#pastor���s daughter!reader

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[little-diable]

One day you're gone – Tommy Shelby

Let's just ignore the fact that songs are my biggest inspiration, ok? Alright. Inspired by "one day you're gone" by "gavn!". I know this is super angsty, but I think it's a beautiful fic, so please give it a chance. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She died years ago, and yet he still dreams of her, forced to relive their moments together every single night

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, loss of his wife (sorry for killing us off), this is sad, like really

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.3k words)

One day you're here and one day you're gone, you beat to the drum but you keep movin' on, ain't nobody knows when the next name's called, ‘cause one day you're here and one day you're gone

He dreamt of her, hands trembling from feeling his fingers interlaced with hers just moments before waking, heart racing from clinging to her like a blanket made to protect his shuddering body, lips tingling from kissing her breathless, at least in his dream. 

Those were the nights where Tommy woke with a cry, unable to wipe away the tears clinging to his cheeks as he choked on his gasps. Ever since he had been a little boy, he had been forced to let go of people, a dull pain Tommy had slowly adapted to. Until (y/n) had been ripped from his side, leaving him and the life they had begun to build together. 

He dreamt of her nightly, of their moments together, from childhood memories, to their wedding day. He saw it all so clearly as if he was watching recordings, though not in black and white and without sound, but full of colour. A bright splash of life like she had been, the light in his darkness, the colour in his grey life, the guiding hand that was now one with the soil he still felt clinging to his fingers. 

“Today we mourn the loss of our (y/n), daughter, friend, wife.” Tears blurred Tommy’s vision as he stood near the coffin, hands interlaced in front of himself to try and stop his hands from trembling. He, Arthur, some of their friend’s and (y/n)’s father had carried the coffin up to the grave, unable to speak as the weight of their sadness weighed them down. 

“Thomas.” The bucket filled with soil was reached out for him to take, forcing his eyes to find the dark ones of their pastor. With a shaky exhale leaving him, he let his fingers disappear in the cold soil, taking just enough to throw it down onto her coffin, covering a small part of the dark wood. 

“How could you do this to me?” His voice carried exhaustion, speaking to those who were listening, the holy Father promising to protect those finding his way to him, people like (y/n) who had been ripped from this life too early. 

Tommy rose to his feet as his fingers found a cigarette, alighting it before making his way out his empty bedroom. One of the places that held too many memories. One of the places he couldn’t part from just yet because his nose could still pick up on the scent of her perfume, because his eyes could still see her soft frame lying next to him, even though it had been years. 

“Oh, Tommy.” She had her back arched off the mattress, legs wrapped around his middle. The two had gotten married hours ago, saying yes to one another in the company of their families and friends, finally reunited after the war. Tears had been shed that day, tears that were falling now once again, though these tears were urged on by desperation, by love, by lust. 

His hips met hers with every thrust, drawing moans from (y/n) as his cock nudged her sweet spot. Tommy couldn’t rip his eyes from her features, the beautiful face he had thought of in France, clinging to his memories as if they were the oxygen he needed to survive. 

“My beautiful wife,” his words left (y/n) moaning, walls fluttering around his cock. The scent of her perfume wrapped itself around Tommy, luring him even further into the grasp she had on his body and soul, a promise made to last for eternity, a promise broken in only a few months time. 

“I love you, Thomas, I always will.” 

Rain was pouring from the sky, as if nature was sharing Tommy’s pain, missing the one who had spent most of her time in their garden, the one who had talked to the flowers as if they were her friends, the one who had watched birds pick up the seeds she had left for them as if they were pilgrims sharing her path. A kind hearted soul who had paid the price for a life Tommy hadn’t been able to protect her from. 

Tommy didn’t know how to make it through life without (y/n) by his side, he hadn’t lived a single day without her being part of his closest circle, glued together from birth, brought together by their mothers who had been friends for years. Ever since their first days together, Tommy had loved her, first as a friend, then as a lover, then as a husband, and now as a widower. 

“Can I kiss you?” Tommy’s voice filled the evening, forcing her wide eyes towards his bright ones. 

“What?” Nervous chuckles bubbled out of the young girl. She struggled to hold eye contact with Tommy, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, unable to rip herself away from the boy. It was Tommy’s fourteenth birthday, celebrating his day with (y/n) glued to his side, chasing him through the streets both knew like the back of their hands. 

“It’s my birthday wish.” Heat flushed through her as Tommy carefully cupped her cheek. She knew that he had kissed other girls before, locking lips with those she envied, but not once had she been kissed, waiting for Tommy to finally give in. 

“Do it.” His lips were on hers in an instant, drawing a surprised gasp from (y/n). It was a clumsy kiss both had to adjust to, but once her nerves finally let go of her, allowing the young girl to get used to the new sensation, she found herself enjoying the new feeling. 

With a sigh rumbling through Tommy, he plopped down on the stairs leading up to their house, stairs she had walked with naked feet whenever she had finished her garden work. The garden had withered away with her passing as Tommy hadn’t found the strength to step foot on the grass she had cared for. 

Whatever it was that now spurred him on, it forced Tommy back to his feet. The cigarette was long forgotten as he stepped foot on the wet grass, his shirt and underwear instantly soaked through by the pouring rain. He had his bright eyes focused on the weathered flowers, coming to a halt in front of one of many flowerbeds. 

His hands started working, reaching for the dead flowers to rip them from the lifeless soil. And for the first time in years, he felt connected to (y/n), clinging to what she had once planted. Tears once again ran down Tommy’s cheeks as he kept working, only halting his movements as his glassy eyes found the rising sun painting the sky orange and pink. 

“I’m sorry it took me this long, love.” The words were whispered, eyes unable to leave the sky as he made plans to revitalise their garden. He’d never be able to bring her back, but at least he could keep the memory of his loving wife alive. 

Broken bones, you live and learn, ‘cause we don't know that a good thing ends, but someday I hope that it'll all make sense, one day you're here and one day you're gone

[beerok23]

2024 FIC Roundup

In response to those of you who tagged me (@pookasluagh @captainblou and @missunderstoodlyrics) here is my AO3 author interview.

What fandoms do you write in? At the moment, only for Good Omens! But in the past I've written for Friends, The Pretender and Alias.

How many words have you published in 2024? So far, 186,754 words. I'll soon have a new Christmas fic to post that will definitely increase the count to more than 200k.

What is your greatest achievement this year? Starting to write for this fandom. When I started reading canon post S2 fix-it fics at the end of 2023 I didn't know that I would fall in love with AUs. Today I'm sure that this is a fandom that can express the best AU - if only for the fact that canon is 'fantasy' and AU are 'realistic'. I've changed my style from AE to BE and I'm trying to strengthen my writing. It's not always easy, but I've found beta readers who are so helpful in the process. I can't thank them enough.

What are your favorite top three fics you wrote this year? I've only posted two long fics, which are obviously the favorite I wrote: The Tadfield Holiday (A human ‘The Holiday’ AU) Runaway Groom (A human ‘Runaway Bride’ AU)

But as I mentioned, I'll soon post my Xmas fic 🎄🎁

What was your biggest pit of despair moment? I don't think I ever got desperate, but sometimes it's not easy being a non-native speaker. And the thing I've struggled with the most? Smut scenes 😁 What have you learned? Go with the flow. When the flow hits, just go with it. I'm saying this after writing almost 40k words in less than three weeks.

Did you beta any fics? Actually, I am! I'm not a useful beta when it comes to language, but I'm the best cheeleader 😁😁😁

What three fics have you read this year that you love? Only three? Impossible. I've read hundreds of them. I always read fics and most of all I re-read my faves. So here's a few.

and salt the Earth behind you by @sunrisesinthesuburbs The love and respect I have for this author is immeasurable. Just RUN read EVERYTHING she writes. Of course her Borrowed Words is a masterpiece, but I have a special place in my heart for Profiler Aziraphale and CI Crowley.

Overboard by @joanofart5 I write film-inspired AUs, and Joan did the same with this little gem. It's based on the 1980's romcom 'Overboard' and it's funny, and lovely and makes you FEEL all the right feelings.

Find the Light by @klikandtuna Oh, what an extremely talented author 💛 You've got Headmaster!Aziraphale and Rockstar!Crowley all cuddled up in an awesomely fluff story. Wonderful ❤

The New Road (is an old friend) by @missunderstoodlyrics Pastor!Aziraphale meets SingleDad!Crowley and his daughter Mira. Pining ensured and angst that made me die a little (a sweet death, mind you). Still one of my personal faves by this incredibly talented author.

I'll tell you who's in charge by @captainblou is still my fave of them. But even in other fics, Blou has this wonderful way with words and smut scenes and writing badass Crowley who's actually the sweetest creature. And the way they write about trans characters is the best in the fandom.

When Hell Freezes Over by @hermiola She has a WIP (subscribe, it's hilarious) and she's recently finished her Pretty Woman AU "Take a Little Love From Me", but I discovered her with this two-chapters one shot featuring a charming Peter-Vincent-inspired!Crowley and journalist!Aziraphale. I'm so glad we are collaborating, because your writing truly inspires me 💙💙💙

But oh there are so many others fellow authors: @bellisima-writes ("The Last Angel" is one of the more complex well-thought plots I've ever read), @feraltuxedo (If "All lines are open" was a book, I would have consummated its pages by now), @fellshish (My gosh, how many times I've read "Trial & error"?), @lyricalkris ("The Devil Built a Chapel" killed me 💚💛).

What ideas are percolating for next year? One too many. That's why I'll probably stop writing for a bit. I mean, there might be another movie-inspired AU project in the work, but...We'll see 💜

Who do you want to thank? My three besties, @pookasluagh, @somewhere-in-wales and @ineffablerainstorm. You know everything already 💚💛❤💜🧡🤍 And also, all the writers who make this fandom the precious, peaceful place it is. We've been through a lot this year. But we get them back together in less than a month.

And I can't wait.

[heeverseblog]

body on me- jake sim au

pairing: pastor’s son!jake x church girl! reader

synopsis: everyone sees you and jake as the perfect, god-fearing couple of your town. but what they didn’t know was you’re not as innocent as you seem to be.

 genre: smut, established relationship, pwp i guess????

warnings: semi-public sex, a bit of church themes (skip this fic if you’re uncomfortable), y/n’s mother is kind of a bad mother

listen to this to amp up the spice:

*read below*

“Food for the stomach and the stomach for food, and God will destroy them both.” The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.

your mother reads the verse before closing the bible, “remember children, your body does not belong to anyone else. it only belongs to the lord our god. if you ever enter marriage, remember that you do not own your spouse’s body. it is the lord’s and his alone.”

everyone nods their heads. you, however, didn’t and your mother must have noticed this.

“right, y/n?”

bullshit.

 you nod your head.

“that is all for today. remember to write your own reflection essays and we will be sharing them next week.”

everyone said their farewells. you stayed behind to help fix the chairs. the other kids from the different circle helped you too. including the pastor’s son, jake.

you lifted one chair to put it on top of the other. you were surprised when a hand held yours. that hand with prominent veins belonged to one person only.

 “hi.” jake smiles innocently at you and you gave him the same sweet smile.

everyone was familiar of the status you both had. being the pastor’s son and the daughter of the head of the church group. every kid looked up to you two, being the sweet, god-fearing couple.

but what people didn’t know is that your innocent gazes are merely a façade of your true desires.

you kept staring at jake’s veiny hands. with his sleeves rolled up, you were getting more turned on.

judging by how you were looking at him, jake leans closer to your ear, “follow me.”

***

your back was pushed to the wall of the stockroom as jake attacked you with harsh kisses. you pull him closer to you as the intense feeling began to build up. jake placed his knee on your clothed core and you began grinding on it.

“oh god!”

“y/n, we shouldn’t use the lord’s name in vain.”

you fastened your movements which made jake groan before he kisses your neck then back to your lips. he bites your lower lip and enters his tongue once you opened your mouth.

“j-jake…a-aah!”

jake unbuttons your blouse then fondles your breasts. next, he unclasps your bra and lets it fall on the floor. you tug on jake’s shirt and he began unbuttoning it. both of you were bare and you slowly touched each other’s bodies with admiration.

“you’re so beautiful.” jake says before diving back into your mouth. he slid one of his fingers in your pussy and you moaned at the feeling. you can feel yourself releasing your juices as jake fastens his pace.

“jake. p-please.” you whine and jake just lets out this breathy laugh. he kept drawing circles in your clit and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back due to the pleasure.

 “anything for my angel.”

jake gets on his knees and doesn’t waste time in eating you out. you hiss at the feeling of him making

“o-ooh!”

jake immediately unbuckles his belt and when his member was on display. he removes your panties then inserts himself inside you. both of you groan at the feeling before you slowly grind your hips forward.

“f-fuck…”

“you sound hot when cursing.” you say out of breath and wrap your legs on jake’s waist.

jake turns you around and you felt more euphoric than ever. you knew jake liked it when you take him from behind and you love him for remembering that about you.

“s-so close…a-aah!” you held one of your breasts, hoping it’ll stimulate your orgasm but jake immediately grabs your hand and holds it instead.

jake presses his chest on your back and both of you were basically out of breath

“who do you belong to?” jake whispers in your ear.

“y-you. i-i’m only yours.”

jake continues pounding you from behind and reached for his head and brushed your fingers on his hair.

“are you mine, jakey?”

jake growls in your ear “i’ll always be yours,” and pounds harder behind you.

“o-ooh! shit!”

you turn your head and jake gave you a passionate kiss as he slow down his pace, both of you reaching your highs.

both of you took slow breaths, pulling each other closer to feel the intimacy and warmth of your bodies together.

“i love you.” you say in between breaths. you can feel jake smile at you from behind and he kisses the side of your head.

“i love you. you did so well for me.”

minutes later, both of you changed back into your clothes but the sexual mood hasn’t gone yet.

jake hugged you from behind and gave you wet kisses on the side of your neck.

“jake…”

you can feel his hands going inside the skirt of your dress and touch the waistband of your panties.

“jake, we literally just had sex.”

“but i’ll be away for a week. i’m going to miss you.”

you chuckle and turn around, “you can always call me,” then you lean into jake’s ear, “and we can talk all night long.”

you can see jake’s ears turn red, “and have my dad hear our noises in a church retreat? no, thank you.”

jake kisses you slow, his hand holding your back. you let out a soft moan when jake brushes his lips at your neck.

“only i get to hear those pretty noises.” jake says in between breaths.

 “jake, really…we have to go.”

jake pouts and you couldn’t help but melt and give him another kiss. it would be a sin to lie that you weren’t needy over jake as he is with you.

“don’t know how i’ll survive the week without you.”

“should i just tell my dad i’m sick?”

“no, you have to go. and if you are sick, who’s going to take care of you?”

“hm…let me guess. you.”

both of you ended up doing a cute make out that soon turned into a lustful one.

later on, you ended up giving each other oral and one more round with you riding on jake as you rock your hips fast. you cover his mouth from his moans and constant pleases, smiling that finally it was you making him beg for you.

but sadly, both of you went back after your session or else your mother will go frantic with you missing.

“y/n, dear.” your mother calls you, being happy when she sees you with jake.

“we’ve been looking for you. where have you been?”

“y/n was helping me organize the documents, mrs. l/n.”

“oh is that so? well, you know my daughter. always one to help with people’s needs.”

you can see jake smirking, knowing he understood that statement in a different way.

“jake, son.”

jake’s mother calls him and tells him that they’ll be heading home.

“excuse me.”

jake passes by you and your mother and subtly brushes his finger on yours. you both look at each other before parting your separate ways.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 4

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: Blow job, drug use, swearing, angst, noah getting humbled

Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

________

“Fuck,” Noah whispered. “Just like that.”

Noah couldn’t remember who was sucking his dick. He could barely remember how he got upstairs. He thought her name might begin with an S? Maybe? But her mouth was so warm and inviting. And wet. And when she hummed, it vibrated.

His head lolled to the side. Had the couch always been this soft?

She pulled off him with a “pop” and stroked his shaft a few times.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, letting out a soft giggle and allowing his lids to close.

He’d have to ask Jolly what that pill was. He wanted to feel like this all the time.

“You like that?” the girl asked. What the fuck was her name? Sarah? No… Savannah? Something like that. She looked up at him and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a face more vibrant or beautiful than hers.

Except for maybe yours. But he didn’t want to think about that, because it was bringing down his vibe, and he had someone right in front of him who was so, so beautiful, and whose mouth was the warmest mouth he’d ever felt in his life.

“Yeah,” he said, marveling at the tingling sensation in his fingertips as he rubbed them together, paying special attention to the calluses on his fingers. She squeezed his dick again and his focus was brought back to her. “Do it again please?”

She enveloped the head of his dick in her mouth once more. He didn’t think she could get a tighter seal around him. His eyes rolled back. Noah was certain if she kept up at this rate, she’d rid him of whatever negative energy dwelled in his body, and he’d walk away an enlightened man.

“You’re so fuckin’ warm,” he muttered, noticing for the first time that his own voice carried many layers to it. He hummed out a note, feeling his vocal folds vibrate with such a pleasant intensity that he forgot all about the woman whose mouth he was currently in and began practicing his vocal warmups. He could hear his voice getting better in real time.

“They’re right,” he giggled between warmups.. “I should do my vocal exercises more. These are great.”

The woman said something that Noah didn’t catch, but his awareness was once again brought to his dick, and this time, his focus was locked in. All the sudden, he was on a sensation train that was approaching its crescendo. When it did, Noah’s body blasted into a liminal space, where he was met with a wave of warm, glowing light.

Was he crying? He thought he might have been crying, but he didn’t know what about. Surely it was nothing sad, because no sadness could exist here. He was wrapped in pure love and light.

“It’s like heaven,” he slurred.

And then his body slipped away and he was nothing more than divine consciousness, floating in the ether.

_____________

“Noah!”

Someone was shooting off fireworks in the hallway.

No, that wouldn’t make sense.

Someone was knocking on the door. His eyelids were too heavy for him to lift.

“Noah, wake up, man.”

He vaguely registered the sound of the door opening. “Aw, gross! Get your pasty ass off Jolly’s couch.”

Noah groaned, feeling for the waistband of his boxers, realizing they were still pulled down around his ankles.

“What happened?” he rasped out. His throat was beyond dry. His head pounded with every pulse.

“You tell me. Last thing I remember is you disappearing with that Tiffany chick.”

Noah’s eyes flew open. “Tiffany?” He scrubbed a palm over his face. That girl had been after him for months. Showed up to every party and clung to him like a barnacle on the side of a boat. Always interjected herself into conversations and has cockblocked him on more than one occasion. Despite actively ignoring her when she’s around, she never took the hint to leave him alone.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Why did you let me go upstairs with her?” he asked, finally looking up to see Ruffilo standing above him with his hands on his hips, looking very much like a disappointed mother.

“It’s not my job to babysit you, dude. Plus, you insisted it was fine.”

Noah rolled over and clenched his throat to stop himself from hurling.

“How much did I drink?” he rasped out.

“I don’t know. But whatever you took clearly didn’t mix well with it.”

“No shit,” he said, rolling off the couch. His knees smacked against the hardwood floor, the impact ricocheting up to his head, forcing him into a wince.

“Can you please put some pants on?” his friend said, rolling his eyes as he turned his back toward Noah.

With great effort, Noah hoisted himself off the floor and into a semi-standing position so he could pull his boxers and jeans back up.

“My eyes are killing me,” he croaked.

“Yeah, no shit dude. You still have those weird-ass things in.”

Noah stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, the acrid feeling of bile crawled its way up his chest, intensifying the closer he got. He threw the toilet lid and seat back, knees hitting tile as he curled over the lip of the bowl to vomit the remainder of last night’s drinks. 

His head pounded, every heave forcing blood up into his face, the vessels in his eyes straining under the pressure.

“Help me get these out,” he sputtered between heaving breaths, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He rolled over to lean his back against the vanity unit, hands falling into his lap as he worked to catch his breath.

“Let me see,” Ruffilo sighed cupping his chin with one hand to tilt it back into the light. He took care to wash his hands before he made any attempt to touch the massive black contacts that spanned the entirety of his friend’s eyes.

“Ow, fuck!” Noah shouted, causing his head to ache with his own volume. “Don’t use your nail, asshole!”

“Sorry dude,” his friend said, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. “This shit’s hard to do. Hold still.”

With careful precision, Nick maneuvered the large disc around until he found purchase on it.  Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger,  he gently peeled  it out to reveal Noah’s bloodshot eyes.. After doing the same with the second, he tossed both in the trash, then stood to wash his hands once more. “Damn,” said Noah. “I liked those. I wanted to use them for more shows.”

“We’ll get you new ones,” said Nick. He grabbed an empty Solo cup on the sink counter, rinsing it out before filling it with cool tap water. He handed it to Noah before lowering himself to the ground, sighing as he leaned against the opposite wall. “Sip slowly, or you’ll throw up again.” Gingerly, Noah raised the cup to his lips.

Ruffilo was not easily affected by the actions of others. In fact, he had a calming disposition that set many at ease. But at that moment, Noah could feel his friend’s gaze burning a hole into him. He stared at the rim of his cup, the acrid feeling returning as he did everything to avoid looking at Nick.

“You okay, man?” The pity in his friend’s tone sat like a brick in Noah’s gut.“I’ve never seen you get that fucked up before. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t be doing that shit,” Nick said, crossing his arms over his chest and clicking his tongue against his teeth.. “Do you even know what you took?”

Noah paused for a moment. Scenes from the previous night flashed through his memory: the red lump on your cheekbone, the slight gasp that left your lungs when he parted your legs, the absence of your warmth after you left.

“No,” Noah rasped out, leaning his head back against the counter and closing his eyes.

“That’s not like you, man.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on,” he sighed, grabbing Noah under the arm to lift him off the floor. “Let’s get you home and in bed.”

“Thanks,” said Noah. He brought his hand up to comb his fingers through his hair and found the demon horns still on his head. A bitter taste coated his tongue and he ripped them off, chucking them in the trash.

It took a monumental effort for Noah to stagger the six blocks to his house. The sun was far too bright and the traffic was much too loud. Even with Ruffilo helping him, he struggled to keep his balance and had to pause halfway through to vomit into a set of bushes lining the street.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. One moment, he was collapsing onto his bed, and the next, he woke to the sound of something hitting his nightstand. On a tray sat a mug of coffee, scrambled eggs and toast, with two painkillers on a napkin. Ruffilo was already on his way out the door when Noah spoke.

“Thanks man,” He managed to mutter. “I owe you one.”

“This is done on the condition that we talk about it when you’re ready.”

Noah sighed, jaw clenching. “I know. Just not today.”

________

Halfway through Noah’s day-long hangover nap, he was woken up by another knocking. This time, when he opened his eyes, he found none other than the drummer of his band looking like the cat that caught the canary.

Nick sidled past him, inviting himself into Noah’s room, tossing a wad of cash down onto Noah’s bed before turning to face him.

“Here you go, killer. You earned it.”

“What are you talking about?” Noah muttered, consciousness slowly growing clearer as he struggled to wake up. His head felt like it was in a vise.

“I saw you and the virgin Mary go into your studio last night. When she came back out, she looked absolutely wrecked,” he said, snickering to himself. He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you did it, but damn. I never thought that chick would put out. Her friend was a pretty good consolation prize though, I have to say.”

Noah grabbed the wad of cash and threw it violently back at his friend.

“Whoa,” Nick said, head pulling back defensively. “What was that for?”

“Man, fuck off. I told you I wasn’t part of that.”

“You still won,” said Nick with a shrug. “I’m a man of my word. Should have tried a little harder with her last night, but her friend was practically beggin’ for it the whole time.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Noah was aware that he should exit this conversation. But in the moment, his stomach rolled with a heavy mixture of shame and anger that he couldn’t digest, so he spat it at Nick.

“You’re a fucking bottom feeder, man.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Nick bit back, unflinching as if he’d been waiting. “Don’t sit there on your high fuckin’ horse, acting like you’re better than everyone when you did the same thing to Tiffany, knowing how down bad she is for you. Grow a spine and reject the girl so she can move on.” 

Noah squeezed his eyes together and rubbed his temples.

He knew he’d run out of defenses, and hated that Nick was right, but his brain had only just started thawing out from the onslaught of chemicals he’d fed it, and the last thing he needed was a lecture.

“Man, just get out. I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“Clearly, since you’re fucking being a little bitch today.” His eyebrows and jaw were hard set, but when Noah finally locked on to his stare, Nick must have seen the defeat in his eyes, because he began to soften.

“Get some sleep, man. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Thanks.”

__________________

Normally, Noah didn’t mind his job at the factory too much. It was repetitive, which was boring, but also regulating. It allowed him to move on autopilot while he wrote music in his head.

Today though, as the remnants of his headache clung to his periphery - he was Sisyphus, and the lathe was his boulder.

Worse though, whatever he had taken at the party had dumped all the serotonin and dopamine from his system, and there was nothing left to get him through the day.

“This,” he muttered to himself, barely audible over the whirring of the machines surrounding him, “this is why I don’t do drugs.”

He’d known this would happen even before he took them, but at the time he didn’t care. He was focused on escaping from the reality of his situation. It worked for the night, until that reality came back with a vengeance.

