing, she gets to question Kiara about not being driven enough, about "what will people say if you spend a crisis hiding away in your home?", and Drake agrees. He doesn't contest what she's saying, he doesn't challenge her, he doesn't seem to even have a mind of his own in this sequence. In this option, the MC and Drake face no repercussions at all for essentially minimizing her experience and not addressing their lack of concern for her safety, after finding out about her PTSD. My expectation when I eventually chose that option was that Drake - as someone who went through something similar - would correct the MC, and Kiara would give her the tongue lashing of a lifetime. But no, in that scene Drake is interested in validating this woman's trauma only on someone else's say-so. If I - personally - were to have a problem with Drake as a character, this scene would highlight why. And even then I know the core of the problem is not Drake. Not really. It's not as much Drake as it is the fact that the writers themselves were only interested in lip-service for this scene, not genuine validation (which is why normally sensitive people like Hana and Liam don't seem to question the group's approach to Kiara much, and nor does Maxwell). The writers possibly didn't think Kiara's experience deserved the level of sympathy that was present by default in Penelope's scene at Portavira (which is why I HIGHLY regret speaking positively about the Lythikos conversation in that chapter's QT now).

• But my biggest problem is not Drake himself. The way he is written wouldn't have been a problem at all, under different circumstances. My biggest problem is the discrepancy in how the LIs are treated in the books, how some get quality content and carefully developed character arcs while others are simply given lazy writing. And right now, the differences are so obvious and so glaring they're impossible to ignore.

• Drake got a whole extra scene today. A whole extra scene, on the logic that unlike the other three, he would be way more comfortable with a private ceremony involving just him and the MC (he says as much in Lythikos, both to Kiara and to the MC). Normally, I would have probably been happy about this. It works for Drake's character and story, and brings it full-circle to that photoshoot they had in Chapter 2 on some levels. From the little I managed to read, I can tell it was written really, really well.

And that's the problem. Over here, we have the team working on AN ENTIRE EXTRA SCENE for this character, after chapters and chapters of well developed scenes that acquire depths and layers if he is marrying the MC. Drake's narrative tends to have extra layers stitched into it - the expectations of being a Duke, the reluctance to let go of who he is while embracing his role as a future noble, the insults he faces from people like Neville and how he manages to rise above them by proving himself. Hell, they even ensure that they reference his bond with Liam and how his relationship with the MC complicates things. In this chapter alone, Liam's pain is highlighted differently in Drake's playthrough compared to the others (he shows some level of heartbreak when Drake asks him to be his best man, compared to when Hana or Maxwell ask him to be their officiant). The group chats, too, highlight Liam being part of the chat in the Hana and Maxwell playthroughs, and completely absent on Drake's:

(Screenshots from (2) @kennaxval (Hana), (3) YouTube Channels Vika Avey (Maxwell) and (4) HIMEME (Drake))

I wouldn't be surprised if they had some kind of a closure scene between Drake and Liam on this account later, while having him be absolutely okie-dokie in the Hana and Maxwell playthroughs. That's the level of attention Drake's story is being given (you can argue that Liam's relationship with Drake is different, and you'd be right, but it just goes to show how much WORK went into building this character).

And this is not restricted just to Drake. Liam has way more in terms of content as well and his scenes are of great quality. He has practically the entire book revolving around him! The book aggressively pushes him as an LI until almost the end of Book 2. The narrative has made an effort to view Liam as someone intimately involved and invested in the history of his country - it shows in most of his individual scenes, and in his cake scene and gift this chapter. Even Maxwell, who normally hasn't been given much attention this book, gets memories and some historical stuff this chapter (such as the ancestor who is his namesake and the story about the cheetah cake).

On the other hand...you have Hana. Whose canon sexuality - and her larger struggle with it - is hardly addressed in the books. Whose experience with bullying at the hands of Madeleine has been largely forgotten, even as we're constantly expected to protect Penelope from the same person. Who has gotten some of the most lackluster scenes in the series. Whose character arc got the laziest wrap-up you could imagine, who now doesn't even get original lines to describe a cake flavour she likes, or a gift that adequately reflects who she is. Whose story is given lesser focus than secondary characters like Penelope and Madeleine. PENELOPE. AND MADELEINE.