His confidence was shaken. He’d been so sure that you wanted him in that moment. He’d have bet all the cash Nick had tried to throw at him that you wanted him. But when you were an inch away, just barely in his grasp, you shot him down and left. And here he was, tearing his hair out because he could not, for the life of him, figure out why.

Maybe you just couldn't accept his feelings about religion. Your beliefs were so important to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was something you just couldn’t get past. Like you’d mentioned earlier that night, the whole evening was out of your comfort zone, you were overwhelmed by it all. Perhaps you just weren’t ready.

But maybe he was overthinking everything. Maybe inviting you into his world was a bad decision.

No God. No religion. 

Just bad, bad decisions. 

He scrawled the words into the margins of  the notebook used to write down measurements for whatever the fuck parts he had to check for inaccuracies. For the rest of the day, the words ran through his head over and over again like a mantra, following the rhythmic clunk of the factory machines. He fished the silver ring out of his pocket and fidgeted with it for the hundredth time since you left the studio. It barely fit past the first knuckle on his pinky finger, but every time he touched it, it felt a little easier to breathe.

______________

“So, I feel like I owe you an apology,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Several apologies, actually.”

“Okay,” Tiffany said, sitting across from him at the small bistro table in the corner of the local coffee shop Noah frequented.

His stomach clenched. He’d been nervous for the last few days leading up to this conversation, but it was time for him to stop being a coward and settle the matter.

Tiffany was not an unattractive woman. She had long blonde hair that she wore in loose waves. She was on the thicker side, which Noah liked. He could see himself being attracted to her if their personalities meshed.

Tiffany’s fatal flaw was that she tried too hard. Noah preferred to do the chasing. And he probably wouldn’t have ended up chasing after her regardless, and so he understood that she felt the need to chase after him if she liked him, but he had no inkling of feelings for her.

“First, I wanted to apologize for last Saturday. I wasn’t in the best state of mind, and I shouldn’t have invited you upstairs.”

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “That became clear when you started doing vocal warmups mid-blowjob.”

Noah snorted into his coffee. He forgot about that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to bite back his grin.

Her tough façade cracked into a smile. “No worries. In hindsight, it’s pretty funny.”

“Okay, so question then,” He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. “If you knew I wasn’t sober, why did you continue?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “As soon as I realized you weren’t right, I stopped.”

Noah looked at her, taken aback. “You left?”

She nodded.

“You mean I didn’t…I could have swore…,” he trailed off.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was excited about the idea of hooking up with you, but not like that.”

Noah looked at Tiffany with a newfound respect. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

“Secondly,” he continued, “I wanted to apologize for never making my intentions clear. I feel like I led you on and allowed you to have hope because I was afraid of confrontation. That wasn’t cool of me. I should have told you from the beginning that I wasn’t interested.”

“Ouch,” she said, wincing slightly, “but thanks.”

He shook his head. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table.. “You probably don’t deserve it, but honestly I’d rather you be straightforward with me so I can actually move on. It takes a lot of energy to walk away from something you want if you still think there might be a little hope. I probably would have wasted a lot of time.”

His stomach began to feel the weight of his actions. Tiffany’s only crime was not deciphering the vague signals he’d given her, and yet he’d treated her like a pariah, going so far as to badmouth her to his bandmates. And for what? Because she refused to give up hope until she received a solid answer?

He’d been an even bigger asshole than he’d realized.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Tiffany looked at Noah with a face that hinted at pity. Perhaps she saw the inner battle he was having with himself.

“Why did you take me upstairs?” she asked.

Noah felt like he owed her the truth. He didn’t have romantic feelings for Tiffany, but he did like her. And there was something about her that made him want to trust her. Perhaps it was how she’d prioritized his consent, despite her feelings for him. Or maybe the way she’d responded to him when he told her he wasn’t interested took the edge off his nervous system. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed that feeling.

Noah launched into the story, telling Tiffany about how you’d met, your differences in beliefs, how you’d wound up at that party, what happened during the set, and how it had played out in the studio afterwards.

Once he finished his retelling, Tiffany narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you always react so poorly when you get rejected?”

“What do you mean?” asked Noah.

“Like, after a girl rejects you, do you binge drink and take unknown drugs and hook up with other people? Is that how you handle it every time?”

Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Wait. Is this your first time being rejected?” she asked in disbelief.

He took another sip of his coffee, ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth, and then gave the tiniest of nods.

Without hesitation, Tiffany burst out laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to clarify, holding her hands in front of her as if to pause the conversation. “This is so inappropriate and I shouldn’t be laughing. Forgive me.”

She didn’t stop laughing despite her apology.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wait,” Noah said, snark creeping into his voice.

“This feels really great to hear, honestly. I know it sucks for you, but I’m absolutely loving it.”

“Can you not rub it in my face, please?” he asked.

Tiffany did her best to calm her laughter and then smiled genuinely across the table at him.

“Noah, being rejected is not the worst thing that can happen. Trust me. I’ve been rejected many times. It builds character and toughens you up. Plus, I think your ego could use it. You’re totally full of yourself.”

“How so?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know. Didn’t you say you were going to fight god a few weekends ago during your set?”

Noah chewed on his lip. “That was performative.”

“It comes from somewhere.”

“Not necessarily true.”

“Noah, come on,” she said, fixing him with an imploring stare. “Be for real right now. You got rejected one time and you completely lost your shit. Total self-sabotage. Do you know how many girls you’ve rejected? A lot. And we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep fighting the good fight, because shit happens.”

Noah, mid-humbling, stayed quiet and let her continue. As uncomfortable as it was to acknowledge his shortcomings, it was also refreshing to hear. He’d never experienced a lecture from a loving mother, but he imagined this was what it felt like.

“Plus,” Tiffany continued, “it sounds like she didn’t even reject you. She just wasn’t ready to fuck you in that moment. And why would she? Considering how you’d treated her.”

“How did I treat her?” he asked. He thought he’d been kind. Certainly more attentive than he’d been to other women in his life.

“I mean, do you even like her?”

“Of course!”

“Really? Because it doesn’t sound like it. You sent her into a mosh pit totally unprepared and let her get hit in the face.”

Noah winced. He did do that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to mention it to you.

“You didn’t warn her about the content of your music and allowed yourself to get peer-pressured into playing a song that deliberately shits on everything important to her,” she continued. “And what? You’re surprised she doesn’t want to give up her virginity after a month of knowing you?”

Noah had to sit back after what felt like a massive blow to the center of his chest.

“I put more effort in with her than I have with anyone else,” he said, feebly trying to defend himself, though he knew he had no defense to stand on.

“Are you honestly telling me that was the best you could do?”

Noah didn’t answer, reluctant to say the words out loud, and Tiffany sighed. 

“Look. If you really like the girl, go earn her.”

Noah fidgeted with the sleeve on the paper to-go cup. The concept of earning someone’s affection was new to him. He’d always been on the receiving end.

“How do I do that?”

Tiffany blinked back at him. “I mean, it’s not really my job to figure that out for you. I’m already giving you more emotional labor than I owe. But if you’re asking me, I’d start by figuring out why her faith is so important to her, rather than focusing on how you can get her to abandon it so you can sleep with her.”

“Ouch. I mean you’re right, but do you have to be so mean about it?”

“Trust me Noah, I’m doing you a kindness.”

He exhaled heavily through his nostrils, realizing that the magic pill to fix his problems was indeed, the toughest to swallow.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “I appreciate you saying this to me.”

Tiffany nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“Can we be friends?” he asked. He meant it. Tiffany was clearly a positive influence in his life, and even if he didn’t want to be with her romantically, he still wanted her around in some way.

“No,” she said flatly. Noah’s face fell. “At least… not right now. This conversation helped, but I still need to lick my wounds. It isn’t fun being rejected, after all.”

“You can say that again,” he said.

“We can be friendly, though. I’ll still come to your shows because despite all your shortcomings, I unfortunately like your music.”

He chuckled, finding Tiffany’s candor refreshing. “You’re really enjoying the opportunity to insult me, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. He saw a glimpse of the beauty he’d been so focused on in his drug-induced state. She truly was prettier than he’d given her credit for.

“I hope you find someone better than me,” he said. “I want you to be happy. You deserve a good guy.”

“Thank you,” she said, softer than before and he could tell she believed him.

Noah paid for both their coffees. It was the least he could do. They parted with a warm handshake that Noah had the urge to turn into a hug, but he could tell from her body language she wouldn’t want it.

For the first time since the party, he felt a little lighter in his chest. He fished around in his pocket for the silver ring, hooking it onto his pinky finger and rubbing his thumb along the “true love waits” inscription he’d memorized earlier. __________

Waking up on Sunday was an ordeal. You hadn’t even been drinking, but it still felt as if you’d had a stimulation hangover. Your ears rang from all the noise, and there was a deep pressure behind your eyes from all the crying you’d done.

You wiped away the crust from your eyelids and were immediately met with tenderness at your temple.

Oh, yeah. You’d been elbowed in the face last night.

Crawling down from your bed, you made your way over to the mirror above your desk to see just how bad it was. An ugly, angry red lump with purpled edges glared back at you.

The rest of your face hadn’t fared much better. Your makeup was smudged all around your eyes and your lipstick smeared down your chin.

You’d slept in your clothes, having been too exhausted to change into anything else when you got back around at around two in the morning.

The alarm on your phone rang, signaling it was time to get ready for church.

You sank down into your desk chair, having no motivation for anything.

You never skipped church unless you were sick. One of the things you prided yourself most on was your regular attendance. Plus, church was where you did all your socializing. All of your friends went. It wasn’t just church you liked, it was going out to lunch afterwards with everyone. It was treating yourself to a luxurious coffee drink beforehand. It was dressing up in your favorite outfits and performing on stage. And it was the satisfaction of knowing God was pleased with you.

Was God still pleased with you?

You stared at the lump on your head.

You’d resisted temptation. That didn’t count for nothing. You’d also allowed the situation to go much further than you should have, but you still listened to your gut when it told you to get out of there. That was enough of a success in your book.

Your thoughts drifted to Noah.

He’d been so forward last night, truly put himself out there, and had looked so dejected when you’d pulled away. But then again, hadn’t he said a few weeks ago that it was important to risk rejection? He seemed aware of what the stakes were.

You didn’t know exactly why you pulled away at that moment. Something told you it wasn’t the right time, but part of you worried that you wouldn’t get another opportunity like the one you’d had, and that perhaps you ruined your chances with him.

Maybe you did? Was that the worst thing?

Perhaps this was God’s way of telling you that Noah was not the right person for you. And if that was the case, you would need to get over the idea of him so you could continue to interact with him at community service without getting hurt.

You kicked your foot up on the desk in front of you and leaned your chair back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to find the central point of balance.

It was 10:30. If you were going to make it to church, you’d have to get up now and start getting ready. You’d have to leave no later than 10:45 to make it to the 11:00 service on time.

You continued to balance on the back legs of your chair, seeing if you could get it to balance on its own for five seconds.

10:45 came and went, and you did not leave your chair. You couldn’t make it to five seconds without it tipping, but you made it to four and a half before you gave up and went back to bed.

__________

You were awoken by a rapt knocking at your door. It definitely wasn’t your roommate, Stevie. She went home every weekend and didn’t come back until late in the evening.

You rolled out of bed and looked at the clock - 1:00 PM. Yawning off the remaining sleep, you opened the door. The first thing your eyes landed on was the white, deep v-neck that gave a peek to a tanned chest.

“Isaac? What are you doing here?” you asked. Isaac had walked you to your dorm before on nights when practice ended late and he insisted it was inappropriate to allow you to walk home alone, but he had never visited you before.

“I wanted to check on you. Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, hesitantly moving aside to let him through. Once inside, he leaned against your desk, crossing his arms as he observed you.

“So…,” you trailed off, sitting on your bed cross-legged.

“You weren’t in church today.” It was not an observation, but an accusation, and it immediately set your nerves on guard.

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your tone even. “I didn’t feel great.”

“Are you hungover?”

“No. I didn’t drink.”

He fixed you with a stare that let you know he didn’t believe you. You met his eyes, unwilling to back down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, likely figuring he wouldn’t get more out of you.

“Do you know where Ava is?” he asked. “She didn’t come either.”

“She didn’t?” This was news to you. You’d looked for her briefly after you’d left but had been unsuccessful in finding her and assumed she’d gone home.

“What happened last night? You look like you’ve been through it.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning up and down your face.

Instinctively, your hand went up to touch the bruise and Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

“It was just a mosh pit,” you said.

“Yeah?” he asked, tone laced with suspicion. “Is that why your purity ring is gone?”

You checked your hand to see it was, indeed, gone. Left in Noah’s back pocket. You sighed and tipped over sideways onto the bed.

“I lost it. But not like that,” you said.

“Sure,” he said, absolutely not believing you. You’d never been seen without the ring, and it was unlikely that it slipped off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“What is ‘anything’ to you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, look. I don’t owe you this information and it is in no way your job to make sure I’m pure, but I didn’t even kiss anyone last night. I seriously just lost the ring.”

Isaac’s eyebrow lifted up and he pursed his lips, staring you down to see if he could detect any signs of falsehood and when he found none, he deflated.

“Alright,” he said. “But in the future, could you not stay out so late? It was hard to carry the praise and worship service without you and Ava.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll be there next week.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise.”

“So how was the party?” he asked.

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded. “Not great. Definitely not my scene. I got full-on elbowed in the face. Plus, everyone there was drunk and I couldn’t relate to anyone.”

You could tell Isaac was enjoying hearing your confession, the look in his eye now sporting a condescending glint. But, to his credit, he refrained from giving you any sort of ‘I told you so’ kind of lecture. After a beat of silence though, he started to chuckle at your misfortune.

“Does this feel good to hear?” you asked. He smiled in return and it was genuine.

Isaac wasn’t terrible. He seemed to truly care about you, and though he could be intrusive and overbearing at times, his heart was in the right place.

“Alright. I think I’m gonna let you get some more sleep,” he said after several minutes of catching up, tapping a knuckle on your desk to punctuate his visit. “I’d like to meet sometime this week to go over this Christmas showcase. Thursday night good for you?”

You nodded. “Thanks Isaac.”

You puffed out a mouthful of air as soon as you heard the door close, feeling like you’d just been the subject of an interrogation. It was clear now that your actions were being watched. Anything out-of-character could easily be reported back to your father, and while Isaac let you off the hook easily this time, you couldn’t be so sure he would continue if your behavior turned into a pattern.

You’d have to tread much more carefully if you wanted to fly under the radar.

_______________

The week passed quickly. Ava hadn’t returned any of your texts and you grew worried, but figured she would talk to you whenever she was ready. You wondered if something had happened at the party. Was she upset with you? Was she avoiding you?

Thursday’s meeting went well enough. Isaac had a lot of good ideas about the songs he wanted to perform and how to get the word out about it. The two of you worked closely together and you were starting to wonder if perhaps you’d judged Isaac too harshly for his actions the other week.

It was possible that Noah was just a distraction after all. Someone that helped you shake some of your delusions about Isaac so you could see him as an actual person instead of putting him on such a pedestal—because now that you interacted with each other as equals, he wasn’t all that bad. He was actually easy to get along with.

He didn’t give you that warm pooling sensation in your lower abdomen that Noah gave you, but connecting with him was enjoyable. You could see yourself working well as partners together.

“So you’re going to have to take the solo for Mary Did You Know, as well as O Holy Night,” he said. “You’re our top soprano.”

“Got it,” you said with a curt nod. “Are you going to do O Come O Come Emmanuel?”

“You know it,” he said, grinning proudly. His voice had a great timbre for that one and he knew it.

“Is Ava going to be participating?” you asked.

Isaac sighed. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“Me either. I’m starting to get concerned.”

“If she doesn’t show up at church again on Sunday, maybe we should visit her,” he suggested.

“I think that would make me feel better,” you agreed.

As it turned out, however, you didn’t have to wait for Sunday. Ava was waiting outside your dorm when you got back from your meeting with Isaac.

“Hey,” she said, sitting with her knees curled up in front of her. She wore baggy sweatpants and an oversize hoodie.

“Hey,” you said. “Stevie’s home. If you want to talk privately, we should probably go for a walk or something.”

Nodding, she stood up.

You had walked out your dorm hall and halfway down the block before she got the nerve to speak.

“Sorry for being MIA,” she said, hands pushed deep in the pockets of her hoodie.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“I think,” she replied. “I just needed some time to sort my feelings out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. She nodded.

“What happened on Saturday? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” You tried to keep any judgment out of your tone.

“I had more to drink than I meant to,” she began. “I didn’t know my tolerance.”

“That’s an easy mistake to make, especially for your first time drinking,” you said.

“Yeah, but that’s not all that happened.”

The two of you had reached the edge of campus. A left turn would lead you past the party house. A right turn would lead you to the church grounds.

You let Ava take the lead, patiently waiting while she weighed her options.

She turned left. You nodded and continued walking with her.

“I want you to know that I don’t regret any of my decisions,” she prefaced. “I just had some complicated feelings about it.”

“Of course,” you said.

“Nick and I hooked up on Saturday night.”

Your footsteps faltered, but you recovered quickly. “How far did you go?”

“We had sex.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you stopped walking. “What?!” Your voice came out as a shout. 

Ava inhaled slowly through her nostrils, nervously looking around. “I need you to make less of a deal about it than you’re making right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, tone hushed as you leaned closer to her. “But that’s a whole consent issue. If you’d been drinking…,” you trailed off.

“I was drunk when we were making out,” she said, “but I had sobered up by the time we went back to his place.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” She confirmed, with an earnest look in her eye.

“Okay,” you said, calming down a bit. You’d been about to find Nick and strangle him. “So you really don’t regret it?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But… I feel awful about not regretting it. I feel like I should, like it makes me a bad person for not. Like, we were always told that if we made a mistake like this, we’d feel terrible about it. And I don’t feel terrible. I liked it, even. And I want to do it again, if I can.”

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say. Growing up, you and Ava had always been on the same page about sex, frequently discussing what it might be like on your wedding night. Ava had always been a bit on the wild side, but you had no idea her opinions had changed quite this much.

“But I feel like I’m not allowed to feel this way and continue being involved in the church.”

You understood where she was coming from. Even after you and Noah barely touched each other, you felt weird about going to church the next morning. It was actually quite refreshing to hear that you weren’t alone in questioning the validity of your chastity pledge. You thought you were alone in that.

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you confessed. “It feels like there’s an expectation there that if you attend, you have to feel the way they think you should feel. Like if you have sex or something like that, and don’t immediately regret it afterwards, you’re not good enough.”

“Right? Yes!” she said, more lively than you’d seen her all evening. “And I just feel so disconnected with that message.”

“You’re not wrong for feeling the way you feel,” you reassured. “Honestly, I’m also learning that faith is a lot more complicated than they’d have you believe. Noah might be a good person to talk to about it.”

“You mean Nick’s friend?”

“Yeah. He’s helped me see a lot of blind spots that I’d had before regarding religion and sexuality.”

“Did you guys…?”

You shook your head. “No. But we’ve been talking a lot about some of the problems in the church, especially around sexuality. How did you feel immediately afterwards?”

“Well, I went to the bathroom and cried about it, because I initially was hit with a lot of guilt. But after I processed that, I felt kind of happy? Like I was finally living the life I wanted to live for once.”

“I’m glad you got that experience,” you admitted. “I’m sorry that you felt so guilty.”

“To be honest, I thought you would handle this information way worse.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty closed-minded.”

“I think we all started that way.”

“I’m glad you told me,” you said. “I was really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she admitted. “I was afraid of what you’d think. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I didn’t want you to hate me. And I didn’t want to have to pretend to feel guilty about it to you, or lie about the fact that it even happened.”

You paused the walk to look at her. “I know I haven’t always been the most accepting person. I’m working on that. But I could never hate you. Ever.”

Ava looked back, eyes glassy. The two of you embraced in a lingering hug, of which the significance was not lost on either of you.

When you pulled back, you realized you weren’t too far away from the party house. It was Ava that continued walking towards it.

As the two of you approached, you heard music blasting from the house. You were one or two houses away when you heard Noah’s singing voice.

“I think they’re having band practice,” you said, and sure enough, when you got to the front of the house, you could see inside the basement windows. The light was on and the band members faced away from you. All of them played with intensity—though less intensity than they had done the previous Saturday, when they had the crowd’s energy to feed on.

Noah wore a cutoff black shirt and you could see that his tattoos extended across his back—what looked like flowers on each shoulder and vines connecting them. You couldn’t see anything else, but it piqued your curiosity.

At some point, someone in the band made a mistake and they stopped the song halfway through. Noah turned around to face the drummer and you only had just enough time to dash out of sight before you caught his eyes flick up to the window, squint, and then redirect to the guitarist.

“So how was it?” you asked Ava, resuming your walk.

“Honestly?” she began. “It was incredible. Like, definitely awkward, but also one of the coolest experiences of my life.”

“What happened?”

Ava launched into a (very detailed) retelling of how Nick made sure she was coherent and could give enthusiastic consent, and then how he didn’t judge her for how new she was. He walked her through it every step of the way, made sure she had a great time, and even allowed her to crash at his place afterwards, going as far as to cook her breakfast the next morning.

“He wasn’t the best cook, mind you,” she said. “But the gesture was very sweet.”

“Huh,” you said. “I might like Nick a little more now.”

“That’s their house, by the way,” she said, pointing across the street to a tan single-story home with an unkempt front porch and an overgrown lawn. Beer bottles littered the side of the porch. You could see the blinds were broken in some areas. And yet, you couldn’t help the warmth and affection from growing in the pit of your stomach imagining all the good times that had been shared between the men that lived here.

It was evident from the way they interacted with each other at the party that all of the band members were close with one another. For a moment, you had felt welcomed into that world. At least until you had a panic attack.

“Want to turn around?” you asked.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“So what do you think of their music?”

Ava laughed out loud. “I appreciate Nick’s passion, but I don’t think I ever want to be in a crowd like that again.”

“Same,” you agreed, linking your arm with Ava’s.

This time, when you passed the party house, the lights were off. For a brief second, you wondered what Noah was doing, but then brushed the thought away easily, because it didn’t really matter. You were more than happy simply spending quality time with Ava. Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls

Click here to be added to the taglist! As always, I would love to hear your feedback! I eat it up, so pls feed me.

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ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʀʏ ─ ʀʜᴇᴛᴛ ᴀʙʙᴏᴛᴛ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rhett wasn’t a religious man; he hadn’t been for a long time.  Still, he went to church with his family every Sunday and kept his eyes trained on the pulpit.  His mother thought that he was finally taking in what Pastor Simon said to heart, but only one thing could have the youngest Abbott so entranced; the preacher’s daughter that dutifully sat in the front row, every Sunday. ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 18+, MINORS DNI, mentions of alcohol and hangovers, swearing, use of gendered pet names (pretty girl, angel, darling), descriptions of sexual acts in a church, brief description of male masturbation, semi-public sex, slight size kink, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (p in v; wrap it before you tap it), creampie, if I missed anything, please let me know, this is my first time posting smut haha ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪɴғᴏ: Pronouns used are She/Her/Hers, AFAB!Reader, beginnings of a FWB relationship between Rhett and Reader. ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: Fem!Reader, Romantic!Reader X Rhett Abbott ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 10.1k ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ: MINORS DNI!! My blog is strictly 18+!! Any minors or ageless/blank blogs interacting with my fics or my blog will be blocked (and, yes, I do check). I can't stop you from reading my fics, but I can stop you from accessing my fics if my boundaries aren't respected. Your media consumption is your own responsibility, just as it is mine regarding what I post. Please tread thoughtfully and carefully, and keep yourselves happy, healthy, and safe.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The air in the sanctuary was thick as Pastor Simon droned through his sermon, pacing the length of the pulpit with his bible clutched tightly in his old hands.  His voice boomed through the small space, echoing off the wood-paneled walls and resounding in Rhett’s ears as he tried to ignore the pounding in his head.  His Stetson hung low over his forehead, trying to shield his sensitive blue eyes from the blinding morning light seeping through the windows.  His hangovers were never this intense; either he had drunk too much the previous night, or Pastor Simon’s voice was so boring that it was causing him physical pain.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett felt a harsh pinch on his thigh, and he flinched, ready to snap at whoever bothered him, but he quickly realized that it was his mother silently reminding him to stay awake.  His mouth fell into a sarcastic sneer before he recovered and offered his mother a firm nod of his head and a tight-lipped smile to appease her.  Cecilia frowned, and he fought against a whiney comment, instead opting for a quiet grumble as he sat up straight in his chair.  He gave her a pointed look and removed his Stetson from his head, and she hummed in approval, pleased that he had taken her silent direction.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett hadn’t thought that his silent squabble had earned anyone’s attention, but he knew he had been caught when his eyes met the pastor’s daughter’s gaze across the room.  (Y/N) had turned her head over her shoulder, a small, amused smile on her face as she watched Cecilia scold Rhett as if he were five years old again.  Rhett readjusted in his seat, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he felt the tips of his ears begin to burn with embarrassment under her stare.  (Y/N)’s head tilted slightly as if she were asking him a question, but before he could think of an answer to a question he didn’t know, she returned her attention to the pulpit, nodding along with her father’s sermon.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The young Abbott man kept his eyes on (Y/N) as she gathered her hair in her hands and let the strands settle over one shoulder, exposing her neck to his eyes.  Her fingertips grazed her skin, nails lightly scratching the base of her throat before she dropped her hand to her lap again.  Her chin tilted up, extending her neck and stretching her muscles before she relaxed, dropping her chin so she could read the bible resting over her knees.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The way that Rhett and (Y/N) were seated gave them direct views of one another, and Rhett could see most of her body.  Her legs were crossed at the ankles, relaxed against the seat of her chair.  Her skirt had ridden up, revealing the smooth skin of her thighs.  She mindlessly toyed with the hem, pulling it higher and higher up her leg.  Rhett thickly swallowed, letting his mind swim with sinful thoughts of marking up her legs, littering them with pretty purple bruises and love bites.  He thought of kneading the soft flesh with his calloused hands, relishing in the goosebumps he would leave behind, and how the plush fat would feel wrapped around his head, muffling his hearing so he’d only just barely hear the beautiful noises he would draw out of her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett was thrown from his thoughts when (Y/N) suddenly readjusted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other and swiveling her body, so she was sitting sideways on the chair.  He panicked, body flushing with embarrassment as his eyes flashed up to her face, finding that she was already staring at him.  He had been caught staring at her legs, his mind running rampant with fantasies.  (Y/N) grinned, her teeth chewing on her lip as she let her eyes wander over Rhett’s body before she looked at the pulpit once more, pretending as if she hadn’t exposed Rhett’s shamelessness in checking her out.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) had always been an interesting woman.  She was the epitome of a pastor’s daughter.  She attended church every Sunday, helped out in the daycare on weekdays, was active in the Women’s Group, and helped plan fundraising events for families in the congregation that needed extra funds.  She never did anything wrong, anything sinful, and always said the nicest things with a bright smile on her face.  She wore conservative clothes, nothing too tight or revealing, and her face was always cleared of heavy makeup, giving her such an innocent look with lightly coated lashes, soft rosy cheeks, and glossy lips.  But Rhett had always thought there was something more just underneath the surface.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎They had grown up together, going through elementary to high school in the same classes.  While Rhett grew rebellious and ambitious to achieve fame as a bull rider, (Y/N) remained the sweet, innocent girl that was content to live her life in Wabang as the pastor’s daughter.  By graduation, they were nothing more than strangers to one another, their reputations landing them on different ends of Wabang High’s social stratosphere.  But that didn’t stop Rhett from watching her as she led the congregation in song or served food at the church’s monthly luncheon, blushing when she’d catch his eye or muttering an excuse to leave before his stomach would lurch with a delicious, yet sometimes overwhelming, fluttery feeling.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett was too young and stupid to realize what his longing looks and flustered words around her meant.  He was too naive to understand that his nerves and the funny feeling in his stomach meant more than just a childhood crush.  For years, the youngest Abbott oftentimes tried to convince himself that he was just imagining the lingering stares or the suggestive brushing of her fingertips against him when she passed him.  He tried to brush it off as his darkest fantasies trying to turn polite glances and innocent touches into something more, his mind playing cruel tricks on him in place of his lonesome nights.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎But, that was before they grew up.  Now, after being in the world and experiencing real attraction, real lust, he was convinced that it was something more.  He was convinced that (Y/N) knew what she was doing and that she was purposeful in how she looked at him or placed her hand over his when handing him his food at the luncheons.  He was certain now that he wasn’t imagining things when she smirked and turned away, continuing to innocently play with her skirt and show Rhett more and more of her skin after she’d caught him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The idea went straight to his dick, and he was suddenly readjusting in his seat, sitting up straight and tightening his arms across his chest as he willed his mind to think of anything else.  He’d never hear the end of it if his brother had caught him with a hard-on during the middle of Pastor Simon’s retelling of the story of Esther.  Even with his hopes of being inconspicuous, Perry glanced over and silently chuckled, shaking his head as he grinned before returning his eyes to the front of the sanctuary.  Rhett felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment, and he quietly cleared his throat as he tried his hardest to focus on Pastor Simon’s sermon.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett could feel (Y/N)’s eyes on him, flickering toward him every few minutes to check if he was still watching her.  He was trying his hardest not to, but knowing that she wanted him to be looking at her made it difficult to think of anything else.  It was made even worse when she stood up, her hands smoothing down her sweater and skirt as she made her way to take her father’s place on the small stage, smiling warmly at the congregation in front of her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett watched as (Y/N) cleared her throat, positioning herself behind the altar and opening her bible as she prepared to read the excerpt from the book of Corinthians, transitioning the service from her father’s sermon to communion.  Before she began, (Y/N) let her eyes scan the small crowd, searching for her volunteer to help her with communion.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett thought back to high school, to when she’d silently cycle through the children and teens around her, but she’d always fall back on Rhett to help.  Back then, he was convinced that she was just trying to get him to participate, trying to lead him to the Lord by the small first step of offering communion.  A part of him hoped that she’d ask him to help just so he could feel the brush of her fingertips as she handed him the chalice filled with grape juice, or the press of her shoulder against his bicep as they stood side by side and let the congregation come to them to eat their bread and drink their “wine.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Like she had been all morning, (Y/N) surprised him by calling his niece to the pulpit. “Amy, honey, can you come up ‘ere and help me with communion?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett’s niece jumped up from her spot at the end of the row his family sat in, bouncing with giddiness as she walked up the aisle to assist (Y/N).  She smiled brightly as she took her spot beside (Y/N), her hands folded neatly behind her back as (Y/N) pointed out the verse she wanted Amy to read, as if she didn’t already know it by heart.  Even Rhett had it memorized, but that was because he used to be the Abbott standing behind the altar every week.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The young Abbott man tried to pay attention to his niece so he could tell her how well she did later on after the service.  He tried to watch his niece carefully break the bread, offering it to (Y/N) so she could take communion before repeating the young woman’s actions.  However, all he could think of was the way (Y/N)’s delicate hands would feel tracing indistinct patterns over his body, her glossed lips following closely behind her hands’ trails.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) turned to the congregation once more, motioning with her hands as she called them up to take communion.  The Abbott family sat patiently, waiting until the row ahead of them had moved into the aisle to stand.  Rhett slowly stood and placed his Stetsen on his chair, trying his hardest to hide his growing problem in his jeans without drawing attention to himself.  He was successful for the most part, but he could feel (Y/N)’s eyes on him as he moved to stand in the aisle.  Their eyes met, and he watched as her eyes subtly flickered toward his hips and her teeth caught her bottom lip, suppressing a grin as she blessed a congregation member while they dipped their bread in the grape juice.  Rhett felt his heart hammer in his chest, his body tingling with nerves as the knowledge that she knew the effect she had on him settled in his mind.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Before he knew it, Rhett was standing before (Y/N) in front of the altar.  His hands shook slightly as he tore a piece of bread from the plate Amy held before he turned to (Y/N).  He slowly met her eyes, his chest feeling tight as he raised his hand to dip his bread into the grape juice.  He had always thought that her eyes were pretty; they gleamed with purity and a hint of mischief that he only ever saw when he was in such close proximity to her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett was so focused on her eyes that he didn’t realize that he was practically soaking the piece of bread in the grape juice until it became heavy between his fingertips.  He fought against his first instinct to curse (Cecelia had always scolded him for cursing in the Lord’s Home) and quickly pulled it toward his lips, his free hand cupping under his chin to catch any drops, but that didn’t stop a few dribbles of juice from landing on his bottom lip.  Before he could react, (Y/N) had reached up and wiped away the juice with her thumb, and Rhett would have been embarrassed by the doting action if she hadn’t brought the digit to her mouth and licked the grape juice off her skin, her lips wrapping around her thumb and her cheeks hollowing just enough that it wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else, but Rhett caught it.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The young Abbott man’s mouth suddenly felt dryer than a desert, and his brain began to short-circuit.  (Y/N) silently giggled and blessed him, ultimately sending him on his way back to his seat with her teeth running over her bottom lip teasingly.  Rhett awkwardly cleared his throat and turned around, stiffly walking back down the aisle with his head bowed bashfully.  He kept his eyes trained on the floor, unable to look at anyone in fear that they would notice the growing bulge in his jeans.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett spent the rest of the service with his jaw locked and eyes fixed in a frustrated stare on (Y/N).  His mind was racing with images of her mouth around his fingers, her tongue trailing along his digits as she sucked on them.  It wasn’t helping his hard-on, not in the slightest, but he had a sneaking suspicion that that was exactly what she wanted.  The congregation finally began to sing the closing song, and Rhett was the first one out the sanctuary doors once Pastor Simon sent them off with a blessing, making a beeline to the restrooms.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The moment the bathroom door was shut, he was unbuckling his jeans and pulling out his dick with a groan, back collapsed against the wall, and his hand furiously working to relieve his pent-up frustration.  It wasn’t hard to get himself over the edge after nearly an hour of teasing, but a part of him still felt like an inexperienced teenager getting himself off for the first time.  He came with a muffled grunt, his free hand bunched into a tight fist between his teeth.  Rhett slumped against the wall, his head leaned back as his chest heaved, the poor Abbott man struggling to catch his breath.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Shit,” Rhett cursed, pushing off the wall and reaching out to grab paper towels to clean himself up.  After he tucked himself back into his jeans and washed his hands, he took a moment to clear his head, his hands braced on the sink basin as his head hung low.  He slowly looked up and met his eyes in the mirror, a flash of shame washing over him, but it was quickly replaced with panic when he heard (Y/N)'s voice.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Oh, I think I saw him head to the restroom, Mrs. Abbott.  He looked a little pale, though.  I hope he’s not gettin’ sick.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Her voice was soft and sweet, like the taste of Cecelia’s sweet iced tea on a hot summer day.  Rhett thickly swallowed, his eyes locked on the door as he tried to remember whether he locked it or not.  A quick glance at the handle told him that, no, he hadn’t; he had been too focused on (Y/N), her legs, her lips, her tongue.  Rhett quietly groaned, his head falling back on his shoulders as his hands ran down his face.  Thank God no one walked in before he was finished.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎He knew his mother wouldn’t divulge to the pastor’s daughter that he was probably hungover, and he had never been so thankful for his mother’s need to keep appearances around the congregation before.  He just hoped that that was all she assumed was wrong with him.  He was proven right when he heard his mother respond to the sweet girl that has been subtly teasing her son for the better part of an hour.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Thank you, dear.  Let ‘im know we’re gon’ be out in the parkin’ lot when he comes out, will ya?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett let out a relieved breath as his head fell once more, before he shook his hair from his eyes and pushed himself up from the sink.  He looked over his reflection, letting out a long breath through his nose as he willed the flush of color to disappear from his cheeks and neck.  He took a few minutes to ensure that all the churchgoers had filed out of the church before forcing himself to exit the bathroom.  He wiped his clammy palms on his jeans before tucking them into his pockets, pushing his way out the front doors to join his family when he was met with the harsh late-morning sunlight and dry Wyoming heat.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Goddamn, it’s bright out here,” Rhett mumbled when he reached his family.  They were hanging around the bed of his and Royal’s trucks, his father entertaining Amy’s constant questions about Pastor Simon’s sermon while Perry and Rebecca were lost in each other, still just as in love with each other as the day they met.  Cecelia, however, stood with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face as she watched her youngest make his way to them.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Cecelia was quiet as she scolded Rhett, making sure that the rest of their family was preoccupied before she began to lay into him. “Now, I’m happy that you’re comin’ t’church with us again, but you can’t bust outta there like a bull the moment the service is over, Rhett.  It’s rude; not only to Pastor Simon, but to God, too.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett grumbled, his light eyes squinting and pulling his face into a slight scowl as he looked at his mother, “I know.  ‘M sorry, Ma.  Won’t happen again.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Damn right, it won’t.” Cecelia affirmed, firmly nodding her head as she turned her attention to the rest of the Abbott family. “Alright, everyone in the trucks.  I‘m sure we wasted ‘nough time gettin’ to the diner.  Only table open’ll be right near the kitchen.  Let’s go.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Shotgun!” Amy quickly shouted, leaping down from the tailgate and running around to the front of Rhett’s truck.  She anxiously yanked on the handle as Rhett pulled his keys from his pocket.  She began to whine, her head lolling on her shoulders as she began to pester her uncle, “Uncle Rhett!  Open the door!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett chuckled, shaking his head as he fumbled with the keys.  He reached up to adjust his hat, but his hand was met with his slightly greasy hair instead of his worn Stetson. “Dammit.  Amy, go ahead an’ hop in with grandma and grandpa, I left my hat inside.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“But I wanna ride with you!” Amy sadly said, dragging out the last syllable in an attempt to get Rhett to forget his hat and drive her to the diner.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I know ya do, sweetcheeks.  But Uncle Rhett ain’t Uncle Rhett without his hat, is he?” Rhett hummed and stepped up to his niece, placing his large hands on her small face and pinching her cheeks in an attempt to get her to smile.  When he got a sheepish giggle from her, he grinned and stood up straight, softly pushing her in the direction of his mother. “Go on to the diner, I’ll catch up in a few.  Forgot my hat inside.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Cecelia narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t push the issue any further. “Alright.  Amy, hon, c’mon now.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett began to walk back to the church, suddenly realizing how empty the parking lot was.  After his father pulled out of the lot, only his truck and (Y/N)'s old Dodge were left, three spots separating them.  Even Pastor Simon and his wife had left.  A rush of anxiety ran down his spine, but there was a spot of confidence growing with the idea that he and (Y/N) would be alone in the church.  He couldn’t act on her taunting with the entire congregation surrounding them, but maybe now he could.  Even if he can’t do anything physically, the least they could do would be to talk about it, set some boundaries if they were to really begin what they both wanted.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The church door quietly slammed shut behind him, effectively closing him and (Y/N) off from the rest of the town.  Rhett couldn’t remember the last time they had truly been alone together.  Maybe that time in high school when she had to tutor him in English?  Thinking back on it, Rhett realized that she had been playing this game with him since way back then; her foot would knock against his leg under the table, slowly dragging up his calf until she reached the top of his boot before she retreated, offering him a sly glance and reciting the question she had asked him when he gave her an awestruck look.  A quiet scoff fell from Rhett’s lips; he had been so oblivious for so long.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Not headed to the diner yet, Rhett?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏��� ‎Rhett’s head snapped up from the old carpeting in the lobby, finding the angelic vision that was (Y/N).  She stood outside her father’s office, holding a handful of bibles in her arms that pressed against her chest and made her breasts push just that much further out of the low neckline of her sweater.  Rhett thickly swallowed, forcing his eyes to find hers, but that didn’t help much, either.  Her eyes were wide, almost doe-like, as if she had been asking him about something as mundane as the weather.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“No, ma’am.” Rhett shyly said, the tips of his ears tinted pink when he saw the small smile on (Y/N)’s face when he called her ‘ma’am.’  He cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I, uh, I forgot my hat; thought I left it in the sanctuary.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) hummed, her eyes quickly scanning the small lobby before landing on the open sanctuary doors.  Sure enough, Rhett’s Stetson sat on the seat he claimed every Sunday.  (Y/N) quietly chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she slyly glanced toward Rhett. “An’ here I thought ya just wanted an excuse to come an’ talk t’me.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Her tone was low and suggestive, sending blood straight to his dick as she ran her tongue over her lip before sinking her teeth into it and tilting her head in the most innocent way.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Do I need an excuse to come an’ talk t’ya?” Rhett rasped, his voice sounding gravelly as it caught in his throat.  However, even with the nerves slowly working their way down his spine, he managed to notice the way that (Y/N) shifted her weight, moving one foot closer to the other as her knees knocked together, almost as if she were trying to subtly relieve tension.  All of his nerves disappeared, and Rhett was filled with a sense of confidence that inflated his ego just enough for him to know that he had the same effect on her that she did him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) hummed, shaking her head as Rhett watched her teeth nibble the inside of her cheek as if she were hiding a sly grin.  She pointed a finger over her shoulder toward the sanctuary doors across the hall, “Your hat’s in the sanctuary if ya wanted to grab it.  Though, I’m not sure I want ya to have it back; I’ve been looking for a new Stetson to wear to the rodeos.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett knew this was his chance to get (Y/N) alone in a room that had a lock on the door.  And, if he was reading her signs correctly, that was what she wanted, too.  So, mustering up as much confidence as he could, he tried to sound as inconspicuously seductive as possible as he stepped closer to her and asked, “If ya wanted t’wear my hat to my rides, all ya had to do was ask, angel.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I suppose this is me askin’, then.” It was as if all his prayers had been answered when he saw her pupils dilate and her breath catch in her throat as she nodded once more.  This time, after a short, collective breath, she let that troublemaking smirk settle on her glossed lips as she held a hand out for him to take, “Want me to model it for ya, then?  Make sure it looks alright?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“So long as you know what happens when you wear a cowboy’s hat, darlin’.” Rhett smoothly said.  He surprised himself with his response, but he didn’t let himself show it.  (Y/N) grinned, a quiet giggle slipping past her lips as she wiggled the fingers of her outstretched hand, urging him to take it.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I do,” she easily said, and that was all it took.  Rhett slipped his calloused hand into hers, and his first thought was how small her hand was compared to his.  When she threaded her fingers into the spaces between his, the contrast of his rough fingertips against the soft skin of her hand immediately replaced that thought, and it was quickly followed by the idea of how her small, soft hands would feel wrapped around his cock.  His jeans tightened around his hips as she led him to the sanctuary, his body beginning to buzz with adrenaline as the realization that this was finally happening settled in his mind.  He felt like he was about to perform in a rodeo, that familiar twinge of nerves and self-assurance making his heartbeat echo in his ears.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The sanctuary doors were hardly shut before Rhett had his lips on (Y/N)'s and his hands on her hips, pushing her against the doors with a deep groan.  The bibles in her hands tumbled to the floor as her small hands wove into his hair, pulling him closer to her with every passing second.  Her lips were soft and warm, yet sticky from her lip gloss.  She tasted like strawberries and remnants of the grape juice from communion, an intoxicating combination that Rhett couldn’t get enough of.  Rhett groaned into her mouth, a smirk toying on the corners of his lips when she roughly pulled on his hair.  It stung, but the feel of her mouth on his and her back arching against his body made the sensation feel deliciously blissful.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎It was as if his hands had a mind of their own, wandering across any part of her body he could touch.  They splayed across her back, tugging her closer before they slid around her waist and began to inch upwards under her sweater, itching to feel the weight of her breasts in his palms.  His fingertips traced the underwire of her bra, the satin fabric cool to the touch and a stark contrast from her quickly warming skin.  Rhett could feel that wherever he touched her, a trail of goosebumps followed his hands and her body flooded with warmth.  It was mesmerizing, fueling his need to touch every part of her as he kissed her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett began to nibble on her bottom lip and (Y/N) opened her mouth to him, exhaling deeply through her nose, almost as if she were trying to keep quiet, but her efforts were hardly concealed when a quiet whine floated past her lips as his tongue grazed hers.  He breathlessly chuckled, pulling away slightly and tightening his grip on her waist as he said, “C’mon, angel.  Don’t hide those sounds from me.  Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎His words pulled a breathy moan from her lips, telling Rhett exactly what effect he had on her before she had the chance to vocally do so.  Rhett began to trail wet kisses across her jaw, gently nipping at the skin just below the bone before he soothed it with a slow swipe of his tongue, making sure not to leave any marks.  (Y/N) sighed, her head falling back against the sanctuary doors as her hands began to explore the expanse of his clothed chest, fingernails catching on the fabric of his flannel, “I knew you were lookin’ at me this mornin’.  Knew you wanted me.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I’ve been wantin’ t’have you like this since high school, darlin’.” Rhett admitted, his voice breathless against her skin.  The taste of her strawberry lip gloss was beginning to get lost with the salty taste of perspiration on her skin as the dry Wyoming air clung to their bodies, warming them up in the stuffy sanctuary.  Rhett mouthed his way back up to her lips, the tip of his nose nudging hers as he cheekily said, “Think you have, too, hmm?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N)'s pretty eyes fluttered open slightly, pupils blown and mascara beginning to dot along the skin under her lash line.  She gave him a grin, her chin jutting out so her lips brushed against his with every word she spoke. “Y’have no idea, Rhett.  No idea.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett wasn’t sure who moved first, the feeling of her tongue moving against his as their mouths worked on one another drowning out anything else in his head.  He slotted his thigh between her legs, a deep groan rumbling in the back of his throat when he felt her arousal begin to seep into the denim of his jeans.  His calloused hands wandered further down her body, along the smooth skin of her legs that hadn’t left his mind since he’d caught a glimpse earlier that morning, before they slipped under the hem of her skirt and bunched it around her waist so he could easily guide her hips along his thigh.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) pulled her lips from his with a whine, grinding her hips down onto him as her nimble fingers began to make quick work of the buttons on his flannel, expertly unbuttoning it before untucking it from his jeans and pushing it aside so her hands could feel the smooth muscles of his chest.  Rhett had never been so glad to forgo an undershirt in his life; if he had to wait to have her hands on his skin any longer, he would have combusted.  He could feel his cock hardening in his jeans again when her hands traveled lower, her fingertips brushing along the flexing muscles of his stomach as her lips attached to his peck, right over his bull rider tattoo.  He sucked in a sharp breath when her teeth dragged up his neck and grazed his pulse point before dragging down to the base of his throat just above his clavicle.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Fuck,” Rhett cursed, leaning his head to the side to give her more access to his throat.  She giggled against his skin, her nails raking down his torso again as she sank her teeth into his skin before soothing the mark with her warm tongue.  Rhett bit his lip as he shakily exhaled, pulling his body back as one hand trailed up her body to cup her jaw, holding her face in place so he could kiss her again.  Everything about her was addictive, from the taste of her lip gloss to the way her wet, clothed cunt dragged along his jeans.  Rhett was sure that he had died and gone to Heaven when her fingers hooked into his belt loops and pulled his hips flush against hers, her mouth against his muffling the grunt forcing itself from his lips when his dick pressed against her hip bone.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Rhett,” (Y/N) panted, their hot breaths mingling in the sparse distance between their mouths, “I need you.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Where d’you need me, pretty girl?” Rhett whispered, thickly swallowing as he attempted to catch his breath.  His fingertips began to gently play with the band of her panties, the satin fabric smooth against his rough hands slightly as he toyed with her.  He let an accomplished smile tug at his lips when she bucked her hips toward him, chasing the brief feeling of his hands when he pulled away.  Rhett traced a soft line down the front of her core, relishing in the choked hum of approval that left her lips. “Do you need me here?  Hmm?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Yes,” (Y/N) sighed, hands bunching into the fabric of his open flannel to keep his body on hers.  She licked her lips and swallowed, a relieved smile covering her lips, “Yes, please.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett chuckled, a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat, but it was cut off with a proud groan when he felt just how soaked she was.  She was practically dripping, and he was the cause of it.  He hooked a finger around the satin, pushing it to the side to swipe his fingers through her folds, collecting her arousal and spreading it across his fingertips.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Oh, shit,” (Y/N) gasped, her forehead falling forward on his shoulder as she braced her hands on his torso.  She hummed as Rhett gently circled her clit, biting her lips as her body jolted with pleasure.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Angel, I’ve barely touched you,” Rhett teased, but his voice was the furthest thing from jovial.  His voice was deep, laced with lust and barely above a whisper.  A part of him was hardly able to believe that this was happening, but when he felt her body shudder against his as he pressed two fingers against her clit, he knew that this was real.  He didn’t just feel like his prayers had been answered; he knew they had been.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) shakily exhaled, pulling her head back and snaking her hands up his torso to grab onto the curls of hair at the nape of his neck.  Her eyes were dark with desire, her cheeks flushed and lips kiss-bitten as she leveled her doe-like eyes with his.  She was completely at his mercy. “More, please.  I need more of you.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Without warning, Rhett dipped his fingers to her entrance and slowly pushed his ring and middle fingers in, cursing when he felt her warm walls instinctively clench around his digits.  (Y/N) moaned, her body falling lax against the doors as her hands scrambled to find purchase in his hair.  Rhett began to pump his fingers, his free hand holding up his weight against the door by her head.  He kept reaching for that special spot inside of her, curling his fingers to find the spot that would make her legs shake and her chest heave with labored breaths.  He knew he’d found it when he felt that spongy part against his calloused fingertips, and she surged forward and attached her lips to his, whimpering when he picked up the pace of his fingers.  Her mouth opened in a silent moan, and Rhett took advantage of her parted lips to lick into her mouth, swallowing every small whine and whimper that left her sweet lips.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Goddamn, you look so pretty, all needy f’me,” Rhett grunted, feeling her wetness begin to drip down his knuckles into the palm of his hand.  His dick twitched in his jeans, desperately aching for attention, but he was easily able to put aside his needs when he heard the melodic sound of her breath catching in her throat as a strangled moan at his praise.  He cupped his hand around her, pushing the heel of his palm against her clit as he continued to fuck her with his fingers.  Her hips began to grind against his hand, chasing her high with determined circles.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Oh, fuck, Rhett, please,” (Y/N) began to ramble, her chest heaving as he pushed her closer to the edge.  She tightened her hold on his hair, pulling his face closer as she looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, silently pleading with him. “Don’t stop, please.  I’m so, so close.  Please, Rhett.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎A dark chuckle left his throat as he ducked his head and placed hot, open-mouthed kisses on the skin just below her ear.  He smirked at the high-pitched noise she made when he began scissoring his fingers inside her, teeth pulling at her earlobe before he whispered, “Let go, angel.  Give it t’me.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) came with a shrill cry, her body collapsing against his as she weakly clung to him.  Rhett moaned when he felt her legs attempt to snap shut around his thigh and hand, her cum slowly seeping from her cunt and making a mess all over his fingers and jeans.  His cock pushed against the constraints of his jeans when he looked down to see his hand glistening with her arousal, and his chest swelled when he thought of the fact that he made her cum with nothing but his fingers.  He continued to slowly pump his fingers in and out of her, carrying her through her orgasm until her body stopped shaking.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N)'s hands bunched into the fabric of his open flannel, grounding herself until she found her bearings again.  Rhett gently pulled his hand away from her, holding it up to watch her slick shine in the dim sunlight filtering through the sanctuary windows.  He was suddenly filled with the need to taste her, so he brought his fingers to his lips and began to lick his fingers.  He moaned, swearing that he had never tasted anything so sweet in his life.  She tasted better than any freshly baked apple pie or hand-churned ice cream he’d ever had.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“So sweet, angel,” Rhett hummed, savoring the taste of her with his eyes half-closed before they widened.  (Y/N) had taken a hold of his wrist, pulling his hand from his lips to hers and slowly sucked his fingers into her mouth, a purring sound leaving her throat as her tongue swirled around his digits.  Rhett’s jaw slacked, his eyes darkening as he watched her clean her mess off his fingers.  He reached his other hand down to palm himself over his jeans, shaking his head in amazement when she pulled her mouth off his fingers with a faint pop. “Jesus Christ, darlin’.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) giggled, still sounding breathless as she began to push him toward the back row of chairs in the sanctuary, her hands firm on his shoulders.  She directed him to a chair and gently sat him down, kneeling in front of him and running her hands slowly up his thighs. “My turn, cowboy.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett could hardly breathe as her dainty hands trailed up his thighs toward his belt buckle, his hands flexing and unflexing around the edge of the chair, unsure what to do with them.  (Y/N) hummed, taking one hand off his leg to take hold of his, silently directing him to hold her jaw before she resumed her quest of unbuckling that large buckle around his hips.  Rhett had been hard as a rock nearly the whole morning, but he felt as if he was growing harder as he watched the sight in front of him, his dick throbbing beneath the feather-light pressure of her forearm over it as she slid the leather belt out of the clasp.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Fuck,” Rhett hissed, watching with lust-blown eyes as she unzipped his jeans, her movements so painfully slow just to tease him.  Although he complied and lifted his hips when she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxers, he couldn’t stop the flash of annoyance that rippled through his body as he watched her take her sweet time.  The young Abbott man let his hand slide from her jaw to her chin, holding it firmly between his thumb and forefinger as he pulled her gaze to his eyes.  His jaw was clenched, the muscles in his cheek fluttering with aroused frustration as he sharply said, “I didn’t tease you, now did I?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) bit her lip, shaking her head before laying it on the top of his thigh, just out of reach from where he wanted her to touch him the most.  She lazily traced a finger up and down the outline of his cock tenting his boxers, which was pulsing now that the tight denim had been removed.  His hips involuntarily bucked up, his body betraying the slight dominating bite in his tone, which only brought a sly grin to (Y/N)'s face.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“No, but if I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this for as long as I have, I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.” (Y/N) sassed, her brows raising slightly as she challenged him.  All the while, her finger kept running that same trail up his clothed cock.  Her eyes never left the path of her finger, simply enamored with the idea of what Rhett hid underneath those Levi jeans.  Rhett gulped, struggling to regain some control over the situation as she began to apply more pressure to her ministrations, soon letting her wrist go limp so she could use her palm to trace his cock instead of a single finger.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“I’m sure you’d enjoy it more if ya picked up the pace, angel,” Rhett said, his voice sounding as if it was stuck in his throat.  He watched as she licked her lips, her eyes growing wider as she met his gaze.  If he felt breathless before, that was nothing compared to the vision of (Y/N) kneeling between his legs with her palm moving agonizingly slow across his dick.  She looked ethereal, a slight halo of dim lighting surrounding her from the dust-covered windows behind her.  She looked as if she belonged there, sat dutifully before him with her doe-eyes and kiss-swollen lip tucked between her teeth.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Y’know, patience is a virtue, Mr. Abbott.” (Y/N) airily said, her cheeks proudly flushing when Rhett’s chest stopped moving.  Rhett wasn’t sure where the reaction came from; he’d never imagined that being scolded and called ‘Mr. Abbott’ would send his body into a frenzy, sparking a need deep within his soul to shove his dick down her throat.  He needed her to wrap her perfectly pouted lips around his cock, and he needed her to do it now.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett tightened his grip on her chin, pulling her face off his thigh before bunching his other hand in her hair to pull her face closer to his as he sat up.  His face hardened as he looked her over, eyes narrowing as his voice deepened, a dominating side overtaking any faint nerves he might have still had. “Y’better put that mouth to use before I do it for you.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎A grin spread across (Y/N)'s face and she leaned up to press a searing kiss to his lips.  It was all tongue and teeth, but Rhett hardly had time to register that he could still gather the faint taste of her cum on her lips before she suddenly reached a hand into his boxers and wrapped her small hand around him.  An almost animalistic growl left his lips as his jaw slacked, his breath shaky when she gently swiped her thumb over his tip and collected the precum leaking from the slit.  Rhett had never been overly vocal, but he couldn’t help the way he moaned when (Y/N) pulled away from his lips and placed a delicate kiss to his tip over his boxers.  It was just a taste of what was to come, and he was already beginning to fall apart.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) let that soft giggle of hers trickle from her lips, thoroughly amused by the young Abbott man’s reaction, before she swiftly pulled his boxers down enough to free his cock, letting it fall against his toned stomach.  Rhett opened his mouth to tell her to use hers, but a strangled groan replaced any words he was about to say when she leaned forward and licked a slow, hot stripe up his shaft, her eyes never leaving his.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett’s back collapsed against the chair, a shudder washing over his body when she finally wrapped her lips around his tip, her tongue teasing his slit and a hum of appreciation sounding from the back of her throat.  Rhett’s hold in her hair tightened, the veins in his forearm beginning to protrude slightly as he let his body take over, bucking his hips and pushing himself further into her warm mouth.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“There ya go, darlin’.” Rhett mumbled, his head falling back as a deep breath left his lips.  (Y/N) slowly dipped her head, taking more of him in her mouth as she hummed, the vibrations in her throat adding to Rhett’s pleasure.  Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, slowly pumping what she couldn’t fit into her mouth as she began to bob her head.  The combination of her warm mouth and the sounds of appreciation she was quietly making was enough to make Rhett’s head spin.  He swore he had never felt anything so good in his life, finally having the girl he’s pined after for years with her lips around his dick and her lust-blown eyes glancing up at him through her lashes.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N)'s free hand was gently running across his hip, her nails scratching his skin so lightly that Rhett hardly realized what she was doing until he let go of her jaw to take her hand in his.  He sighed, eyes rolling back when she let go of his cock and pushed her head down further until the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat.  A deep rumble of a groan left his lips and his fingers laced through hers, squeezing her hand tightly in appreciation.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Rhett breathed, tucking his chin to his chest so he could watch her continue to take him deeper and deeper until her nose nearly brushed the patch of hair at the base of his cock.  It truly was a sight to behold; the beautiful preacher’s daughter deepthroating the wild bull rider known for sleeping around.  Rhett knew he’d never be able to forget the image of (Y/N) between his legs, and the realization that he’d have this memory to look back on the next time he was feeling lonely made his cock twitch in her mouth.  (Y/N) let out a long breath before attempting to take him further, and the feeling of her nose finally reaching his pubic bone had Rhett bucking his hips before he could stop himself.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) gagged around him, and that didn’t help the way the coil in Rhett’s stomach tightened with the need to feel her do that again, and keep her mouth stuffed full of him.  He let go of her hand and let it join his other hand in her hair, but before he could force her to cockwarm him with her throat, he was somehow able to have the thought that she might not want to.  And Rhett was a gentleman, even with lust clouding his senses.  If he wanted to ensure that this wasn’t a one-time deal, he wanted to make sure she was comfortable.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“This okay, angel?” Rhett rasped, his voice gravelly and somewhat hoarse.  (Y/N) looked up at him, her lashes clumped together slightly and wet with unshed tears, her mascara beginning to trail down the apples of her cheeks, but that couldn’t do anything to hide the earnest look in her eyes.  She pulled off of his cock with a gasp, her head nodding eagerly as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“More than okay.” (Y/N) breathlessly said, already leaning down to take him in her mouth again.  Rhett moaned when she sunk down around him without hesitation, a deep exhale through her nose tickling his pubic hair as she hummed around him again.  Her hands rested on his hips, fingers flexing as she focused on her breathing.  Rhett was utterly entranced as he watched her, so eager to please him and bring him his release right there in the church sanctuary.  His stomach began to churn, his breathing becoming uneven and ragged as he shakily exhaled.  She slowly pulled her mouth up his shaft, tongue swirling around his tip before dipping down once more, not stopping until she was completely full of him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett could feel his orgasm was fast approaching as she swallowed around him, her throat constricting and tightening around him before she pulled up and suckled his tip, her tongue running along the slit as she lazily pumped him with one hand so she could catch her breath.  The coil in Rhett’s stomach began to subside, but that allowed his head to clear enough to realize that if he was going to cum, it wasn’t going to be in her mouth.  That was going to be an image he could capture at another time, but right now, all he wanted was to have the picture of her riding him wearing his Stetson ingrained in his mind.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett heaved a long breath, his chest deflating slightly as he slid a hand around her chin again.  With a mumbled, ‘Come ‘ere, angel,’ he brought her lips to his, kissing her sweetly before he found that dominating side from moments ago. “You gon’ model that hat f’me or what, honey?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N)'s eyes lit up as she giggled, nodding her head and reaching over to grab his Stetson from the seat beside him.  She kept her eyes on his as she situated it on her head, adjusting it so it hung low over her eyes the way he had it that morning.  Her head tilted back, gaze meeting his through hooded eyes as she teasingly turned her face from side to side to show it off.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“What d’ya think, Rhett?” (Y/N) teased, leaning down to kitten-lick the tip of his cock, quiet moans leaving her lips as she gathered the leaking precum on her tongue.  All Rhett could do was groan, his dick throbbing against his stomach as he looked her over with hungry eyes.  He had never seen a more perfect sight, not even the Tetons at sunset could compete with her wearing his hat.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett clicked his tongue and smirked, his fingers tightening around her chin slightly as he breathlessly said, “You’re gon’ make me an even bigger goddamn sinner, sweetheart.  You look so fuckin’ perfect wearing my hat with my dick in your mouth.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) giddily hummed, wrapping her lips around his tip once more and dipping her head until the rim of the hat hit Rhett’s abs.  She pulled off him again with a soft pop, sitting back on her heels as she hummed contentedly.  She grinned up at him, eyes playful as she asked, “Now, isn’t there somethin’ I’m supposed to do if I’m wearin’ a cowboy’s hat?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett chuckled, simultaneously amused and aroused by her seemingly innocent question.  He nodded, leaning forward as his hands slipped to her biceps to pull her up on her knees again. “Get up here in my lap, pretty girl.  Time to show ya somethin’ ‘bout ridin’.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) wasted no time in standing to her feet, teasingly trailing her fingertips up her thighs until they breached the hem of her skirt and tucked into the band of her ruined satin panties before she swiftly pulled them down her legs and stepped out of them.  She smirked as she leaned forward and tucked the panties into his front pocket before straddling his thighs.  Rhett’s hands immediately found her hips, pushing her skirt up so he could feel her hot skin against his rough hands and direct her dripping core to drag over his cock.  They both moaned at the feeling, (Y/N)'s head lolling on her shoulders as her hands gripped his shoulders.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Please, Rhett,” (Y/N) whined, her teasing nature long gone as she began to grind along the length of his cock.  She gasped when the tip bumped her clit, her eyes fluttering shut as her fingers flexed in pleasure.  She licked her lips, that intoxicating strawberry lipstick long gone as she reached a shaky hand up to hold his hat on her head. “Rhett, please, fuck me.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett had imagined her begging for his cock so many times, but nothing could have prepared him for the feral feeling that would spread like wildfire through his chest when she finally did.  It was pure instinct as one of his hands left her hips and grasped the base of his cock, the other holding her firmly in place as he aligned himself with her entrance.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett’s eyes flickered up to her face to watch her as he eased her down onto his length, his jaw slacking at the sight.  Her lips parted, eyes screwed shut, and cheeks flushed as a breathy moan left her lips.  His hat was slightly askew on her head, casting a shadow over half of her face as her chest heaved with panted breaths.  Rhett swore he could have cum right then, the feeling of her tight walls slowly encapsulating him and hugging every inch perfectly as she whimpered above him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Jesus, angel,” Rhett sighed, his hands tightening on her hips as she lowered herself until he was fully sheathed inside of her.  He could feel that sweet spongy spot against his tip, every breath she took, and every noise she made making her walls flutter around him in a way that made him wonder why he’d never acted on his desires sooner.  He’d been missing out on all of this for years, but there was no way he was going to anymore.  She hadn’t even begun to ride him and he was already so far gone for her he knew she’d ruined any other woman for him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) shakily exhaled, her chest dropping forward so she could press and hungry kiss to his lips as she began to raise her hips.  Her movements were agonizingly slow, every shift of her muscles calculated to bring the both of them the most pleasure possible.  Her hands tightened on his shoulders as she sunk down on him again, faster than the first time, before repeating her actions.  Each time she lowered her hips against his, her pace grew faster and harder, a steady stream of skin slapping skin filling the sanctuary.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett let out a string of curses as she began to circle her hips every time she sunk down on him, a hand flying up to the back of her neck to keep her lips on his as his hips began to buck up into her.  He met every bounce, every roll of her hips in perfect synchronicity; it was as if they had been fucking one another for years and knew exactly how to bring each other to the brink without a second thought.  Every lovesick idea that Rhett had that they were perfect for one another was confirmed as their bodies moved, chasing their highs as their stomachs churned with desire.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) bunched the fabric of his flannel in her hands, supporting her weight on his chest as she bounced on his cock, keeping each one small so he hardly left her cunt at all but still hit her g-spot with every thrust.  Rhett felt her walls clench around him as she whimpered, “I’m so, so close, Rhett.  Oh, my god.  Fuck!”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett grunted in concentration as one hand slid from her hip to the front of her body, his fingers splayed across her stomach as his thumb began to circle her clit.  He could feel his cock pushing against her stomach with every thrust, sending his body and mind into a frenzy as he sped up the speed of his thrusts.  Rhett couldn’t even form complete words, anything he wanted to say was lost in his throat as it turned into desperate moans and grunts.  His mind began to cloud with nothing but the want to make her cum, and he began to tighten the circles his thumb was making on her clit, focusing purely on the small bundle of nerves as she frantically ground her hips against his.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” (Y/N)'s words were jumbled, running together as she clung to Rhett’s shoulders.  Rhett could feel his orgasm quickly approaching with each brush of his tip against her g-spot and each tug of his hair.  (Y/N)'s walls clung to him, pulsing as he finally pushed her over the cliff, sending her spiraling into a trembling orgasm that had her entire body jolting with pleasure.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Shit, angel, I’m close.” Rhett wasn’t far behind, and although he wanted nothing more than to cum inside her and claim her as his own, he didn’t want to fuck this up.  He grunted, slowing his hips just enough to keep himself right on the edge of an orgasm to ask, “Where d’you want me, pretty girl?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“Inside!” (Y/N) practically begged, finding the strength to pull her head back and meet his eyes.  Hers were wide, pleading with him to cum inside of her as she nodded her head. “Please, Rhett, please, I want it all.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎That was all it took to hurl him over the edge.  Rhett’s hips stuttered before they stilled, the coil in his stomach snapping as he came inside her, painting her warm walls with his seed as a pathetic moan tumbled past his lips.  His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his body shook, her pussy clenching around him and milking him for everything he had.  His entire body tensed, fingers flexed so hard around her hips that he knew there’d be bruises when he let go of her.  He had never cum so hard, his orgasm taking every ounce of energy and more until the last spurt of cum.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎They were both absolutely spent, lungs burning for air as they attempted to catch their breaths.  It was eerily silent in the old, stuffy sanctuary, save for their labored breaths and the nearly undetectable sound of (Y/N)'s nails running across Rhett’s chest.  Rhett was slowly becoming aware of the sticky sheen of sweat covering their bodies and the mess pooling around the base of his softening cock as their combined cum leaked from her pussy.  (Y/N) lazily kissed at Rhett’s neck, grounding herself with the action before she pushed herself up, hands braced on his pecs as she grinned at him.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) playfully bit her lips, meeting his shining blue eyes as she said, “You’re not gettin’ this hat back, cowboy.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett breathlessly chuckled, pushing his hair back from his face as he gazed up at her. “If I get t’fuck you like that when ya wear it, I don’ want it back.  Jesus Christ.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) giggled and reached up to tilt the hat back as she leaned down, softly kissing his lips before she sat back up, smirking as he chased after her before his back collapsed against the chair again.  She slowly lifted herself off of him, letting her skirt drop to cover herself as she stood on wobbly legs, “I’m gonna go get us somethin’ t’clean up with.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎“No, no, I got it.” Rhett immediately said, pushing himself off the chair and scrambling to tuck himself back into his boxers.  He adjusted his jeans on his hips, but opted to leave them undone until he was cleaned up.  He smiled at (Y/N) and leaned down over her, tilting her chin up as he whispered, “Least I can do after the best sex of my life, sweetheart.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett placed a chaste kiss to her lips before he stood up straight and made his way to the altar at the other end of the room, knowing that they kept napkins in one of the tables back there.  He returned with a handful, kneeling before her and carefully wiping her legs clean of their cum with whispered apologies if she hissed from oversensitivity.  It was such a stark contrast from his fast and brutal pace that (Y/N) was wistfully sighing, watching him with adoring eyes as he wiped himself down and tossed the napkins into a bin near the sanctuary doors.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) stood up and slowly walked over to Rhett, her arms circling his waist as he finished buckling his belt as she grinned up at him. “Y’know, maybe I’ll wear the hat to the rodeos this weekend.  Could be your good luck charm.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett chuckled and turned around in her arms, hands gently squeezing her waist as he hummed in approval. “Ya want everyone t’see ya wearing my hat?”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) eagerly nodded, eyes glinting with mischief as she said, “Been lookin’ for a way outta my daddy’s house for years.  Maybe he’ll be mad enough t’kick me out if he sees me wearin’ the hat of ‘that damn Abbot boy.’”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett smiled and flicked the brim of the hat, letting it settle above her eyebrows so he could see her eyes better. “Good idea, angel.  Then I’d get ya all t’myself.”