• Forget about every other chapter and take just this one as an example.

Notice how there is very little genuine personalization or memories attached either to Hana's cake scene - she simply echoes what Liam says about the flavour of vanilla when speaking about her love for classic white cake, and briefly mentions baking - or her gift which is a telescope, and which the MC attaches some generic saying/phrase to. The gift assigned for her itself is SO random, has little to no connection to Hana, and is a very odd choice for a gift. Couple that with the Hallmark-esque sayings that the MC wants to push forward, and compare it to her thought process for any one of the other LI gifts. You will see the difference.

(While you're at it, also check out this story by @i-dream-so-i-write called "The Perfect Gift". It's a rewriting of the scene for Hana's gift)

There is no throwback to, say, a time when they all had to bake pies for Queen Regina, and the latter praised Hana. Or to stories narrated to her. Or to things the MC knows she likes to do. No memories connected to Hana's grandmother, who she was obviously close to. Nothing that tells us anything new about her.

This isn't the first time this is happening. And it definitely won't be the last.

• And it's not as if they don't get any money from Hana's scenes. Even when she isn't picked as a final choice on a very large scale, she still manages to make it to the top ten in terms of diamond spending. She may not be making as much bank as Liam and Drake, but she IS clearly making bank. I'm surprised that's possible because a lot of the writing for her since Book 2 isn't worth the money people like me are constantly spending on her scenes. So I can't even buy the excuse that she's written badly because she's not popular. Clearly there are enough people invested enough in her to buy her scenes despite the lack of effort.

I wish I had more to talk about besides these complaints about how Hana is written, but I'm really not left with much of a choice. I'd like to close this QT by mentioning just one thing: the original line up of LIs given to us was Liam, Drake and Hana. One of them has the entire plot of the story revolving around him. The other has consistent and well-written character development, including an extra secret wedding scene and vast differences in his dialogue with the MC based on his relationship with her. The third LI...is given less attention and validation than at least two secondary characters in the book.

All these three were characters meant to be LIs from the very beginning. All of them made a good amount of money and had great potential for growth. So why is it that only one of the original lineup is given only scraps, while the other two get an all-you-can-eat buffet?

[punkscowardschampions]