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) stretched up on her toes and gently pressed her lips to his, sighing contentedly as Rhett pulled her body flush against his.  Rhett knew he had gotten himself into a tricky situation by fucking the preacher’s daughter, but with her lips against his, the opinions and judgements of the residents of Wabang couldn’t have mattered any less to him.  He had an angel that could sin like the devil in his arms.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs: hehe the full fic is finally here! i'm super excited but also a little nervous, this is my first time posting smut online, so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! the end is a little rushed, but i was just super excited to get this out for you guys, so here we are lol i have an idea in mind for a part two if anyone would be interested? let me know, love you all so so much!

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @callsign-joyride, @downinroma,

If you'd like to be added to any of my taglists, click here!

[barrackspredator]

★Bowers Gang Masterlist★

Run For Your Life (IT AU)

Shitty BF Ranking

Riding in Cars with Boys

How They Flirt

Headcannons

Chubby S/O

platonic bowers gang pt. 1

platonic bowers gang pt. 2

Henry

Apocalypse

Butch Finds Out

Gf on her period

Patrick

The Pastor’s Daughter

Belch

x flirtatious reader

Victor

Dating him headcannons

[caratheewriter]

"I was over love, thought I had enough, then I found you" - Tyrone Johnson (Cloak) x Reader

Synopsis: You are a descendant of New Orleans' voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. She also happens to be the grand-daughter of the owner of the church that Tandy lives in. One day she goes to visit her but finds a stranger in her place.

Rating: PG-13

Warning(s): light swearing

Word Count: 349

You walk into the church, immediately covering your eyes. "Tandy, I don't know if you are decent right now, but I brought some food!"

After a few seconds of silence, you put your hand down. That is not Tandy. There's a boy. Tall, dark, and handsome... and shirtless.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Who the hell am I?! Who the hell are you and why are you in my church?!"

The boy quickly puts his shirt on, "Your church? You don't look like a pastor."

You roll your eyes. The audacity of this boy. "I'm not a pastor. I'm too hot for that, and I'm not that religious. I do own this church though. Where's Tandy, kid?"

"First, don't call me kid. You look younger than me. Second, Tandy's staying with her mom now. And, my name's Tyrone. Tyrone Johnson."

Not gonna lie, you weren't paying attention he was saying. Your mind still stuck on his shirtless frame. You usually make it habit to not gawk at attractive people, but you can't help it. The guy's cute af!

"Well Tyrone Johnson, I won't tell anyone you're here seeing as how I literally just met you. Please do clean up a little, I have a thing about cleanliness. Also, my name's Y/n Laveau, nice to meet you."

"Laveau? Like Marie Laveau?"

"Yep, she's my great-great-great-great something. I don't know."

"That's actually pretty cool." Tyrone seemed genuinely interested which surprised you because the name usually brought stares, free food, and sometimes discounts.

"I guess. So, I'll just stay here in case Tandy comes over." Totally not because you want more time with tall, dark, and handsome. Not at all.

"Sure. I mean, this is your church; I can't tell you what to do in it."

You made yourself comfortable as you could on the cold stone ground. Reminding yourself of the times, you would come just to admire the stained glass. You look over at Tyrone.

"Come here. Lay with me."

Tyrone walks over and lays next to you. Putting a good amount of space between you.

"Let's wait together."

Fin.

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56, i know, i know but this is self indulgent because my birthday is next month idk just let me have this one) canon language, canon violence, several mentions of religion, terms pastor and preacher are used interchangeably here and there, mentions of the bible and religious symbols (cross), innocent/virgin reader, very brief scene of attempted sexual assault, no explicit smut (yet). asshole Joel, protective Joel, hints of softish dom Joel (if you squint). reader has two sisters, the only physical description for them is their hair, which they can also braid as well as their style of clothing.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before. 

He’s an older man in his late sixties or possibly his early seventies with thinning, snow white hair and silver, wire rimmed glasses that always seemed to be perched on the tip of his pointed nose. He was a good, kind man from what Joel could gather—offering up warm smiles and friendly waves to anyone who happened to cross his path, stopping to greet and say hello to familiar faces. The hem of his starched white shirt is tucked into pressed black slacks and even from where he stood across the road near the horse stables, Joel noticed the book clutched in his right hand, old and bound in supple, worn black leather with the words Holy Bible etched into the cover in flaked gold lettering.

Jacob, he thinks his name is. Or was it Josiah?

Something biblical—a name fit for a man who was so fucking clearly devoted to the big man upstairs.

Joel knew his own name was a biblical one, but he was the furthest thing from a man of God. After all that he’d done in the past twenty years, there was only one place he was going and that place wasn’t exactly known for its pearly gates or sweet cherub angels playing harps.

Joseph? Was that it? 

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name. 

It’d been a couple months since Joel arrived back in Jackson with Ellie after Salt Lake City and the truth of the matter was that he preferred to keep to himself whenever it was possible. Joel had zero interest in getting to know the people of this settlement, not unless he had to for the sake of patrol duties—and that’s only if he hadn’t been able to weasel his way out of getting assigned with a partner who wasn’t Tommy or Maria, the only two people in the whole fucking community Joel could stand being around. Minus his kid of course, but even he and Ellie could really only take each other in small doses lately. Perhaps it was their tense, strained relationship that was to blame for the fact that Joel Miller walked around this place with a standoffish attitude and a permanent scowl plastered on his face. 

Most people were smart enough to scamper off in the opposite direction when they saw him coming. He was never offended by it. It’s what he wanted. He wasn’t here to make friends.

In fact, the closest thing he had come to a friend outside of his brother’s wife was Esther, the woman Maria and Tommy had tried setting him up with when he first got back to Jackson. He wouldn’t go as far as calling her a friend, either. That’s a little too generous. Friend? No, more like a good fuck when he couldn’t drown his bitterness with Seth’s barrel aged bourbon and he was in need of a different kind of distraction.

But there was a reason this particular man piqued his curiosity. Actually, there were three reasons he managed to garner Joel’s attention and all three of those reasons were trailing behind him in an orderly, single file line, each one more fucking gorgeous than the last. He was positive he’d never seen them around before—because how could he possibly forget the faces of the most beautiful women in this town?

They’ve gotta be sisters, Joel thought to himself, his hand resting on the neck of the horse that he’d ridden out to patrol that morning, a dark, chestnut mare named Willow. Although he was supposed to be walking her inside the stables and back into her stall, he found himself far too distracted. While the three women weren’t identical to one another, the similarity in their traits such as hair color and their skin tone confirmed his suspicions that they were related. They all styled their hair in neat halo braids and wore slightly different color variations of the same getup—pressed, long sleeved blouses tucked into knee length floral printed skirts and worn, leather oxford shoes.

Clutching the brown leather strap of his rifle in his opposite hand, Joel leaned himself against Willow and squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight in an effort to get a better look at them. 

The first two were slightly on the older side. If Joel had to take a shot at their age, he would guess the women were in their thirties—a man of fifty six, he still had about two decades on them, easy. Joel let his gaze shift, his dark brown eyes flickering to the last one. His breath audibly hitched in his throat and part of him wondered just how fucking dumb he had to be to be drawn to the youngest one of the three. It couldn’t be fucking possible—you couldn’t be that much older than your mid twenties, if that. 

Joel’s grip on the strap of his rifle tightened. 

All three of you were beautiful beyond words—why the fuck did it have to be you who held over his interest?

“Take a picture,” Maria remarked with a tiny laugh. She dismounted her horse and peered at Joel over the black stallion’s back. “It’ll last longer.”

She’d led that morning’s patrol, her first time back on duty since she had given birth to her son in the spring. Joel had returned to Jackson right on time to meet his one month old nephew, Noah. 

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Just tryin’ to figure out what their deal is, that’s all.” He paused, then remarked, “Didn’t know polygamy was a thing around here.”

His comment must have struck a nerve in his dear sister in law—fiercely protective of the people who were under her leadership, Maria hadn’t found the sister wives implication the slightest bit amusing. 

“Watch it, Joel,” she admonished, shooting him a warning glare. “He’s the town’s pastor and those girls happen to be his daughters. So let’s keep our wise ass cracks to ourselves, shall we?”

His daughters? He almost couldn’t believe it. Surely the girls must have taken after their mother because they sure as hell didn’t get their good looks from their old man. They hardly looked anything like him.

“Pastor,” Joel repeated with a small hum. He then remembered her pointing out an old church house back during the winter when she’d given him and Ellie the grand tour of the community. “So he ain’t got a real job like the rest of us?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “His job is a real job, Joel. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still a lot of people of faith around here,” she explained to him. “He provides them with comfort and with hope—”

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him. 

“Hope for what, Maria? That things will go back to fuckin’ normal? That the end of the world is temporary?”

Maria crossed her arms over her chest, jutting her chin. “Some people never lose hope, Joel. There’s a lot of people who need this man and he serves a much bigger purpose than what you’re giving him credit for.”

“And what about the girls? They have it easy too? Do they just stand there lookin’ pretty on Sundays while their old man reads verses out loud from the most useless fuckin’ book known to man?”

“If you must know, they work in the schoolhouse,” she answered, tossing him another glare. “They’re teachers. The oldest one, she teaches Ellie’s class. The middle one, she teaches the primary school aged children and the youngest? She takes care of all of our little ones. She prepares our preschool kids for her sister’s class by teaching them numbers and basic literacy. Shows them how to start counting, reading and writing, things like that. She also helps run the commune’s daycare.”

“At least they have real jobs,” Joel mumbled under his breath. 

“What was that?”

He feigned innocence. “Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Maria pointed her finger at him. “Come on, let’s get these guys back into their stalls. It was a long ride this morning, I’m sure they could use some rest.” Taking her stallion by the reins, she started leading him over toward Logan, one of the stable hands who helped take in the horses coming back from patrol. 

Joel took Willow’s reins in his hands—but before he could even think of moving another muscle, he glanced up and saw the preacher leading his three daughters past the stables and right past Joel. His self control faltered. All that he could do was stare at you, his eyes fixed on you so blatantly that one of your sisters had taken notice. Grinning, she turned back towards you and lifted a hand to her mouth. She used her palm to shield her lips from Joel’s view and whispered something to you over her shoulder.

Shit. 

He’d been caught gawking.

He thought about making a beeline for the stables but it was too late. 

Perplexed by whatever it was that your older sister had just said to you, you gave her an odd look, but then followed the subtle nod of her head. 

Glimpsing over in his direction, your lips parted in complete surprise and you came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the dirt road when you found your gaze meeting that of the much older, rugged man standing there with a gun slung over his shoulder.

Unsure of what else to do, Joel simply offered you a polite nod of his head. The gesture was innocent enough but it startled you. He could tell by the way you let out a small gasp and turned away from him, your eyes falling to the ground as you scurried to catch up to your father and sisters like a spooked little mouse. 

Joel couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

“Is the preacher aware that his precious little daughters pay frequent visits to The Tipsy Bison at such late and ungodly hours?” Joel quipped. He gestured to a booth nestled over in a corner of the dimly lit bar with a subtle jerk of his chin. “S’gotta be the third or fourth time I’ve seen them here in the last couple of weeks.”

Tommy’s eyes followed his brother’s gesture. “Oh man, not again,” he said with an exasperated sigh. He shook his head. “Those girls, they ain’t got no fuckin’ business hangin’ around this place and much less at this fuckin’ hour. But the middle one, she’s a whole lot of trouble.” He paused, just long enough to nod at one of the three sisters, the one who was wearing her hair loose around her shoulders, twirling a lock of it around her finger as she made flirtatious fuck me eyes at the group of drunk patrolmen sitting a few tables away. “She’s somethin’ of a rebel, that one. Likes to drink a lot, get herself involved with things that she ain’t really supposed to be messin’ with. She’s the one who convinces the other two into sneakin’ out and comin’ to the bar when their old man goes to sleep.”

Joel chuckled in disbelief. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. And then there’s the older one. I know she likes to drink too, but she’s a lot calmer than the other one. Ain’t gotta worry about her all too much, y’know? She tries to be the chaperone—it don’t always work out that way, though. Her halo ain’t exactly perfect either.”

“What ‘bout the youngest one?” Joel asked in the most nonchalant tone he could possibly muster. “Where does she fall on the scale between angel and devil?”

You’re carefully perched on the edge of the booth, your pretty features twisting in disgust with every sip of the rich, amber colored liquid in your glass. Unable to stomach the burning alcohol, you set it off to the side, abandoning it in favor of a glass of water instead.

“Her?” Tommy grinned, leaning back into his chair as stated, “Oh, she’s an absolute angel. She’s just ‘bout the sweetest fuckin’ thing you’ll ever see in your whole damn life, big brother. She’s gotta be the kinda girl who all the little birds and woodland critters sing to when there ain’t no one around,” he laughed. “She’s real good. Too good. Wouldn’t surprise me if the lord sent her down from heaven himself.”

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?” 

“I don’t think she even knows what it’s like to hold another man’s hand,” his younger brother laughed again and reached for his beer, taking a generous swig. 

Joel hummed softly and lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips. The mere thought of you being so pure and so innocent—untouched by anyone else—caused something to stir deep in his lower belly. 

“She’s the old man’s pride and joy,” Tommy continued, breaking into his train of thought. “Kind. Polite. Behaves. Doesn’t get herself into any kinda trouble—I mean look at her, she can’t even choke down a glass of whiskey. She’s just too good of a girl.”

Joel proceeded cautiously with his next question. “Any of them taken?” 

Surprised, Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Joel, don’t fuckin’ tell me—”

“No, I ain’t interested,” he interjected, rolling his eyes. “Just a curious motherfucker, that’s all.”

He didn’t seem too convinced by Joel’s answer. “They’re all single from what I know. To be honest, there ain’t a whole lot of men around here their old man would approve of,” he remarked. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice man and all, but when it comes to his daughters, he’s real strict. Not that controllin’ has done him much good, though.” He lowered his voice as a fellow patrolman walked past their table. “The middle one’s fucked her way through this entire town and then back again. She even made a pass at me while Maria was pregnant with Noah, if you can fuckin’ believe that.”

Amused, Joel snorted into his drink. Ballsy. “How goddamn drunk was she?”

Tommy ran a hand through his jet black curls. “Wasted. Oldest one ain’t exactly the Virgin Mary, either.”

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

“Nope. Ain’t nobody gonna snitch on grown women in their thirties.” Noticing the amused expression on Joel’s face, he adds, “By the way, just in case you haven’t figured it out, this stays between us, Joel.”

He smirked. “Which part?”

“All of it. And take it from me, those girls? S’best you keep your distance from them,” he warned as he stood up from the table. He picked up the blue denim jacket draped over his chair, shrugging into it. “Don’t go gettin’ any dumbass ideas, alright?”

“Look, if the wild one makes a pass at me, I ain’t gonna turn her down. S’not like I’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

“Joel, I fuckin’ swear. If you even think ‘bout it—”

He held up his hands to stop him. “Relax. Was just a joke.”

“Right. M’sure it was.” Tommy snorted. “Listen, I gotta get back home. Don’t wanna leave Maria on her own with the baby for too long.”

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

“She’s been so tired. Jugglin’ motherhood, runnin’ this place, and bein’ back on patrol duty. I keep on tryin’ to tell her to slow it down, but she just won’t listen to me.” He let out a small sigh and waved a dismissive hand. “But anyway. If you’re all good to head out, I can walk you back to your place since it’s on the way to mine?”

Joel looked down at his glass, still half full. “I think I’m gonna hang back for a while longer. I’m on the roster for evenin’ patrol tomorrow, s’not like I’ve gotta be up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Suit yourself.” Clapping him on the back, Tommy bid him goodnight and started towards the door. 

As soon as he was gone, Joel looked over towards your booth. He watched as you whispered into the ear of your eldest sister who nodded her head in understanding. You stood up and said something else to her, then spun around on your heel, long skirt flowing along with the movement. Head down, you hastily made your way across the bar, being careful so as not to bump into anyone along the way.

You were leaving. Alone. 

In the middle of the fucking night? While drunk morons poured in and out of the bar?

She’ll be just fine, he tried to convince himself. 

Joel frowned to himself, gripping his drink tightly in his hand as he scanned the room.

Sitting at a nearby table was Kent, some idiot he’d been stuck with a time or two for patrol. He clocks the smirk that crossed the younger man’s face, his eyes following you all the way to the door. Leaning forward over the table, he whispered something to his buddies, his smirk widening. His comrades, all who looked and behaved more like teenagers rather than grown men, lifted their beers to him, nodding in encouragement. Drunk off his ass, Kent drained the rest of his own beer, slamming the glass bottle down onto the table before clumsily stumbling to his feet. 

Joel momentarily froze as soon as he realized what was happening. 

Kent was going after you. 

Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line.

Setting his drink down, he stood up from his table and slipped on his jacket before following suit.

Joel stepped out of the bar and into the night, the chilly evening air nipping at his face. He took a look around. 

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent. 

That couldn’t fucking be good. 

“Where the fuck did you two go,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

That’s when he heard it. 

The sound of muffled screaming coming from the side of the building. Joel didn’t hesitate. Following your smothered cries for help, he whipped around into the dimly lit alley nestled in between the bar and the commune’s mess hall. You’re pinned underneath Kent with your skirt bunched up around your waist. One of his hands was covering your mouth while his other hand clawed its way up your bare thigh. 

“Aw, c’mon now, sugar,” Kent slurred his words together. “It’d be a fucking shame to let someone as cute as you stay a fucking virgin. Don’t be coy—I know you’re just like your stupid slut of a sister. She’s got no trouble spreading her fucking legs for me, y’know.”

Red.

It was the color that flashed in Joel’s mind. It was all he could see as he went up behind Kent, letting his hands reach for fistfuls of his leather jacket. He lifted him off of you with ease, slamming him hard against the brick wall of the mess hall. Pulling him forward, Joel slammed his body into the wall once more, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. 

“Miller, what the fuck are you doing!” Kent gasped out, frantically pawing at the older man’s hands in an effort to break free. “Get the fuck off me!”

“Takin’ advantage of an innocent girl?” Joel hissed at him, tightening his grasp on the collar of Kent’s jacket. “Think that makes you a fuckin’ man?”

Though he was still intoxicated, the sheer terror of being caught in Joel Miller’s hands sobered him just enough that he started sputtering an explanation. “I wasn’t fucking taking advantage of her! Her and her whore sisters were making eyes at me and the guys all fucking night! She fucking wanted it! She asked me for it, couldn’t even wait long enough to get back to my place—”

The lie came straight through his chattering teeth. The same teeth he would be picking up off the ground in the next minute or two. 

Joel knew he didn’t need to ask. Still, he turned to you, his rage only intensifying when he took in the sight of you lying there on the ground, the hem of your light blue floral skirt hiked around your waist. 

“That true?” He questioned you. “You wanted it?”

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

“Answer me, darlin’,” he prompted. “You wanted this?”

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear. 

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard. 

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face. 

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley. 

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more. 

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you. 

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet. 

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it. 

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest. 

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you. 

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face. 

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours. 

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards. 

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.” 

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you. 

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?” 

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.” 

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin. 

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side. 

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted. 

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship. 

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring. 

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls. 

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk. 

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered. 

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar. 

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else. 

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it. 

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world. 

A fucking slab of carved wood. 

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder. 

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt. 

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers. 

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church. 

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger. 

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly. 

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words. 

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him. 

He was right, after all. 

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?” 

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.” 

It had been a statement, not a question. 

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone. 

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse. 

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee. 

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest.  “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables? 

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone. 

Want, sure. 

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther. 

But Joel didn’t just want you. 

He fucking needed you. 

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain. 

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?” 

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you. 

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek. 

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body. 

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.” 

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours. 

You heard him chuckle softly. 

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle. 

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss. 

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking? 

And what about you? 

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it. 

None. 

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench. 

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss. 

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours. 

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you? 

He couldn’t. Simple as that. 

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself? 

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit. 

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further. 

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance. 

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat. 

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt. 

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline. 

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise. 

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt. 

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else. 

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud. 

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.” 

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle. 

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest. 

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t. 

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson. 

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God. 

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?” 

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

[fairyysoup]

thoughts on an Eddie with a pastors daughter? 👀

ahaha. this started as a headcanon post and then the smut popped off and then my hand slipped and now it's too long to even be a drabble so. boney apple teeth

the pearl rosary

pairing(s): eddie munson x pastors daughter!reader

summary: Eddie's not religious, but he'll listen to you praying all day.

words: 3.7k

warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, unprotected sex, car sex, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fluids play, choking, pull-out, dom!eddie, perv!eddie, mild stalking, sacrilege, religious themes, praying during sex, rosary used as a leash, hozier references ofc

Eddie doesn't go to church, okay? The only thing even slightly religious about him is the cross on his finger, and that's just for looks. He doesn't know a lot about religion besides what he read about Jonestown (that was a whole fixation he had one summer that still persists, don't ask him about Jim Jones unless you want a full in-depth, documentary narration-style explanation of the entire thing.)

Does he believe in a god? Debatable.

He does attend church one time, though, and it's at the behest of Uncle Wayne, who was invited by a coworker's wife. He owes it to Wayne for bailing him out the last time Hop arrested him for possession anyways.

The church is tucked away in some trees and has really intricate stained glass windows, so the only light that comes in is a pretty sort of violet, that washes everything in an ethereal glow. The pews are tiny and the air is heavy with incense, and it feels a little like the new age spiritual shop he wandered into one time in Indianapolis to look at the hand crafted bongs. (Alas, he still wants one.)

He's distracted by the murals all over the walls, though. Nobody ever told him religious art was so horrific. There’s a guy being stabbed to death, angels fleeing from the scene as his murderer drives a knife through his chest. Under the painting, there’s a plaque that reads The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew.

But then you shuffle past, and he's completely distracted by something else entirely.

He's always been a sucker for the sweet-and-innocent type, and you fit the bill completely. Mary-Janes and a bow on the front of your blouse and everything. You're holding something that looks like a necklace in your hands with a crucifix on it. It's this really pretty pearlescent color that shines milky white the purple light from the stained glass windows, cascading over your knuckles and reminding him, perversely, of when he comes all over his hand while jerking off, and jesus h-

He's in a church.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something to get your attention, but then he clears his throat and sounds a little like he's gonna choke up a hairball, and you turn to look at him with this absolutely horrified look on your face. There's a moment where you stare at each other- him, fist against his mouth, trying to come up with something to say and dying inside a bit, and you just trying to figure out what this guy, who looks like a Guns N' Roses reject, is doing in your dad's church.

Eddie finally collects himself enough to say, "I, uh. I like your necklace."

You look down at the rosary in your hands, and you giggle. "Thanks, but, uh... they're prayer beads. It's... really bad form to wear them as a necklace, actually."

Eddie feels stupid. "Oh, right."

Bless him, you can tell that he's trying. He also looks immeasurably uncomfortable to be there, and like he wasn't sure how to even dress- Wayne wouldn't let him wear the battle vest or the leather jacket or a band shirt, so he's sporting no outerwear and a plain black shirt and black jeans.

The rings are still on, though. You motion to them. "I like your cross."

He smiles at you prettily. "I like yours. What prayers do you say with the beads?"

You manage to explain most of how to pray the rosary to Eddie by the time your father steps up to the podium to start his sermon, and the entire time Eddie’s staring at you like you’re something precious. And that's pretty much how it begins.

Now, Eddie's not going to keep coming to church just to talk to you. He's a little selfish in that he's not gonna bore the shit out of himself for a couple words from you every Sunday. He's not religious, and he won't pretend to be for your sake.

It's okay. You like it that he's not religious.

He sees you in town. Goes out of his way to bump into you when you're running errands, more like- in the grocery store, walking out of the hair salon, going to the library. He tries to be as helpful as he can, opening doors and carrying your books and bags and such.

(He cornered Mrs. Walker, who invited him and Wayne to church in the first place, and asked her very pointed questions about you. She sang like a canary. He finds out your dad is the pastor of the church, and that makes it even worse. It makes him want you worse.)

You always look so cute and proper, your hair done up all nice and your outfits neat and tidy. He can't help it. He wants to ruin you.

He doesn't recognize you from school, so he takes the opportunity to ask you one day when he crosses paths with you. "I go- went- to Our Lady Of Peace in Indianapolis. Graduated last year, though."

Be still his beating heart. An all-girls private school.

To his pleasure, he discovers that you're something of a flirt, in your own way. You're quick to give him a gentle ribbing or start preaching at him, "did you read your bible quotes today, Munson? Say your Hail Marys?" although there's no real weight to your words. Sometimes he wonders if you’re really as religious as all that, or if it’s just for appearances to make your father happy.

You could just be a bit of a brat, but he'll figure it out eventually.

What makes him finally lose all composure, though, is the day he sees you coming out of Circle K while he's smoking outside of it. Y'know, like you do during the summer in Hawkins, Indiana.

He's not.. he's not spying on you, no siree. Just because you happen to exit the gas station with a slushie in one hand and a bunch of grocery bags in the other, while he's flat on his ass on the curb beside the ice freezer, does not mean he's spying on you. 

You're wearing this sweet white number with purple flowers on it, a scooping neckline and a skirt that hits just below your fingertips. Very fetching, but still modest for the summer of '86. Until a breeze blows.

Your hands are too full to catch your skirt in time, and a little squeak leaves you when your skirt blows up a bit, Marilyn Monroe-style. Eddie glances up as he takes a puff of his cigarette, and gets a full view of your bare ass, no panties in sight. And he nearly sucks his entire cigarette into the back of his throat.

What. On God's green Earth.

His voice is already shaking by the time he manages to quit coughing long enough to say your name, and you whirl around, looking like you've just been caught at the devil's sacrament or something.

"Eddie. Did you-? What are you doing down there?"

"Taking in the view." He points across the street. There's a cow grazing in a field. Good ol’ Hawkins scenery. "Need help with those bags?"

And that's how he gets you into his car.

Now, Wayne has done very well to raise Eddie as a gentleman. That's not to say Eddie isn't still a pervert, because of course he is, but he doesn't proposition you immediately.

He waits for the tension to get unbearable. And then he propositions you.

Your skirt rides up your thighs, drawing his eyes toward you more than the road. He wants his head to be between them more than anything, knowing fully well that you have nothing on beneath that little scrap of fabric. You keep staring at his fingers on the steering wheel, the way his clunky rings tap on the metal, the way the tendons in his wrist flex when he tightens his grip.

You catch each other looking at the same time. His smirk turns absolutely devilish.

"You really want to go home, sweetheart?"

You tell him to pull into the church parking lot. Mostly because you know the church is empty right now and there's some tree cover around it, but also because it's just so damn filthy. All the things you want to do to him, all the pent up sexual frustration, and you have this beautiful boy in the car beside you, all to yourself. You can hardly contain yourself.

Eddie barely gets the car in park before you're sliding across the seat and swinging your leg over his lap. He can feel the damp heat of your wet cunt pressed against the fabric of his jeans, and he nearly creams himself right there. Your lips are on his and he can taste the cherry flavor of your slushie on your tongue, the coolness of it from the ice almost refreshing in the summer heat.

He's wanted this for weeks. He didn't figure you'd be the one to kiss him first.

"Not such a good little Christian girl, are you?" His voice is hard, but his hands are soft when they slide under your skirt and cup your bare ass. "What would daddy think?"

You whimper. You really don't want to be thinking about your dad right now, because it just reminds you how wrong all of this is. How you ran into the ladies' room to take off your panties and shove them into your purse as soon as you saw Eddie outside the Circle K. How guilty you're probably going to feel after all of this raw heat and tension is over-

But then Eddie rocks you against him, and the feeling of his stiff cock grinding up against your bare cunt through his jeans has all thought of regret and guilt flying out of your head

"See what you do to me, dirty girl? Going around with no panties on under this skirt. What if someone saw you, huh?"

Someone did see you. That's why you're here.

He lets you kiss him, grind against him, as much as you want. And you'll admit, you're starved for it. Not a lot of hard-ons to rub up against in an all-girls school, and ever since you graduated you feel like you've been under lock and key. You just need so badly to let go, even for just an afternoon.

When Eddie finally pulls his cock out of his pants, you’re practically panting into his mouth. Your hands twisting the front of his shirt in your fists, you can barely stop rocking against him long enough for him to drag his length through your dripping folds.

“Christ, how are you so wet?” Eddie hisses, his hips bucking as he tries to position you properly.

“Language,” you have the presence of mind to whimper, a weak reminder of where you are. Though, the sound of him swearing only gets you more turned on. 

He scoffs. “You expect me to believe you care about that? Look at what you’re doing, sweetheart.” 

His cock stretches you so wide. It’s not your first time- which was painful, and awkward, and the exact opposite of sexy in any sense- but heaven help it if it isn’t the best you’ve ever felt. Your eyes fall to where you’re joined, skin flush against skin, your cunt wrapped around him and welcoming him even further. 

You want to move. You have to move. It’s the only thing that’s right.

“Eddie,” you whisper, your voice sounding too strained and weak in your throat. Your hands shake, tugging at his shirt. Your face burns. You want him naked. You want to feel his skin against yours. 

“It’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good for me,” he coos softly, gazing up at you with wide, dark eyes as he pulls you closer to his chest. His hand strokes across your face, a soothing touch to calm your overwhelmed system. “Have you said your prayers today?”

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a rush of breath when he rocks you forward against him, his cock brushing up against something impossibly soft and sensitive inside you. 

“You better say them, sweetheart,” Eddie encourages gently, his hand leaving your face to reach for your purse, on the seat beside him. His fingers latch around pearlescent beads, dragging them slowly out of the bag. “Just to be on the safe side, hm?”

A pair of pink panties comes tumbling out of the bag, snagged on the crucifix at the end of your pretty rosary. Eddie smirks, snatching them up before you notice what he’s found.

You’re too focused on the feeling, starting to rock on his lap so that his pubes grind up against your clit, searching for some sort of stimulation because he won’t move. Truthfully, it’s not because he’s lazy, it’s because Eddie wants to watch you use him. He’s getting off on the thought that you’ve been dying for it just as much as he has. He likes seeing you so desperately needy, taking your pleasure from him and working yourself on him, when you’ve been trying to appear like an innocent little good girl all this time. 

You don’t feel the string of beads until they’re digging into your skin, the loop thrown over your head and wound around your neck. Eddie’s clutching them, pulling you down against his lips by the chain of pearls. 

“Eddie,” you whimper, your hands clawing up to cup his jaw. “Not a necklace. Bad form.”

“Bad form?” he parrots at you, rolling his hips up to meet yours. You both moan in tandem, and his hand slides up the chain of pearls to tighten it around your throat like a choker. “Bad form to be riding my cock in a church parking lot, angel.”

You think you could die right here, but you don’t know which way you’d be going after the fact. 

“Go on, baby,” Eddie says lovingly, lifting the crucifix to your lips as if he isn’t tightening the chain around your neck with his other hand. “Show me how you pray. I think I’ve got a lot to learn.”