Buster & Rio

Buster: Come over Buster: Distract me so I don't have to blackout her bullshit by drinking in the AM Rio: She's gone? Buster: 'Course Rio: How'd you manage it in the end then? Buster: Standard. She basically lost her voice trying to call me out on mine Rio: The cabin crew are welcome, like Rio: Did she take Jay back too? Buster: Yeah Buster: Only way she can actually get to me, like Rio: That's shit Rio: Think that allows you a drink Buster: Like I said, distract me now or pick me up of the floor later Rio: I can be there in like, an hour Rio: Do you want me to bring anything forreal Rio: 5 o' clock somewhere Buster: Anything you want Buster: Don't laugh but it's legit dad proofed here still right now Rio: Why would I laugh? Rio: Not to bring up the unfavourable comparison again but Rio: hardly winning dad of the year with a load of gear lying about Buster: Yeah and have you seen Chlo high? 'Cause I wish I hadn't Buster: Hilarious enough with a drink inside her Rio: I can only imagine Rio: least she can afford the 2nd nose job Buster: 😂 Rio: That's more like it Buster: I have to hit the town to buy Jay stuff she apparently desperately needs the second they land, wanna come? Rio: That's code for 'gutted I'm too hungover for a shopping spree' if I ever heard it Rio: They got creches in first class? Rio: Sure thing though, I ain't no amateur Buster: Or you know, code for I spent all the cash you gave me on myself already Buster: Oh she wishes, babe Buster: She'd have bought her mummy along if the poor woman had agreed Rio: Unlucky Rio: get that hot face cloth on and forget the world, babe Rio: 😑 Buster: Unlucky for Jay, yeah, I feel like I can hear her screaming from here Rio: Poor babe Rio: She'll be alright, air hostesses will take care of her to avoid a fullscale riot whilst Chlo is merrily skimming Grazia Buster: mimosa in hand Buster: Should be me though Rio: Yeah Rio: Next time Rio: She'll want at least a fortnight somewhere hot in the summer, yeah? Buster: Next kid, like Buster: But yeah, always something she'd rather do Rio: Don't even play Rio: Your fam will sense it from here and then it'll be all chastity belts or worse Buster: 😂 Buster: Don't trust yourself to be that creative? Buster: I reckon we could work around it Rio: Easy Rio: I got my protection on lock though unlike some Rio: Very reassuring for 'em, I'm sure 🙄😂 Buster: Calms my pulse rate down Buster: So cheers Buster: Not trying to have another kid until I'm like 30 Rio: Surprised you ain't been put off for life Rio: cautionary tale for the rest of us, like Buster: If I get a better babymama I'll be golden Buster: Besides, need a son don't I? Rio: 🙄 of course Rio: you ain't that posh, don't play Buster: Not as funny as you, like Rio: You said it, babe Buster: You hungry? Buster: I need food if I'm gonna do anything close to what Chlo wants from me Rio: I see no downside to letting you get your strength up either Buster: As long as you can keep up Buster: Where are you anyway? Rio: Home, but I just set up everything so I gotta stream first Buster: What do I have to do to get a sneak preview? Rio: Ask nicely Rio: Of course Rio: Know I'm all about politeness Buster: You want me to say please? Rio: Least you could do, really Rio: They all paying so Rio: Consider yourself lucky Buster: You can get lucky too Buster: In the shops and out Rio: Nah, focus on your favourite girl Rio: I'm good Buster: I know you are Buster: That's why you always pull my focus Rio: Not sorry Rio: Though it's a point, ain't you got work you need to be doing? Buster: There's other shit I need more, you know Rio: I feel it Buster: So, please Rio: 😍 Rio: Now, was that so hard? Rio: [Sends pics] Buster: How fucking hot you are softens the blow Rio: Not my intention but I'll take it Buster: 😂 Buster: You know what you do to me Rio: Yeah, you're pretty blatant, babe Buster: 'Cause you're so subtle Buster: Shut up Rio: Not a bad thing Rio: wouldn't be here if I was Buster: I'm not sorry Rio: Me either Buster: Good Rio: 'Til  my conscience makes a reappearance, like Rio: but I'll do my best to schedule that for Sundays Buster: Cheers Buster: I'll do my best to sleep through then Rio: I'll wear you out Buster: Promises, promises Rio: Pshhh boy please Rio: even if I was all talk, you can hush and enjoy the attempts Buster: I am Rio: Good boy Buster: Sometimes Rio: Wouldn't be fun if you were all the time Rio: keep it interesting, give you that Buster: I could say the same to you, babe Rio: Me? Rio: 😇 always Buster: Save your lies for church Buster: Can't deny it to me Rio: awh but Rio: lying's the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off Buster: If that's your way of telling me you ain't over your emo phase Rio: 😂 Rio: the real confession Buster: Definitely need to take you shopping now, like Rio: Imagine Rio: Still rocking Hot Topic Rio: tragic Buster: Don't Buster: Not saying you wouldn't still be hot but Buster: Couldn't be seen with you Rio: I respect that Rio: Got to have some standards Buster: According to you I ain't Rio: Well, not my fault you got poor previous Buster: Well, kind of is Buster: If you'd given into me sooner Rio: 😒 Rio: Idiot Buster: Takes one to know one, babe Rio: Shut up Rio: I don't even wanna think about 'em Buster: Let me give you something else to think about Buster: [sends own pics] Rio: DAMN Rio: 🤤 okay that worked Buster: How do I look? Good enough to seen in town with? Rio: Too good to wanna waste on town baby Rio: now who can't focus, fuck Buster: Don't. Give it all to me instead Buster: Stream later Rio: You're killing me Rio: I just won't wanna leave later, rinse and repeat Rio: it's ridiculous how distracting you are Buster: Please Rio: Fuck Rio: Okay Buster: I can promise to kick you out if that's what you need Rio: Sure you can Rio: I know you want me just as much Buster: I know you know how to annoy me Buster: So if you have to leave Rio: I'll just start calling you cute Rio: Got it Buster: Exactly Buster: But right now I want you bad I don't even care what you call me Rio: Good to know Rio: Test out some new ones, see what's a turn on and what ain't Buster: Like everything you do isn't a turn on Buster: Come on Rio: I can't Rio: Gonna make you miss me more often Buster: Good luck 'cause I'm gonna make you want me all the time Rio: Not fair Rio: got the easy job Buster: How easy? Rio: Can't tell you that Buster: Show me then Rio: I'm already coming to see you instead of making money Rio: Can't say it any clearer, like Rio: [Sends vid tho] Buster: I'll make it worth more than they could Rio: I already know Rio: that's the fucked thing Buster: Anything you want, babe, you can have it Rio: Yeah? Buster: Yeah Rio: I just want you Buster: I know Buster: Fuck Rio, I need you Rio: I'm getting an uber Rio: I can't think straight never mind drive Buster: Let me pay for it I'm already costing you Rio: You don't give up, do you? Rio: but okay Rio: just this once Buster: I won't tell anyone Buster: Don't worry Rio: I just don't want you to think it's like that Rio: like you have to Buster: I know what's up Buster: And you know I only do what I want Rio: Obviously Buster: It's alright baby Rio: Weird when you're nice Buster: I'll be a cunt to you when you get here if you like Rio: Don't have to go that hard, like Buster: Just treat you mean to keep you keen then, yeah? Rio: I mean Rio: you won't hear any complaints from me Buster: 'Cause you'll only be doing what I tell you Rio: Buster Buster: Yeah? Rio: Don't let me stop us again, okay? Buster: Like you said, I don't give up Rio: Good Buster: We are Buster: So hurry that Uber up, like Rio: I'm in it Rio: 25 if we keep traffic and chat to a minimum Buster: 🍀 Buster: Save your chat for me Rio: I ain't the one trying to get ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rio: Bless him Buster: Tell him I'll pay him extra to get a fucking move on Rio: Rude! Rio: Way to make a bitch feel special, McKenna Rio: willing to drop bank on Omar too, like nbd Buster: Don't act like you wanna wait 25 minutes to touch me Rio: Got me there Rio: Stimulating as the chat as is Buster: Glad to hear it Rio: do we have to go out first? Buster: We can go out after Rio: I just need you to fuck me before I can do anything remotely productive Rio: Can't help it, like Buster: I feel it too Buster: I need you to cum for me before we go anywhere else Rio: Daddy Rio: Going to make me cum in the back of this car 'fore you've even touched me Buster: I wouldn't be mad about it Buster: Omar might have something to say Rio: Least I've got jeans on Rio: how wet I am ain't for him though Buster: They better come off easier than the last pair you wore Buster: I'm not waiting any longer than I already have Rio: Thought you loved a challenge? Buster: Don't you dare play Rio: Trust Rio: deadly serious about this Buster: Good Rio: If you don't wanna fuck me on sight we got an issue tbh Buster: The only issue'll be getting you through the door first Rio: One way to give the nosy neighbours something to talk about Buster: Don't tempt me Rio: But that's my job Buster: And you're doing it so well Buster: It's killing me, babe Rio: I'll make it all better for you so soon now baby Buster: Fuck Buster: How far away are you? Rio: [Sends location on the tracking app thing] Rio: 5 minutes too long Buster: Jesus Christ Buster: Okay Rio: I gotta get out of the 24 Rio: Not just for you, though that's all that's on my mind rn Rio: doing this drive to and from work is getting boring Buster: I'll set you up in some of our square footage Rio: You reckon you got room/patience for Indie too? 😂 Buster: I might like a challenge but let's not go that far Rio: Yeah, didn't think so Rio: anyway, she's #24folyfe Buster: I do need you closer though Rio: At least we don't have to ✈ every time now Buster: Thank Christ Buster: Don't remind me Rio: Doing well but not well enough to add that commute on my day to day, like Buster: You'd have to let me bankroll you then Rio: 😒 Buster: 😂 Rio: You wanna buy me so bad like I'm not already yours Buster: Rio Rio: Mhm? Buster: Get in this house now I swear to god Rio: Good ears Rio: just pulled up