Your breath doesn’t want to come into your lungs, stuttering across your lips when he hitches you up by the hips and tugs you back down onto him. You grasp the crucifix with a shaky hand, closing your eyes as if it’ll make what you’re doing any less sinful. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven-” a whine punches from your chest when he thrusts his hips up into yours. “Hallowed… hallowed be thy n-name..? Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On Earth, as it is in Heaven.”

“My god,” Eddie whispers, and you have the mind to smack him. He listens to you recite the prayer to the end, fingers stroking the crucifix at the end of the chain like you’ve fallen into the routine of it. It comes as second nature once you begin, not even really focusing on the words as they come. 

You move your finger to the first bead on the chain. “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee- shit! ”

Eddie laughs at your slip-up, but the only reason that you do is because he’s turning you, your legs thrown across the dashboard and over the back of the front seat of the van as he settles on top of you. Your purse digs uncomfortably into your lower back, creating a bend in your spine where you otherwise would be laying flat. 

He sinks his cock back into your wet cunt, gliding with ease and reaching the very end of you. The moan that you make is guttural, an animalistic noise unleashing from the back of your throat. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he prompts softly, but his voice is shaky and his eyes are dark and wide. His finger comes up to twist the chain of pearly beads around his knuckle, bringing it to his lips as he gazes into your eyes. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

“The L-lord is with thee…?” You reach up, your fingers skimming Eddie’s lips where it touches the beads. You fumble over your words, but manage to finish the prayer. You manage to finish it three times over, actually, while he pumps his cock inside you with thrusts that rock the car. If anyone were to even take a glance at the van, it would be obvious to them what’s taking place inside, and the thought makes your toes curl. 

“Oh, Eddie, I can’t take it.” Your voice is breathy, whiny, the words burning in your throat. You’re so close to coming, it’s right there, and he just won’t stop. 

“You can take it, baby, I know you can,” he insists, his hand coming up to grab the windowsill above your head. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, his hips grinding up against yours so perfectly that you make a small squeak in the back of your throat, and all your muscles lock down around him. 

Eddie curses against the touch of your finger and the pearl on his lips, and he pulls his hips back just at the last split second. Hot cum spills across your cunt and onto your thighs, your hips bucking up to try to find his again. 

You drop your head back, eyes screwed shut to stave off the frustrated tears that want to bubble out. God, you were so close. So close. He couldn’t have lasted one more second?

Eddie huffs a breath, glancing down at your face. He knows with just a look where you’re at, what you’re too shy to voice. You didn’t come. And Eddie Munson is, first and foremost, a gentleman. 

Perverted, yes. But a gentleman. 

“Eddie, wh-?” You nearly jump as he sinks his body down between your legs, cramming himself back against the driver’s side door. 

“Made a mess of you, sweetheart,” he says simply. “And you look so pretty like this, but m’gonna clean you up.”

His tongue licks deeply, like he’s searching through you for every drop of arousal and cum he can find. He avoids your clit, though, and you can tell it’s a conscious decision, because he refuses to go where your hands tug him. 

Eddie feels you getting desperate, hips lurching against his face and your hands pulling relentlessly at his long hair. He gazes up at you from between your thighs, half obscured by the skirt of your dress that’s bunched up around your middle in a giant white and purple cloud. 

“Being so good for me, angel. You got one more to do, see?” He reaches up, pinching the last isolated bead on your rosary before the medallion. “You can say one more for me, can’t you?”

You suck in a short breath, your fingers falling to caress the pearl in his. “Glory be… to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.”

Eddie lowers his head. He licks a long line up your thigh, cleaning off a thick smear of his cum as he goes, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake. Your breath stutters in your chest, because he meets your gaze as he does, and his eyes are black as sin.

“As it was in the beginning, it is now, and ever shall be,” your words come out rushed and hollow. His breath hits your swollen cunt, pulsing and needy for him. “World without end.”

His lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks hard. All the air in your lungs rushes out at once, your hands latching onto the back of the seat and the A/C vent beside your head, trying to hold yourself in place when you come. 

It’s devastating. Your head arches backwards, and without thinking, you cry out, “OH FUCK!”

“Amen to that,” Eddie chuckles, sending waves of vibration through your shuddering limbs. His tongue caresses every inch of you, until there’s not a drop of cum (his or yours) for him to clean up. He takes his time with it, far longer than it takes for you to finish orgasming against his face, until you’re beyond overstimulated and every pass of his tongue over you makes you fidget. 

He touches your clit with his tongue one last time, and you jerk away from him so suddenly that he laughs, and pats your thigh soothingly. “I think we’re done.”

You hum, running your fingers through soft strands of his hair. The air in the car smells like sex and sweat, the windows long fogged up. You lay like that in comfortable silence; your legs wrapped around the middle of his torso, and his head fit comfortably in the dip between your breasts. 

(His legs have fallen asleep where they’re jammed awkwardly down into the hollow beneath the steering wheel, but he won’t mention it to you. He doesn’t want to get up yet.)

He listens to your heartbeat for a very long time, so long that something occurs to him that… definitely should have occurred to him before he fucked you. He thinks he knows the answer, but he can never be too sure. “Was that your first time?”

You blink your eyes open, your fingers pausing in their route through his hair. You’re trying to gauge his tone of voice. He sounds nothing but… hesitant. Hesitant to ask the question, and hesitant to know the answer. 

“No,” you tell him honestly, and he visibly relaxes. He can’t help it. His eyes fall shut, a long breath escaping through his nose and tickling across your chest. “Why- did you sleep with me because you thought I was a virgin?”

“No! No.” He picks his head up, and he looks so serious. “I didn’t. Honestly, it doesn’t… I don’t mind either way. But I just figured, y’know. If that had been your first time, and I’d known, I, uh- I mean, I would’ve been more gentle about it.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have used my rosary as a leash?”

He laughs at that. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have… and there would have been a bed. And rose petals. And candles.”

“Sounds nice,” you hum thoughtfully. “Could still do it.”

Eddie’s heart warms in his chest. “Better late than never, right?”

“Well, how else am I gonna test what you learned today?” You watch his eyes widen when you grab the string of pearls and pull the loop over your head, and lower it over his. “I hope you were paying attention.”

Eddie grins. He knew you would be a brat.

[lalunanymph]

⤷ bad idea

as someone who was not the best at making good decisions, it all comes back to bite you in the ass when you catch the eye of your college’s biggest bully.

pairing: bully!megumi x party girl! f reader

warnings: aged up! megumi, reader is a pastor’s daughter, blackmail, dub/con, c*ck warming, explicit s*x, light b*ndage, mild exhibitionism, slight tease & denial, megumi is one kinky as* mf, f.oral receiving, manipulation, unprotected s*x, slut-shaming, mentions of dr*gs, mentions of alcoh*l, 18+

a/n: purely self-indulgent sm*t cause I missed my bby megumi. reblogs, comments and feedback are always appreciated <3

You have never been the best at making the right choices.

Whether it was going out for drinks when you should have been studying, or partying when you had a paper to hand in, the decisions you made… did not exactly have the best intentions for yourself in mind.

But this by far was the dumbest thing you could have done. And no, it wasn’t taking drugs when you were supposed to be scrapping for extra points in your class or even blowing through your allowance on alcohol when you should have bought nutritious meals to help yourself focus better in class.

For your biggest mistake came in the form of a tall, dark-blue eyed, handsome young man with unruly inky locks named Fushiguro Megumi.

A seemingly quiet playboy who never ever got himself in trouble considering how he doled out the same fate for others

Oh, you had heard a ton about him all right.

From the trail of broken hearts he left behind to the assignments he disregarded but still managed to get into the Dean’s List for—he was not what he seemed and you were colored intrigued, if not a little intimidated. Your eye was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Megumi was aloof and unapproachable most of the time, but you found yourself wanting to know what was in those dark blue depths whenever he met your gaze.

You had seen him around campus, and with his head of spiky locks and tall frame, he was hard to miss. Nobara had offhandedly commented once that he could be found with some of the other popular kids, smoking behind the cafeteria or getting high with his roommates in his dorm. That thought alone got you mortified despite how you had similar vices as him.

Alright. You’ll admit it: you were a hypocrite. But who could blame you? Internalized judgment and guilt was the core of any young woman who was raised by a pastor. Despite pushing your early twenties, your father still did not allow you to live on campus for fear of you indulging in the very same activities you rigorously partook in.

“Can’t have my little girl be corrupted by all that smoking and drinking,” your father had once quipped over the dining table. You forced yourself to chortle. Ever since that dinner, you never brought up living on campus again.

The house you called home was nestled like a delicate pearl in a suburb only ten minutes away from college. Though you were grateful for the extra allowances you could save when you still stayed under your dad’s roof, it became increasingly hard to mask the scent of liquor on your breath or the stain of nicotine on your fingers whenever you stumbled back home.

Obviously, you were not someone who made the best decisions.

And as someone who often found herself in bad choices, this must’ve been the stupidest one you could have made—catching Megumi’s eye.

It had started when he cornered you after class, the lecture halls slowly emptying. Heart beating like a broken bird in your throat, you had thought that from the dark look in his eye, he would ask you out on a date, or even invite you for a campus party—not thrusting his notes towards you with a quiet but firm, “Help me with my work.”

“Huh?” You were close to regarding him with antipathy when he brought up his phone to your face. On the screen, clear as day, was a picture of you straddling a random, rosy-haired man’s lap in a fugue of alcoholic inebriation. His fingers were deep in you, flashing through the tiny skirt you wore that could not even be called one.

“Your dad’s a pastor, isn’t he?” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. “What would he say when he sees how his little girl fucks random frat bros at parties when she’s supposed to be studying in the library?”

And this was how you found yourself on a sunny, bright afternoon in your childhood bedroom—perched on Megumi’s lap, skirt bunched around your thighs, and his cock buried deep in you, trying your damnedest to focus on the words that were swimming in front of your glistening eyes.

If two small business owners find themselves in a disagreement over property lines, they will frequently engage in dyadic negotiation.

… Shit.

You’ve already read that line twice.

With shaky fingers, you keyed this excerpt into his essay, all the while Megumi remained still in you, occasionally swiping through his phone. You gritted your teeth and forced your frustrations not to spill forth.

“You’re one of the top students in our class f-for business law,” you murmured. “I-I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.”

“You said it yourself,” Megumi snapped his phone shut. “I’m one of the top students in our classes. Under you. I need to make Dean’s List for next semester so shut up and finish this essay for me.”

“I-Is this your idea to sabotage my grades?”

Megumi snorted softly. “That wasn’t my intention.” The calloused pads of his fingers stroked your inner thigh and you squeaked, flitting your gaze to the crack of your door which he insisted you left open. Your dad wasn't home, but in a matter of hours… or minutes… he would be.

“Y-you said need—f-for the Dean’s List,” you squirmed on his lap. “W-why?”

He was silent, and you were sure he wasn’t going to answer you, but he exhaled a lengthy, drawn out breath. The tips of his spiky locks tickled your neck when he leaned forward, lips brushing down your throat. “You ask too many damn questions.”

“You could’ve just asked me to study with you,” you fought hard to stop the wobble in your tone. “Y-you didn’t have to resort to this.”

“And miss a chance to fuck you?” He nipped your earlobe, breath hot in your ear, involuntarily causing you to clench down on him. “That’s no fun, princess.”

In the shelter of your room with its pink walls, pastel sheets and rows of your stuffed animals looking on, this scene was the furthest your twisted mind could conjure. If you could have gone back in time to tell yourself that the boy you had fantasized about—touched yourself to when you had a bit too much to drink—was seated on your plush chair, flickering his handsome but haughty gaze right to where his cock had disappeared into your clenching hole, you would have laughed in your own face.

“You’re distracted.”

As if in slow motion, he moved his burning touch from your inner thighs to the split of your pussy around the base of his cock, easily finding your slick clit. Using two fingers, he rubbed the twitchy button, making you lurch forward from the oversensitivity. Had it been close to an hour that he had bottomed out in you?

You had no idea, the concept of time slipping like sand between your fingers.

“M-Megumi,” you moaned and as quickly as he deigned to touch you, he retracted his touch and you sagged against his broad chest, panting. “I-I can’t—”

“If you don’t want me to forward proof of you being a little slut to your father then I suggest you shut the fuck up and take this seriously.”

That thought was enough to get you scrambling back for the textbook.

Dyadic negotiation involves two individuals interacting with one another in an attempt to resolve a dispute.

Kind of like you and Megumi—but you were sure that in these negotiations, the other party did not hold blackmail material over the other’s head or had their cock buried in the other’s walls.

There was silence except for your heavy breathing and the slow clacking of your fingernails over the MacBook’s keyboards. The essay was halfway done when Megumi must have gotten bored and started thrusting into you. By now, your thighs were slicked with need and your bottom lip was all but bruised from your teeth digging into the plush flesh.

Evening saturated your room with its warm tones, spilling over the handsome smirk he wore when you glanced back at him.

“Megumi,” you mewled and he buried his face in your hair to groan, hips undulating under yours.

“I notice how you’re always prancing around in those short skirts,” his breathing was turning ragged. “H-how you’re putting on a show for half of the guys in our faculty—tell me, does that turn you on, huh?”

You had no idea how to reply to his salacious accusations; your mind was foggy, filled with cotton from how good the outline of his cock felt in you.

“Always been wanting to ask you out but you’re too slutty for your own good, baby,” he gripped your thighs and bullied his cock deeper into you. “Should’ve—hah—should’ve just bent you over and fucked you in that lecture hall. Bet you wouldn’t have said no.”

You shook your head, thrashing in his grasp, your nails digging into the corners of your desk. “N-no, please. M’not a slut.”

“Really?” He gripped your neck in one large, veiny hand. “Then why the fuck are you creaming all over my cock when I treat you like this?”

Unable to answer him, you could only take his punishing pace.

But, before you could finally find your release, he pushed you off him. Woozily, you staggered onto your feet only for him to grasp both of your hands in his sweeping palm. The veins of his forearm bulged when he used his other hand to remove his belt, dragging your hands behind the small of your back and lashing your wrists together.

You gasped, but it was swallowed by his mouth smothering yours. Megumi pushed you back against the wall, and your head spun when he sank onto his knees, fixing you with those piercing slate-blue eyes that seemed to worm into your soul and leave you breathless. He removed his dark navy sweater, bearing his lean torso with a stack of defined abs, shoulders and biceps to your wondering eye.

A light flush spread across his face, down his neck and pecs. His pale skin seemed almost ethereal in the tones of the evening sunset, and all the delicate thoughts you had towards him melted when he flipped your blouse up, exposing the satin cups of your bralette.

“Shit,” he swore softly and untucked your cups, your tits spilling forward, nipples pebbling from the heat in his stare.

Megumi didn’t waste any time, skimming his nose along your pelvis, resting his mouth on the seam of your pussy. He hitched one of your legs around his shoulder to expose the bare hole that was twitching under his scrutiny. In one swift move, he tucked the hem of your skirt into its elastic band and delved right in.

The rough feeling of his tongue parting your folds was magnificent enough to get you exhaling moans like a fervent prayer. Your door seemed to crack open wider but you did not pay it any attention—for truly, how could you when Megumi’s tongue was massaging your clit, his lips mouthing the folds of your cunt to bring you towards the strongest release of your life?

Not only was his cock enough to get your will dissolving, but his tongue was an expert at messing up with your resolve to push him away. The plush flesh of your thighs trembled around his cheeks and you were crumbling faster than an ancient column for this young man on his knees.

The filthy sight was completed when Megumi fisted the base of his cock, alleviating the tension as he ate you out without a care in the world to who might hear. Your mind was spinning in circles at the lewdly wet, sucking sounds, the pleasure unfurling down your spine, your cunt all but clenching down on the stiff peak of his tongue.

As if he were worshipping your body, Megumi removed his mouth from your drenched pussy to leave fluttering stamps up your thighs before circling back to your clit. Sucking on it as if it were his favorite candy, his flushed cheeks hollowed and you inhaled in a broken moan, your hips losing all their composure to leave you grinding down on his shiny, juice-spattered lips.

“M-Megumi,” you keened. “M-M’cumming…”

Denying your release once more, he removed his addictive mouth from your cunt and stood up, rolling down his jeans until they hung around his knees. Manhandling you and pushing you against the window, he forced your tits to squish against the pristine glass—a portal that faced out towards the nice, god-fearing suburban neighborhood that he was determined to fuck you in front of.

Anyone walking past who looked up would catch sight of the spectacle that was Megumi Fushiguro drilling into you at a brisk pace, not allowing you to hide your face, palm pressed around your neck while the other one was strumming your clit at a similar speed.

After hours of teasing you, this was the last straw that broke through your resolve and you came around him with a loud cry of his name, a burst of heat behind your scrunched eyelids that mimicked the hot flooding of his cum deep in you. He held onto your still bound wrists, fucking up into you like a mad bull, desperately forcing you to take every single drop.

Squeaking out, “Condom… we forgot—” it was muffled by his harsh kiss, his tongue saturated by your juices flooding your tastebuds with the humiliating flavour of your own need.

Megumi brought you away from the window and unbounded your hands, his belt falling onto the floor with a soft clink. The both of you drifted over to your Queen-sized bed, sinking onto the soft surface in a harmony of heavy pants and stuttered breathing. You found yourself coming to your senses in his embrace, unsure of how you came to be spineless and voiceless in the arms of the biggest prick to ever grace your community college halls.

Before you could beg him to not share your photos—before you could stand up for yourself and reclaim your honor that you were not some slattern-like party girl to salvage what remained of your reputation, you heard the front door open.

“Crap—he’s home!”

You sprang from his arms and quickly made yourself decent. Megumi, for his credit, understood his boundaries and swiftly dressed himself, even helping you to readjust your skirt at the very last second.

“Y/N!” your dad called from below. “I’m home!”

“I’m in my room!” you responded and glanced at the tall boy beside you. “I have a friend here, by the way. We’re studying.”

Your father’s footsteps clomped heavily up the stairs, and before he could peek inside your room, Megumi and you pushed past him. As if he did not just blow your back (and brains) out, Megumi was the picture of charm when he greeted your father, and you had to force yourself not to groan when you felt his cum trickling down your thighs, staunching your muscles tightly to keep the traces of your debauchery away from your dad.

“Such a nice young man,” your father said, oblivious as he ushered Megumi to the front porch. Thank goodness you were fast-witted enough to close the door so he couldn’t react to the unmistakable scent of sex coming from your room.

“I hope you don’t mind me dropping in, but I’ve always admired how smart Y/N is and—well, I had to get some advice from her on business law before I failed it,” the dark-haired man said and your father chortled.

“It’s no worry, son. You take care of yourself and say hi to your folks for us, okay?”

“My dad’s stationed overseas, but I’ll make sure to send him your regards.”

“Please thank him for his service then,” your father said jovially and left you two with a grin.

“Nice old man,” Megumi remarked and you were about to chastise him when he leaned forward, burying his tongue in your mouth. Before you could protest or even move away, Megumi broke off the kiss, a smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

“But the threat still stands, Y/N,” he said and your gaze flitted to the phone in his hand, a beacon of danger you could not ignore. “So, same time next week?”

The refusal was lodged in the back of your throat, and when you closed the door on his smug expression, your cheeks heated up when you felt a little bit of his cum dripping dangerously past the hem of your skirt.

You didn’t know what was worse: that you could not say no to that invitation… or that you were looking forward to having Megumi over once more.

What a bad idea indeed.

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost

[yikimiki]

eren + virgin female s/o 😫

eren x fem!reader | warnings: smut, dark themes, religious themes, corruption kink, unprotected sex, the reader is extremely naive, virginity loss, mentions of blowjobs, manipulation, mentions of creampies, praise kink

♡ ♡ ♡

Against common belief, Eren swears he doesn’t do it on purpose. According to him, it’s by mere chance that he happens to prey after the sweet, innocent — virgin — type. If people believe that or not, it’s none of his concern. Because, at the end of the day, Eren always gets what he wants.

You’re a pretty, blooming flower when you come into his life — the pastor’s daughter, the image of purity and chastity itself. You wrap yourself in modest, long dresses; smile at everyone and speak in the sweetest of voices. Eren sees you by mere accident, lucky to drive by the church in the exact moment you step into view and, instantly, he knows that he has to ruin you.

He takes his time, patient to bring your walls down. The introductions are made through a common friend and a member of the church — Armin — who is blissfully ignorant about his friend’s random change of heart. Through the months, your casual talks start to morph into intimate conversations and, once Eren notices he has you hooked, he leans into a kiss and traps you in his spell. He thinks you taste like cherries, thinks your lips are the softest he has ever felt and, sealing your fate, he decides he wants to see you broken and crying when you finally let him fuck you.

Once again, Eren always gets what he wants.

Your pretty summer dress is pushed up to your waist, held in place by his strong hands as you move on top of him, lower lips spreading around his thick girth. Your nails are sharp against the skin of his shoulder and Eren swears he hears you hiccup when his tip brushes against your cervix. “E-Eren, t-this is wrong,” you whine. The lights from the church are bright behind you, illuminating your hair even in the backseat of his car. “I’m— I shouldn’t—“

Eren wants to tell you to shut the fuck up, but he knows it’ll just scare you off. “Shhh, I told you it’s okay, baby.” He takes one hand to your face, cupping your cheek. Your pussy is so tight around him that Eren feels like he can’t even breathe, so fucking wet and warm and ready to take his cum. “It’s not a sin if it’s with someone you love, right?”

Your bottom lip quivers and you suppress a moan by biting it. “I- I don’t think that is how it works,” you try to argue, but your body is betraying you. Even through your doubt, you haven’t stopped riding him, begging for more of that sensation even if it dooms your pretty soul to hell.

Eren frowns. “Don’t you love me?” Your breath hitches at his questions, and you rush to nod your head yes. “Then it’s okay if you want to make me feel good, baby. Isn’t that what your church teaches? To take care of one another, give without asking for anything back?”

“Y-yes,” you agree. “But I-“

“You’re doing this for me, not for you. And you love me. So it’s not a sin,” Eren doesn’t give space for thinking, and you have to admit that his silky words make a lot of sense. You just don’t know why you feel so dirty, so used. You can still feel your throat aching from the way he had used your mouth before, and you don’t think that’s what love should feel like. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He asks, bringing you back to reality. Once again, you nod. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well too, just taking my cock like you were born for it. I’m so proud of you.”

“I am?” You ask, widened eyes and puffy lips. Eren thinks you’re pretty like an angel, even more with your makeup ruined and his cum on the corner of your mouth.

He smiles. “Yeah, baby, you’re making me feel so good,” the last word is a moan dripping from his lips, head falling back against the seat as your pussy clenches around him. Eren groans at the feeling, thinking about stuffing his cum into your cunt until it physically can’t take any more of it. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he says. “Such a good girl for me.”

The praise melts you before you have a chance to think too much about it. “C-Cum inside,” you beg. You’re not worried: Eren loves you too. You can get married, and you’ll have a beautiful family together. You just want to make him feel good, make him happy. “Please, Eren. I wa—need you.”

And he does. Because Eren always gets what he wants.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 2

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter charged with overseeing community service. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds _______

“What’s up with you?” Madison asked, punctuating it with a nibble to Noah’s earlobe.

“Nothing,” said Noah.

Madison huffed and moved so she was straddling Noah’s lap. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her breasts. By now, Noah was well aware that she enhanced her size with a generous array of push-up bras, but even without them, she was chesty.

Usually, he liked when she took control, but he couldn’t seem to get his head in the game.

“Put your mouth on them,” she commanded, and he did as he was told, enveloping one of her nipples in between his lips and sucking. She let her head fall back, exposing her neck, and Noah, to his credit, went through the motions. He clutched the front of her neck, digging his nails in the way he knew she liked and she let out a moan that he could tell was played up for any eavesdroppers in the hallway.

“Smack my ass,” she whispered, and he did, letting out a groan when she replied to his actions by grinding her hips down on his. The groan was for show. He felt nothing, which she soon discovered once she unzipped his fly with her grabby hands.

“Are you not into this?” she asked with a tone of accusation. As if she somehow couldn’t fathom a man not being immediately turned on by anything she did.

Noah shrugged. “Not really.”

She scoffed and clambered off of him, searching the room for wherever she had flung the top half of her outfit in her coked-up frenzy.

“I’m gonna go find Folio.”

“Be my guest,” he said and gestured to the door, which she promptly stormed out of.

Noah sighed and leaned back on the couch. He checked his phone. It was 11 PM. The party had only been going on for a little over an hour and he was already over it.

Fetching his shirt from the floor, he threw it back on, zipped up his jeans, and made his way back out into the crowd of people now gathered around his friend Ruffilo, who was performing a keg stand.

He held out for longer than Noah anticipated, but when the guys holding him finally let him down, he lost his balance and stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen counter.

The crowd that had gathered around him applauded, and when he finally regained his balance, he threw up his fist in celebration.

Noah couldn’t help but feel affection for his friend in that moment. Ruffilo and Noah had both had a rough upbringing coming from the same small drug-ridden town. They’d grown up in the same trailer park and had banded together early on. Frankly, it was a miracle that they escaped without addictions, considering how the odds had been stacked against them.

Not that he had very much going for him at the moment. They booked a few shows here and there, but aside from that he spent most of his time running a steel lathe at the local precision manufacturing plant. When he wasn’t doing that, he was blowing off steam at Jolly’s parties.

“Did you see that?!” his friend slurred, throwing an arm around Noah’s shoulders and resting most of his body weight on him.

“I did. That must have been a record for you,” Noah replied.

“Had to be over a minute, at least.” Nick laughed through his words and Noah couldn’t help but share in his friend’s joy, trying to push away the sneaking suspicion that partying and drunken hookups were no longer enough to keep him satisfied.

“Where’s Madison?”

“Probably with Nick,” said Noah. He looked around the room, and surely enough, he had her on his lap, sharing a joint with her.

“What happened, man? I thought you locked that down.”

Noah shrugged. “Listen, I think I’m gonna head out.”

“That’s two weeks in a row you’ve bailed early. What’s up with you?”

“Just not feeling it,” Noah replied.

“You’ll make it home okay?” he asked, hazy eyes clearing for a moment in his earnestness. Noah softened and offered a reassuring smile.

“Promise. Go have fun. I have an early morning tomorrow, anyway.”

“Damn, I forgot you were doing that.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to be hungover for it, so I should head out.”

“Take it easy, man.” His friend clapped him on the shoulder affectionately before making his way back into the crowd.

Noah quickly left the party, lighting up a joint for his walk home. It was cold, but after the humid fog of smoke and sweat that had built up in the house, the fresh air was welcome.

He was listless, he realized, and probably understimulated. The factory didn’t pay well and he had no other career prospects. There was no way he could afford college and his high school GPA wasn’t enough to get him accepted to any even if he found financial aid. If things didn’t work out with his band, he was looking at a lifetime of mediocrity.

His thoughts drifted to you.

You were probably busy studying. Surely you attended the university and probably majored in something like literature or early childhood education. He wouldn’t put it past you to get all your homework done on Friday so that you could spend the weekend relaxing.

Your parents were probably still married. And you called them at least once a week to catch up. They likely made enough money that you could afford school without a scholarship, and he was willing to bet you already knew what you wanted to do with your life. You were self-assured and decisive. And though you were sheltered, you probably still had a better chance at success than he ever would.

He took another drag and flicked the half-spent joint into the nearby bushes before breaking out into a jog. He was stressed, and he needed an outlet, and the only thing available to him at the moment was to physically expend as much energy as possible or else he’d wind up punching a mailbox.

_________

“Head’s up. Nick’s in a mood today.”

“Oh,” you said, noting their time of arrival. 8:09, but you marked them both as on time. “Any idea why?”

“He’s hungover. And he struck out with the girl he was trying to get with last night so his pride is damaged.”

“Dang. What about you?” you asked. “Any luck with the ladies?”

“I don’t need luck,” he said. He held a stern expression, maintaining eye contact with you and you were caught off-guard, until he cracked a smile and you relaxed. He had you going for a second, thinking you’d somehow offended him by questioning his prowess.

“Any hangover?” you asked.

“I didn’t drink last night.”

“Oh?” you said, both impressed and surprised.

“Don’t get too excited,” he said, smile still softening his features. “I’m not turning from my sinful ways. I just don’t want community service to be more miserable than it has to be.”

“Sounds like a step in the right direction to me.”

Noah rolled his eyes and headed to the supply closet to get started on the long list of chores that needed completed. Nick had gone to the bathroom when they first arrived and hadn’t returned yet.

“Windows first?” Noah called out from the back of the room.

“Yeah!”

He walked back in holding the bottle of window cleaner and casually flung the rag over his shoulder.

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood,” you observed.

Noah began spraying the nearest window down and wiping it with the rag. You studied him as he worked, noticing just how much of his skin was covered in ink. He moved casually and with confidence, each of the muscles working in perfect harmony with each other. He carried no tension anywhere in his body.

“I like grunt work,” he admitted.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who liked grunt work.”

“Didn’t your Christ like grunt work?” he asked, amused. “I think I remember something about him wanting to be a humble servant.”

“Huh,” you said, taken aback, “come to think if it, yeah.”

“You seem surprised.”

You continued to watch him as he moved to the next window, finding interest in the movement of his shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to be so Christ-like.”

He smiled to himself. You caught the reflection of it in the window he was working on.

“I don’t do it because some historical religious figure that may or may not have existed said to,” he said. “I do it because it feels good.”

“Still,” you said. “you’d make a better Christian than a lot of our congregation.”

He laughed. “I went to church until I was 14.”

So far, this was the most personal detail he’d revealed to you. While Nick was an open book, you’d always observed Noah to be guarded. He’d speak, but not about himself, and it was always hard to get a read on him. Perhaps that was on purpose, or perhaps it was just safest for him, but having this little bit of context felt like he was offering you a gift. A small bit of insight into who he was.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“You can ask,” he said, “but I probably won’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s private.”

“Anything terrible?” you pressed. It had to have been significant for him to have so much anger still.

“I’m not giving you anything else, so you may as well stop asking.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “But I still think you should give it another chance.” You followed him as he made his way over to the next set of windows.

“And why’s that?” he asked as he began spraying. Something about the way he stayed focused on his work and didn’t look at you made it easier for you to speak your mind.

“You like humble servitude.”

He chucked, low and soft. “People can be good people without being Christian.”

“But isn’t that like, the basis of Christianity?”

“I think you’re reading too deep into it. There are a lot of people who like humble work. It’s good for the body. It’s good for the mind. That’s reason enough to like it.”

You shrugged. “So, you’re saying it feels good to follow Christ’s teaching.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That’s a stretch. Trust me. Your church doesn’t want me, and I don’t want them.”

“Windows again?” came Nick’s whiny voice from across the room. “God, can’t we do something more exciting?”

You and Noah locked eyes. “Told you,” he said under his breath.

“Like what?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, plopping down in a pew. “What about raking leaves again? I liked that.”

“You can grab a rake if you want. I still think there are some leaves on the ground out there.”

“Pass,” he said, and you got the feeling he didn’t actually want solutions and just wanted to complain.

Across the room, the doors abruptly opened and a familiar white V-neck and beanie crossed the room, looking determined. He wore his usual relaxed jeans and Birkenstocks. The cut of his V-neck highlighted the cross necklace that dangled between his collar bones.

“Hey,” you said once he made a beeline over to you. “What brings you here?”

“I can’t find my pedal. Have you seen it?”

“No, but I can help you look.”

“That would be great, thanks,” he said and brushed past Nick and Noah without acknowledging them on his way to the stage. Which was a bit odd, in your opinion.

“Um,” you said, trying to diffuse the weirdness, “okay, so Noah, just keep doing what you’re doing, and Nick, try to find something productive to do if you can.” You could tell by their faces that they were both interested in who this standoffish newcomer was, but you decided that was best kept secret.

“It’s orange, right?” you asked Isaac, peering behind the keyboard and into the mess of wires connecting all the different instruments and auxiliary parts to the monitors.

“Yeah,” he said, scoping out the room. He didn’t seem to be searching all that hard. “So how’s community service going?”

“Good,” you said. “We’re making good progress.”

“They’re behaving for you?” he asked.

“Most of the time, yes.”

“The one looks like trouble,” he said, nodding over towards Noah. You knew what was going through his head. At first, Noah’s tattoos and cold disposition intimidated you, too. But for some reason, that same judgement bothered you more coming from Isaac.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Noah watching.

“You should be careful around them.” Isaac wasn’t bothering to monitor his volume, and you were sure both Noah and Nick could hear him. “They’re bad influences.”

“That seems pretty judgmental,” you said, crossing your arms, the search for his pedal all but forgotten.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Come on, they’re criminals. You saw what they did to the worship center.”

“How’s it going over here?” Noah’s voice broke through the conversation. You hadn’t noticed his approach and it caught you by surprise.

“Good,” you said.

“Awesome. I’m Noah,” he said, extending his hand toward Isaac, who took note of all the ink covering it. Your throat tightened, already knowing the interaction was about to go poorly.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing Noah’s hand and giving him a once-over. Noah had at least a good four inches of height over him and Isaac seemed to take his existence as a threat.

“Nice to meet you, Isaac.”

Noah’s face didn’t betray him, but you knew in your gut that he was putting two-and-two together based on the story you’d told him last week.

“Who is this?” said Nick, striding up to join the conversation. You bit the inside of your cheek. Your mediation skills were good, but you weren’t sure if you could fend off any potential conflict given how strong the three personalities before you were.

You bit the bullet and introduced them.

“Nick,” you said, forcing a polite smile, “this is Isaac. He plays guitar for the praise and worship band.”

You saw the slow realization dawn on him like a wave crossing over his features. His eyebrows lifted up towards his forehead, eyes widened, and mouth dropped open in that order before he composed himself.

“Isaac,” he said, grabbing the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “Congrats, man. Wow, playing guitar for the worship band. That’s a great position. Really prestigious.” You could tell he was absolutely tickled by the opportunity to scope out the man he’d called a coward a week ago.

“Thanks,” said Isaac flatly, catching on to the fact that Nick was not actually impressed.

“Noah,” you said. “Why don’t you take Nick and get him started on raking? Once you’ve finished, you can dust.” Noah, to his credit, nodded and did his best to direct his friend towards the back of the facility.

“Anything for you, Mary,” Nick said softly, sly grin playing on the corner of his mouth.

“Mary?” asked Isaac.

“I’ll tell you later,” you said walking down the steps of the small stage. “Hey, I actually need to get back to overseeing this. I’ll catch up with you later? Hope you find your pedal.” You knew your words were coming out anxious and rushed, but you were desperate for this interaction to end.

“See you at church tomorrow?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“You know, I might join you guys,” called Nick as he was led away from the stage and into the hallway. “I’ve been thinking about giving my life to Christ!” he managed to spit out just before the door slammed shut.

You and Isaac fell into a tense silence. You focused on breathing in slowly through your nose, hoping to dispel some of the unease.

“So that’s who you’re spending your Saturdays with,” he said. It was an observation as well as a judgement, rather than a question.

“I know they’re not exactly the best company to keep,” you admitted. “But I think this is important for them.”

“I don’t like it,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna talk to your dad and see if he’ll let me take over.”

“No!” you said in a rush.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I just feel like you wouldn’t mesh well. They’d be too threatened by your,” you searched your brain to come up with a word that would suffice, “…masculinity.”

It felt gross coming out, but did the trick.

“Hm. Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem,” he said, immediately surrendering. It was a struggle not to roll your eyes.

“Listen, I think you better come back later for your pedal,” you said. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I have it under control. I need you to trust me.”

He looked at you warily. “You sure? You’re not going to be influenced?”

“Do you really think so little of me?”

“No,” he said. “I just…care about you is all.”

There was that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach again. Two weeks ago, hearing those words would have thrilled you. Why was it that they came as soon as your interest in him had begun to wane?

“Thank you,” you said. “But I’ve got this.”

He gave you one final nod of agreement before heading out the side door. Once he was gone, you sighed and sunk down to sit on the steps leading up to the stage. A moment later, Noah padded back into the room. He sat down next to you wordlessly and joined you in staring at the ground.

“So that’s Isaac,” you said eventually.

“Well, he seems great,” said Noah with mock enthusiasm. You glanced over at him and caught the cheeky grin he flashed. The tension diffused and you smiled back at him, soft laughter escaping.

“Sorry about Nick,” he said. “He can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Sorry about Isaac,” you replied. “He can be closed-minded.”

He huffed in agreement. “I’m familiar with his type.”

“Did you run into that at your old church?” you asked. He leaned back so he could rest his upper body on the stage platform, long legs stretched out over the steps, tucking his palms underneath his head. On their own accord, your eyes scanned over his chest and triceps. If he caught you, he didn’t say anything.

“You could say that.”

“Noah,” you asked, watching him watch the ceiling above him. “Why did you leave the church?”

“You really want to know?” he asked, taking a break from staring at the light fixtures to meet your eyes. You nodded. He smirked to himself and went back to looking at the lights.

“They told me I couldn’t masturbate.”

You felt your jaw drop in real time.

“What?!” you said.

Soft laughter escaped from him. “I’m kidding. I mean, it was definitely one of the reasons, but that was the final straw for me.”

You said nothing, still in shock from his admission.

“This is why I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said. “I knew you’d be scandalized.”

“Just give me a second,” you said. “This is new territory for me.”

“They don’t talk much about that in Sunday School, I’m guessing?”

You swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly dry. “Not really.”

He laughed again. “That doesn’t surprise me. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.” He turned to face you. “The church is full of shit, and they don’t know anything about what it means to live a good life. Especially when it comes to that kind of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He sat up again. “I mean that they fuck a lot of people up without even realizing it. They talk about sex like it’s a bad thing that you should be ashamed of for wanting and try to make you feel awful about exploring you own body. Do you know what kinds of complexes that gives to a person? No wonder there’s so much sexual abuse happening in the church.”

“I think you lost me,” you said.

Noah sighed and collected himself. “Nobody should be made to feel ashamed of their own humanity. Or their body’s natural sexual response. When I was fourteen, my grandma caught me masturbating and sent me to confessional. I told the priest about it, and he called me a sinner and said I should never do it again. My grandma gave me all this shit about it being unclean and how I should be ashamed of myself for how little self-control I had.”

“Oh,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I was just a kid. I was going through puberty,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice. “I was discovering my body—something that’s normal and healthy for a kid of that age—and was made to feel like I was some kind of sick pervert for it. And I believed them at first, until it got to be too much.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“I met my friend Ruffilo. He hadn’t been raised in a church, and didn’t have any shame over his sexuality. And then I got tired of hating myself. Figured it was better for me to just hate the church instead. I moved out of my grandparents’ and in with Nick.”

“That Nick?” you gestured out the door to where the man in question was supposed to be raking leaves.

He shook his head. “Different Nick. Nick Ruffilo. That’s Nick Folio. Met him later.”  

“Sounds confusing,” you said.

“It can be.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” you said.

“I know it probably sounds silly to you, but it really fucked me up for a while.”

“It’s not silly.” You were unable to form a more sophisticated thought. Your brain was working on overdrive trying to process the information.

Unbeknownst to him, Noah’s story was eerily similar to your own, but you were still stuck in the guilt and shame, and it had never occurred to you that there might be something on the other side of that.

You’d masturbated before, but not much. And every time it had happened, you broke down in tears, asking God to forgive you because you were afraid you’d either be sent to hell, or God would punish you some other way for your lack of self-control, like not having a chance with Isaac.

The idea that you might not be a terrible and perverted person for having done it was new to you. And that it was something other people had trouble controlling as well. You just assumed you were uniquely bad.

“There was a lot more that went into me leaving the church, but that was the nail in the coffin. I’d been on my way out for a while before then.”

“I guess that explains some of your anger,” you said, wanting to ask him more about what happened, but not wanting to press him too much. He was still a private person, and you were lucky to have gotten that much out of him.

“What I can’t understand is how I seem to be the only one who’s angry.”

“I don’t think you’re the only one,” you said, suddenly noticing how you and Noah seemed to have grown closer in proximity.

“You’re not angry,” he observed.

“I,” you began, “I don’t know what I feel.”

“What’s your take on it?” he asked.

You swallowed heavy, a hard lump having formed in your throat. Your hands were clammier than they had been earlier.

“I don’t know,” you said, wishing the stage would open up and swallow you whole so you could escape the very intense look Noah gave you.

“If you want me to have these uncomfortable conversations about faith, I need you to meet me halfway.”

You groaned in protest, but he had you cornered and you both knew it.

Even still, it took you a few tense moments before you could finally speak.

“I have a lot of shame,” you eventually confessed. “And up until this conversation I assumed it was deserved. But now I’m starting to question it.”

“Have you ever—?”

You nodded before he could finish his question. “I have. But each time was difficult for me to accept.”

You paused to give him an opportunity to respond, but he stayed quietly attentive, waiting for you to continue.

“I…thought God would punish me.”

“Punish you how?”

“I don’t want to say,” you said, flushing.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m not going judge.”

“You will when I tell you,” you said. The energy around the both of you had at last shifted to playful again, which was a breath of fresh air after how charged the last few minutes had been.

“Is it really that bad?”

You nodded.

“Please?” he asked. “I told you my secret.”

“I already paid you back for that,” you said.

He groaned and threw his head back. “Come on!”

Something about seeing this heavily-tattooed grown man acting like an impatient little puppy had you softening, and though you knew he probably used this tactic often to get what he wanted, you couldn’t help but give in.

“Promise you won’t judge?”

He nodded, a tendril of hair slipping out from behind his ear to swoop over his face.

You sighed, locking eyes with him once more for confirmation that he was serious.

“I thought that if I was a good enough Christian, God would reward me by…directing a certain person towards me.”

His face lit up with slow realization.

“That dude?” he said.

You nodded.

He laughed a deep belly laugh.

“So you thought that if you didn’t masturbate, you’d be able to date Isaac?”

“You said you wouldn’t judge!” you whined.

“You were right, you definitely shouldn’t have told me.”

You hung your head, pressing your face into your palms to quell your embarrassment.

“I thought it was a good idea at the time,” you said, voice coming out muffled. “I guess it sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”

“Okay,” he prefaced, voice vibrating with the remnants of laughter. “Calm down. I’m not judging you for having thought that. It makes a lot of sense considering the messaging you received. But that guy? Really?”

You looked up finally to meet his eye. His mouth still held the hint of a smile, but there was more sincerity in his eyes than there had been before.

“In my defense, the pickings are slim in the church.”

“You can do better than him.”

Noah swished his hair out of his face and your eyes followed the motion, taking in his body language. He leaned casually forward, resting his elbows on his knees, body half-turned toward you. When the moment grew too heavy, he leaned back against the stage again and switched from looking at you to staring at the back of the room.

“You shouldn’t be so ruled by fear,” he said.

You released a large breath. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you want some advice?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Masturbate. Do it without the guilt. Do it as a gift to yourself for having tried so hard for so long to be perfect. Treat it like something you deserve. A way to show yourself love.”

You sighed and laid back on the steps, kicking your feet out in front of you. “I don’t know. It’s been so long I feel like I’ve lost touch with that part of myself.”

“So find it.”

You half-scoffed. “That sounds great and all, but I don’t think it’ll be that easy to undo years of guilt and shame. And I don’t even know if I trust what you’re saying. You could just be trying to corrupt me.”

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to corrupt you,” he said. “But not for any hidden agenda. Just because I feel like you could use a little corrupting.”

You looked up at Noah. He half leaned over you, long hair tied back into a low knot that spilled over his shoulder. From where you lay, you could smell essential oil and some sort of incense that you couldn’t quite place.

He held eye contact with you until your eyes traveled down his face to his lips, which pressed together as he swallowed and then parted softly.

“Ehem.”

The sound came from the back of the room, where Nick was leaning on his rake and watching with unconcealed judgement.

“I’m done with raking.”

You and Noah jerked apart, both sitting up and avoiding looking at each other. Noah ran his hands over his thighs, straightening the legs of his jeans. You stood up and walked down the steps towards the back.

“Okay. It looks like it’s almost noon anyway, so why don’t we call it quits for today? Good job, guys. I’ll see you next week.”

Noah hesitated for a moment, but then bid you goodbye and walked out with Nick, who clapped him on the shoulder and muttered something to him that you didn’t catch.

____________

“You motherfucker,” said Nick. It came out friendly, but Noah caught a hidden bite in the hard consonants. “You said you weren’t going to try with her.”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Noah said. “We were just talking.”

“About what?” said Nick.

“Church, if you must know.”

“Yeah, it looked like you were getting real deep into religion from where I was standing.” Nick crossed his arms and fixed Noah with a hard stare that Noah didn’t have the bravado to return.

“Dude. I called dibs. How can you not respect the sanctity of dibs?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t work for human beings.”

“It has in the past. Remember Steph?”

“You mean Stacy?” Noah said with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure. You called dibs on her and I respected it.”

Noah felt cornered. He didn’t want to be a hypocrite to his friend, because Nick was right. Noah had done that in the past, and it wasn’t even that long ago, but this felt different. It didn’t sit well with him to treat you like an object. His opinion had changed in a way his friends wouldn’t appreciate, and if he brought it up, they would just say he was only taking the moral high ground to get out of their deal.

“What will it take to get you to drop this?” Noah asked.

“Join in on the bet.”

“I’m not betting someone’s virginity.”

“I’m gonna try to get it regardless, so you can either join in, or you can respect the dibs.”

“Whatever man,” said Noah, having run out of legitimate responses or ways to end this conversation. He stalked off towards his room.  “I’m taking that as a yes,” Nick said to the back of Noah’s head.

“It’s not a yes!” called Noah, already halfway down the hallway.

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

“Let me know when you’ve got your head out of your ass,” Noah replied before slamming the door shut.

Once in the privacy of his room, Noah sank down onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was becoming a regular pastime of his at this point. His thoughts drifted to you and how innocent and doe-eyed you looked staring up at him, regretting that he didn’t kiss you.

He understood the appeal Nick saw. There was no denying how badly you needed it, and how much he wanted to be the one to give it to you.

But you weren’t ready, and he knew it. If he tried anything now, you’d probably have a panic attack about going to hell and he’d have to walk you through it. He didn’t know if he had the emotional capacity to do that, and Nick sure as hell didn’t.

Besides, he had other ways of getting his needs met. There was no shortage of women hitting him up throughout the week, and he could have his pick of any of them if he wanted.

So why hadn’t he returned their texts?

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow, and thought about his old church for the first time in ages.

There was a time when he truly believed. He was an active part of the youth group. Went to Sunday school every week. Participated in vacation bible school and church summer camp. Sung his heart out during hymns hoping God would hear him and be pleased. He’d felt so sure of his beliefs.

Now it was so different. He didn’t know what he believed. Wasn’t sure if he even believed in anything at all, except for the fact that man was inherently evil at heart, and if there was a god, he was an asshole for allowing all that evil to take place.

No. He didn’t even believe that. Because there was no way you were inherently evil. You were driven by a deep desire to do good and help the people around you.

So what did he believe, then? He had no idea, but he wished he did. He knew he didn’t believe in the Christian god he’d been taught to follow. There was so much wrong with it. At times he found himself wishing he could believe, but what was once blind faith had long since been replaced with blind rage he couldn’t seem to let go of, no matter what he did.

Growing tired of his room, he huffed and hoisted himself up off his bed. There was only one place where he could truly work through these feelings—his studio.

___________

The studio was very much a makeshift thing. It was set up in an old storage shed in the back yard of Jolly’s house. Noah had spent hours soundproofing and insulating the place. A small space heater in the corner was the only source of warmth, but he didn’t care. When he was inside the studio, nothing could touch him.

He sat in front of his keyboard and allowed his fingers to gloss over the keys. When they found where they wanted to go, he pressed them into the instrument, fingers striking a familiar chord. He moved them over to the next chord. Then the next. And the next. A somber chord progression broke out without him directing it. Noah let his mind relax as his hands took over and he was no longer a person, just a vessel through which music played itself.

He liked you.

His right hand began playing a soft melody while the left kept up with the chord progression.

It’s been a long time since he had liked someone in any significant way. He was used to people disappointing him. 

The volume grew louder, soft notes giving way to an intense, heavy rhythm.

He wanted to protect you from Nick. From others who would see your goodness and try to bring you down to their level. Or use you for their own gain, but he knew it wasn’t his place to get involved. That you were your own person and could make decisions for yourself.

The tempo increased, melody full and moody, with an uncomfortable dissonance that longed to be resolved.

Throughout your life, other people had undoubtedly been making decisions for you. Telling you what to think. What to believe. Who you could spend your time with. The last thing he wanted was to join the ranks of people thinking they knew what was best for you.

His hands violently struck a suspended chord, allowing it to reverberate throughout the room for several beats, before his fingers went back to playing the somber melody from earlier. This time, slower paced and softer.

You were so vulnerable. Your willpower untested, and you had no experience to go on. It would have been so easy for him to take you, right then and there on the stage of the worship center. He could see it in your eyes how badly you wanted it.

His fingers slowed, allowing the melody to come to a close all on its own. He held out the final chord for as long as it would make sound, before switching off the power and leaning back into his chair.

Perhaps he wasn’t giving you enough credit. You had a good head on your shoulders, and seemed to know yourself. You weren’t afraid to question things when they didn’t feel right or genuine, and you saw through a lot of the bullshit that the church had tried to teach you (though your judgement was questionable when it came to taste in men and your own sexuality).

He heaved a sigh. Maybe he was being overprotective. There was nothing that he could say or do to stop Nick from pursuing you. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to encourage you to enforce boundaries and learn to recognize when people had ulterior motives. After that, he just had to trust you to make your own decisions.

He could live with that.

He switched the power on the keyboard back on, connecting it to his laptop and opened up the familiar program. He pressed the record button and began playing the chord progression again, hoping he could at least get a good song out of this.

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[ghxst-heart]

ꜱᴀɴᴄᴛᴜᴀʀʏ ─ ʀʜᴇᴛᴛ ᴀʙʙᴏᴛᴛ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rhett wasn’t a religious man; he hadn’t been for a long time.  Still, he went to church with his family every Sunday and kept his eyes trained on the pulpit.  His mother thought that he was finally taking in what Pastor Simon said to heart, but only one thing could have the youngest Abbott so entranced; the preacher’s daughter that dutifully sat in the front row, every Sunday. ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 18+, MINORS DNI, mentions of alcohol and hangovers, small descriptions of sexual acts, more to come in full fic. ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪɴғᴏ: Pronouns used are She/Her/Hers, AFAB!Reader, beginnings of a FWB relationship between Rhett and Reader. This is an excerpt from a full-length fic, linked here! ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: Fem!Reader, Romantic!Reader X Rhett Abbott ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.1k ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅ: MINORS DNI!! My blog is strictly 18+!! Any minors or ageless/blank blogs interacting with my fics or my blog will be blocked (and, yes, I do check). I can't stop you from reading my fics, but I can stop you from accessing my fics if my boundaries aren't respected. Your media consumption is your own responsibility, just as it is mine regarding what I post. Please tread thoughtfully and carefully, and keep yourselves happy, healthy, and safe.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The air in the sanctuary was thick as Pastor Simon droned through his sermon, pacing the length of the pulpit with his bible clutched tightly in his old hands.  His voice boomed through the small space, echoing off the wood-paneled walls and resounding in Rhett’s ears as he tried to ignore the pounding in his head.  His Stetson hung low over his forehead, trying to shield his sensitive blue eyes from the blinding morning light seeping through the windows.  His hangovers were never this intense; either he had drunk too much the previous night, or Pastor Simon’s voice was so boring that it was causing him physical pain.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett felt a harsh pinch on his thigh, and he flinched, ready to snap at whoever bothered him, but he quickly realized that it was his mother silently reminding him to stay awake.  His mouth fell into a sarcastic sneer before he recovered and offered his mother a firm nod of his head and a tight-lipped smile to appease her.  Cecilia frowned, and he fought against a whiney comment, instead opting for a quiet grumble as he sat up straight in his chair.  He gave her a pointed look and removed his Stetson from his head, and she hummed in approval, pleased that he had taken her silent direction.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett hadn’t thought that his silent squabble had earned anyone’s attention, but he knew he had been caught when his eyes met the pastor’s daughter’s gaze across the room.  (Y/N) had turned her head over her shoulder, a small, amused smile on her face as she watched Cecilia scold Rhett as if he were five years old again.  Rhett readjusted in his seat, his arms crossing over his broad chest as he felt the tips of his ears begin to burn with embarrassment under her stare.  (Y/N)’s head tilted slightly as if she were asking him a question, but before he could think of an answer to a question he didn’t know, she returned her attention to the pulpit, nodding along with her father’s sermon.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The young Abbott’s man kept his eyes on (Y/N) as she gathered her hair in her hands and let the strands settle over one shoulder, exposing her neck to his eyes.  Her fingertips grazed her skin, nails lightly scratching the base of her throat before she dropped her hand to her lap again.  Her chin tilted up, extending her neck and stretching her muscles before she relaxed, dropping her chin so she could read the bible resting over her knees.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎The way that Rhett and (Y/N) were seated gave them direct views of one another, and Rhett could see most of her body.  Her legs were crossed at the ankles, relaxed against the seat of her chair.  Her skirt had ridden up, revealing the smooth skin of her thighs.  She mindlessly toyed with the hem, pulling it higher and higher up her leg.  Rhett thickly swallowed, letting his mind swim with sinful thoughts of marking up her legs, littering them with pretty purple bruises and lovebites.  He thought of kneading the soft flesh with his calloused hands, relishing in the goosebumps he would leave behind, and how the plush fat would feel wrapped around his head, muffling his hearing so he’d only just barely hear the beautiful noises he would draw out of her.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett was thrown from his thoughts when (Y/N) suddenly readjusted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other and swiveling her body, so she was sitting sideways on the chair.  He panicked, body flushing with embarrassment as his eyes flashed up to her face, finding that she was already staring at him.  He had been caught staring at her legs, his mind running rampant with fantasies.  (Y/N) grinned, her teeth chewing on her lip as she let her eyes wander over Rhett’s body before she looked at the pulpit once more, pretending as if she hadn’t exposed Rhett’s shamelessness in checking her out.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎(Y/N) had always been an interesting woman.  She was the epitome of a pastor’s daughter.  She attended church every Sunday, helped out in the daycare on weekdays, was active in the Women’s Group, and helped plan fundraising events for families in the congregation that needed extra funds.  She never did anything wrong, anything sinful, and always said the nicest things with a bright smile on her face.  She wore conservative clothes, nothing too tight or revealing, and her face was always cleared of heavy makeup, giving her such an innocent look with lightly coated lashes, soft rosy cheeks, and glossy lips.  But Rhett had always thought there was something more just underneath the surface.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎They had grown up together, going through elementary to high school in the same classes.  While Rhett grew rebellious and ambitious to achieve fame as a bull rider, (Y/N) remained the sweet, innocent girl that was content to live her life in Wabang as the pastor’s daughter.  By graduation, they were nothing more than strangers to one another, their reputations landing them on different ends of Wabang High’s social stratosphere.  But that didn’t stop Rhett from watching her as she led the congregation in song or served food at the church’s monthly luncheon, blushing when she’d catch his eye or muttering an excuse to leave before his stomach would lurch with a delicious, yet sometimes overwhelming, fluttery feeling.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎Rhett was too young and stupid to realize what his longing looks and flustered words around her meant.  He was too naive to understand that his nerves and the funny feeling in his stomach meant more than just a childhood crush.  For years, the youngest Abbott oftentimes tried to convince himself that he was just imagining the lingering stares or the suggestive brushing of her fingertips against him when she passed him.  He tried to brush it off as his darkest fantasies trying to turn polite glances and innocent touches into something more, his mind playing cruel tricks on him in place of his lonesome nights.

‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎But that was before they grew up.  Now, after being in the world and experiencing real attraction, real lust, he was convinced that it was something more.  He was convinced that (Y/N) knew what she was doing and that she was purposeful in how she looked at him or placed her hand over his when handing him his food at the luncheons.  He was certain now that he wasn’t imagining things when she smirked and turned away, continuing to innocently play with her skirt and show Rhett more and more of her skin after she’d caught him.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs: So this is a little excerpt from a Rhett Abbott fic that I'm working on. This will be a smut fic, and with that being said, it will be an 18+ fic only. I'm a little nervous posting this as this is my first time writing for Rhett, but I would love to hear your thoughts! Love you all so, so much!

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[saebyeokslefttoe]

holy sins

summary: you a raging queer are forced to attend a christian summer camp and find yourself falling for the pastor’s daughter, ji-yeong. things take a turn when she feels the same way.

a/n: this one’s for my religious trauma. back when i used to think i was gonna burn in hell. this is for my parents' pastor who keeps teaching that you should disown your child if they ever turn out gay. this is for my fellow readers who are figuring/questioning your sexuality. you’re valid, and i love you no matter who you like to kiss <3

warnings: d/s dynamic, mommy kink, nsfw, modern au! squid game never existed.

you had no intention to attend your church's summer camp. everyone in the youth group knew no one went to learn about "our savior jesus christ." in fact, everyone who went were either children of pastors, horny bastards, or were forced by their religious parents.

you were part of the last group. your parents forced you to attend; apparently, your faith had been lagging lately. you needed "guidence." your dull-dense parents couldn't get the hint that you no longer wanted to be a part of the church.

but why? it was simple. you were a sinner, and you weren't going to change. every single sunday, pastor yeong would preach about the deadliest sins, including homosexuality, tricksters, and witchcraft. but didn't god see all sins the same?

why was it that a murderer or an abuser could be received with open arms, but if you fancy the same gender, you'll burn in the pits of hell? it was complete bullshit. you grew up hating yourself, thinking there was something wrong with you. and for what? to please some enchanting god?

was kissing a girl so bad? was it so wrong to want to fall in love, to have someone by your side? was it sinful to want to slow dance under the moonlight with a pretty girl in your arms? if it was so bad, why did it feel so good? why did it feel good to stare at the pastor's daughter ji-yeong from afar?

you noticed every single small detail about her how she rolled her eyes whenever the youth pastor began preaching or how she cracked her knuckles whenever she got bored. you noticed her orange/yellow highlights, which seemed to glow under the summer sun. the only thing you could do was stare, mesmerized by all her beauty.

you never thought she would notice you; nevertheless, talk to you. after all, she was the pastor's daughter. she most likely believed burning the gays was a good thing. little did you know, she also stared when you weren't looking.

"do you always stare or?" ji-yeong looked down at you as she gently tilted her head.

"what?" your train of thoughts were popped and had ji-yeong standing right in front of you. you didn't notice when she walked your way, and i guess you were lost in your own thoughts.

"oh, sorry. i wasn't staring. i was just thinking." you lied.

"thinking about what?" she questioned, taking a seat next to you on the wooden stairs.

"how this camp fucking sucks." you replied, as you played with your beaded bracelets. "no offense."

"none taken." ji-yeong spoke, resting her chin on her hand. "i agree, all the interesting people are nowhere to be found."

you took a small look at the girl beside you as you nodded. "well, a church camp doesn't attract interesting people."

"are you calling me boring?"

"i never said that."

"but you implyed it."

"did not."

"did too."

"did not!"

"did too!"

"don't you have a group to preach too?" you spoke sarcastically.

"don't you have someone else to stare at?" ji-yeong replied, with a playful grin.

"like if i would ever stare at you." you rolled your eyes playfully. not only was she pretty, but also cheeky with a sense of playfulness. what more could you ask for?

"whatever you say." ji-yeong stood up from her seat.

"in a matter of fact, i actually do have a group to preach too." she half-smiled. "i'll see you around, bambi." ji-yeong spoke as she walked off.

things were about to get exciting.

ever since your small but pleasant interaction with ji-yeong, you found yourself spending time with her. first, it was the invitation to go swimming in the lake, and you accepted and ended up playing mermaids with ji-yeong. you had a blast.

then ji-yeong asked if you wanted to be on her team for sharks and minnows. you agreed, ji-yeong got to the shark and tackled you into the grass. you still remember the small sly smirk on her face as she spoke, "i got you, bambi. you're a slow runner."

you two sneaked out of your cabins to meet up by the lake or the camp's garden under the moonlight to solely talk. you learned a lot about ji-yeong. you learned that she pierced her nose and nearly gave her father a heart attack. you also learned that her father wasn't a good person.

you tried comforting her, but she assured you that it was fine. it was clearly not fine. you made sure to give her a helping hand, as well as make her a friendship bracelet.

ji-yeong learned a lot about you too. she discovered that you had no interest in being a christian. she didn't blame you; in fact, she felt the same way. she also learned that your parents were the worse, forcing religion on you. telling you that the end of times are coming soon.

"i'm assuming you got in trouble with your parents for them to throw you into this shithole." ji-yeong spoke, as she sat on the grass, playing with it. it was late, and it was around maybe three am.

you felt a breeze of cold air, making you shiver. "yeah, i did. i guess my faith was malfunctioning.. it was either that or.. nevermind." you cut yourself off, and you were not about to out yourself. well, at least not yet.

ji-yeong noticed your shivers; she zipped down her brown, colored sweater, taking it off as she handed it to you. "what's with the whole mystery? you're not an ax murderer, or are you?" she chuckled.

you couldn't help but let out a small laugh as you took her sweater, putting it on. "oh no! you've learned my secret. it's better that i take you out." you played around.

"take me out on a date?"

"wait what.." you trailed off.

"i'm joking. lighten up, bambi."

"will you stop calling me that."

"nope!" ji-yeong smiled as she looked at the glowing moon. "if you could go anywhere with anyone where would you go?"

you thought for a few seconds before replying. "far away from here. somewhere peaceful and where i can be who i am. perharps a small village or the countryside. i would run away with my girlfriend, or partner." you explained.

yes, you were aware that you came out to ji-yeong, but a part of you was eager to do so. ji-yeong wasn't the judging type, or at least she never judged you.

a smile crawled up onto ji-yeong face as she proudly nodded. "sounds like a good plan."

"what about you?" you questioned.

"i want to leave this country. somewhere more accepting, maybe an island or california in the united states. i would buy a house, a cat, and i would fall in love. my lover, they would be sweet, kind, funny, and they would give good head too."

"ji-yeong!" you gasped, widening your eyes.

"what? i'm just being honest. don't you want a girlfriend who gives good head?" she questioned casually.

you shrugged, "i guess you're right."

"i'm always right." ji-yeong took a small glace at your lips.

"have you ever kissed a girl?" she blurted out.

you turned your head facing her as you nodded. "yeah, i have. i've had lots of practice."

"good to know." she spoke as she faced you.

"why's that?"

"i can think of many ways you can use that mouth."

that's what all it took. the air was now filled with sexual tension. you could feel the urge to touch her. the only problem was if you did, anyone could walk out of their cabins and see you, but you didn't care. your eyes were filled with lust and desperation. before you knew it, ji-yeongs lips were on yours.

you get pulled on top of ji-yeong, now straddling her lap. “you are the most beautiful person i ever saw,” ji-yeong whispers, as she presses little kisses along your jawline.

ji-yeong plays with the hem of your shirt before unbuttoning it. “wow, no bra, this is all for me?” you blush at her comment, cupping her face as you pull her in a deep lustful kiss.

ji-yeong pulled away as she tilted her head slightly. "i asked you a question, bambi. i expect you to answer it." her soft hands play with the edge of your shorts, gliding her hands up and down the crevasses of your hips.

you let out a small whimper, "yes, it's all for you, only you babe." you grind your hips down to meet her soft thigh.

"someone's needy." ji-yeong teased.

"only for you."

ji-yeong flipped you over, her hand still grasping you by the hips. you were now under her. she was in control. she licks over your sensitive nipple. gently massaging your breasts with her soft palms. ji-yeong lips are wrapped around your nipple, causing your back to arches out in pleasure. “feels so good," you moan.

"you have to be quiet, we wouldn't like the camp to know how much of a whore you are. or would we?" ji-yeong ridiculed, moving down her hands, rubbing your inner thighs, pulling down your shorts. ji-yeong looks in awe of the sight of your soft cotton panties. “you look so pretty all needy under me,” she praises.

"may i?" ji-yeong signals to your panties. all she wanted was to tear them off.

you gave her a small nod, not a moment wasted, ji-yeong gently pulled down your panties.

"stop teasing, it's not fair." you whined. you felt your clit throbbing for attention.

soon enough, you felt ji-yeong finger finding your arousal, gliding gently down your exposed cunt. you eventually get the contact you so much desired when she goes down to lick your clit, flicking in an upwards motion. her hands pressed your hips down to keep you in place while she sucked on your clit. you squirm under her.

"bambi, you have to stay still for me, i'm trying to make you feel good." you nod as you try to stay still as much as you can.

she licks up your slit, letting go of you to press two fingers in your clit. jiyeong curls her fingers up, receiving more moans out of you. “you’re so wet for me.” she teases, as your cheeks heat up, legs clenching.

her fingers dive deep into you once more, bringing you close to your orgasm. the cold breeze blew through ji-yeong hair, making it sway across the side of her face. she looked like a sex god.

“i'm really close love,” you blubber out.

ji-yeong was now rubbing circular motion on your clit. "come for me,” she moans out. with one final pump of ji-yeong fingers, you are unraveling under her. your release spreads across her fingers as you breathe heavily.

you guys both fall back down, lying next to each other.

ji-yeong looks over you, "we're definitely going to hell."

you couldn't help but chuckle. "most likely, yeah. as along as i'm with you, i'll be alright."

ji-yeong reached over, grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers together. "does this make me your girlfriend?"

i guess summer camp wasn't bad after all.

[arthurmorganwateringhole]

Opening Up the Western Pt 2: The Origins of a Misunderstood Masculinity

[Last edit August 17]

If you read my first essay on why RDR2 Cowboy game is so appealing to a non-traditional audience, then you're probably aware that a lot of this game's appeal is due to Arthur and how the game writers constructed his masculinity. When I tried to think of a proper metaphor for Arthur, really the only thing that comes to mind is a nesting doll -- he's one thing on the outside, but the moment you open up, there's a smaller, more fragile part of him to unpack. He might appear like the typical strong, rugged, masculine cowboy icon that we've come to associate with the Western genre, but his artistic sensibilities and romanticized coding show there's more than meets the eye.

So we've talked about consumption, the historical figure of the Romantic, and how both 19th-century phenomena factor into Arthur's construction as a tragic albeit sexy hero-figure. But what about real examples? Are there real individuals in history who lend themselves to Arthur Morgan, enlivening him, fleshing him out, and ascribing to him all the hurts and scars of an emotionally rich life?

In this essay, I want to talk about a widely misunderstood (thanks to the American public school system and generally people's unwillingness to read) figure of American history: the transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau.

The Unread American Hero: Thoreau and his Philosophy

If you took AP language and composition in an American high school, you're probably aware of who Henry David Thoreau is.

"Oh yeah," you might say, "that guy who ran away to Walden pond because fuck government, right? Don't libertarians love him because he hates society?"

And as you cleverly pat yourself on the back for recalling your teenage internalization of an incompetent high school teacher's lesson, you promptly tuck Thoreau back away into the annals of subconscious memory, happy to let such a toxic masculinist figure wither away with the Founding Fathers and Mark Twain.

Oh dear reader, you couldn't be any more wrong.

So who is Henry David Thoreau? Most people know him as a transcendentalist thinker and naturalist -- a branch of American philosophy that coincided and interacted with late romanticism, the European counterpart of this individualist strain of thought focused on the sublime and the incomprehensible. Less known are more trivial facts. For one, Henry David Thoreau was born in 1817 as the middle child. The most notable of his siblings, John Thoreau, would later figure in his writings and his philosophy in a really significant way.

As a teen, he fell in love with a young Ellen Sewall -- a daughter of a pastor who disapproved of her flirtations with Henry. When Henry proposed to Ellen, the father stopped their engagement and forbade correspondence due to Thoreau's aimless pursuits in philosophy and naturalism.

One thing most people don't know is that the Thoreau's were plagued, literally. None of Henry's siblings ever married or had children, mostly because they died from consumption before they could live out their lives. Thoreau would later die from consumption as well in 1862. He spent his last days in Minnesota, working with indigenous people and seeking to improve his health in the Midwest's cleaner air.

Yet the death that most impacted Henry was that of his older brother John, who died of Tuberculosis in 1842 at the ripe age of 27. Henry and John had been close as brothers. They had gone on fishing trips (one of which remains on record in one of his journals, in which they fished for sturgeon. More notably, Henry, despite loving Maine and the Northeast corridor of America, had plans to move west with his brother, as seen in one of his letters to his brother:

Transcript of the highlighted part:

"I have a proposal to make. Suppose by the time you are released we should start in company for the West, and there either establish a school jointly, or procure ourselves separate situations. Suppose, moreover, you should get ready to start previous to leaving Taunton, to save time. Go I must, at all events. Dr. Jarvis enumerates nearly a dozen schools which I could have,—all such as would suit you equally well.[4] I wish you would write soon about this. It is high season to start. The canals are now open, and traveling comparatively cheap. I think I can borrow the cash in this town. There's nothing like trying."

Note the improvisational quality of their hare-brained plan (borrowing money without specifying from whom or how; a mentor telling Henry of the greater number of schools he could start; the eagerness shared by our own Arthur Morgan to set out West in search of brighter futures). Needless to say, the brothers were the best of friends, and Henry took his untimely passing hard.

When John passed, HDT experiences a sort of vicarious death-wish. Scholar Branka Arsic describes this psychosomatic episode as such:

"The most intense challenge to Thoreau’s understanding of grief and commitment to loss came from personal experience. On January 11, 1842, his brother John died. Thoreau reacted to that death by means of the very grief Emerson thought impossible, by ravaging his body, developing symptoms of John’s illness...—as if wanting to die his brother’s death in an effort to defy the boundaries between survivor and the dead." (Bird Relics 30)

The loss was so great, that unconsciously his body began to emulate the violent death of his brother via lockjaw (a complication from tuberculosis). He began to deteriorate physically and mentally, and some scholars even note the fragmented syntax of his writings in this time.

Yet with loss comes the potential for change and renewal. Henry David Thoreau relocated to the remote Walden Pond, where he sought to observe and exist alongside animals partly in protest against the existence of slavery in the nation and partly to heal and mourn the death of his brother John (and later on, his sister Helen in 1848). There was no antisocial impulse; no libertarian shirking of one's civic duties for taxation. HDT only wanted to protest the institutionalization of chattel slavery and rebuild life after it had so spectacularly crumbled in the span of a few short years.

In Walden, Henry will begin philosophizing on nature, death, and the singularity of individual life that will form the groundwork for his transcendental thinking. In one of his letters to a friend, HDT writes the following:

"Soon after John’s death I listened to a music- box, and if, at any time, that event had seemed inconsistent with the beauty and harmony of the universe, it was then gently constrained into the placid course of nature by those steady notes, in mild and unoffended tone. . . . But I find these things more strange than sad to me. What right have I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder? We feel at first as if some opportunities of kindness and sympathy were lost, but learn afterward that any pure grief is ample recompense for all. That is, if we are faithful;- for a just grief is but sympathy with the soul that disposes events, and is as natural as the resin on Arabian trees.— Only nature has a right to grieve perpetually, for she only is innocent." (Letters to Miss Lucy Brown, March 1842)

In a moment of quiet self-reflection, Thoreau beautifully structures a rich emotional life modeled after one he finds in nature and in non-human tonality (the music box). Perpetual grief -- that grief which belongs to nature -- is what he aspires, for human grief is not perpetual. It's fleeting. One day, he will move on from his brother John's death, and HDT considers this faithless (compared to the 'faithful' perpetual grief as natural as 'the resin on Arabian trees'). This isn't to say that Thoreau wanted to maintain a constant melancholic mindset, so much as he was loathe to forget his brother; to forget the singularity of his brother's soul and existence, and as some readers of Walden will suggest, he will begin to extend this sort of sympathy to other, non-human animals. Most notably, Thoreau will develop an affinity for birds, and his observations and sketches of these creatures will form the basis for his thinking.

A lot of high schools teach Thoreau by framing Walden and Civil Disobedience as libertarian acts of individual self-assertion; that freedom can only be gained by separating from the shackles of society, but in truth, Thoreau was an abolitionist who hated that society shackled a population simply for their race. He was a sweet, sensitive soul who feared the day he would stop mourning his brother and, later on, his siblings. He spent his hours sketching birds, trees, and other natural phenomena, and he constantly made visits to nearby villages, where he was often made fun of for his unusual clothing. Yes, Thoreau was ridiculed often by city folk because he fashioned his own clothes to better navigate the woods of Concord.

Arthur and Henry - the intertwined mythos

After that brief history lesson, I'm sure you're wondering... What does this have to do with Arthur Morgan, or Red Dead for that matter? As a reminder, the argument of this essay is that Arthur is based on Henry David Thoreau, and both men are equally misunderstood by society writ large in the service of using their image, reputation, and actions to contrive some artificial idea of a strong, rugged masculinity when in reality, they were both tender individuals who had a soft affinity for nature.

One thing most high school students miss out on when Walden is taught, is Thoreau's journal and sketches. Just take a look at some of these images (please don't circulate as I had my partner secretly take photos of this in a VERY exclusive archive and I don't want to get him in trouble).

(an entry from one of Thoreau's journals)

Look at this sketch of Thoreau of a sideways tree

Does it... remind you of anything at all from Red Dead?

...

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(credit to @papaue00 for the high quality images)

Apart from superficial similarities, they were both in love with a woman out of their socioeconomic league, whose father ended the courtship; they both died from consumption; their last days were spent with indigenous groups; they have a brother(figure) named John; they both had a dream to go out west; loved nature; didn't really hate civilization so much as wish nature was more valued; wrote beautifully on the people who touched their lives...

So on and so on...

Both Arthur Morgan and Henry David Thoreau play with our idea of the iconic Man of the West. Their lives disavow the adherence to a toxic masculinist vision of the cowboy so constantly disseminated in mainstream media. Their journals hide a sensitive interiority that is rich with emotions and observations.

I believe these parallels and similarities are more deliberate than incidental. There is no way Rockstar just coincidentally made them this similar, and besides, the deliberate allusion to Henry David Thoreau (whose writing is already referenced via the stand-in for transcendental philosophers via Evelyn Miller (ironically, Miller's actions seem to mirror what MOST americans think Henry David Thoreau did with his life, by escaping university to retreat to the woods out of an inability to understand fellow man when in truth, Thoreau was just grieving). It makes sense too, given how Evelyn Miller self-destructs in search of an ideal, whereas Thoreau spent his last days attuned with others and wanting to help, sort of like Arthur Morgan.

And in the end, all this seems like a clever commentary on what America actually is: the stuff of myths, oppression, and violence; and the untenable ideal encapsulated via the gentle souls whose lives are all too brief. This tension between the ideal and the real serves to undercut what characters like Dutch believe 'freedom' or 'equality' means. The people who lived this reality died striving for the impossible, but their goals live on through the lives they touched.