#tw possible mentions of child abuse

[mother-of-the-gods]

tis a question for you since you're the Titan of motherhood :)

So hitting your pets is animal abuse, right?

And hitting your spouse is domestic violence,

So, tell me, Rhea. Why is hitting your children called discipline?

angsty cus the male adult I live with hit me with a charger this morning

ooc: i keep on forgetting to answer my asks omfg-- but, on regards to these sort of questions, i can't make rhea answer these sorts of questions. anon, if you're reading this, please ask for help with a trusted adult or any, or some sort of professional. i'm just a person on the internet with too much free time and can't answer questions like these.

[huntquinlan]

it’s honestly a shame that sjm is not an author who deals in allegory or is an author who would be able to tactfully write this because i honestly feel like azriel’s scars are such a missed opportunity. i’m putting this under a read more because the topic is sensitive and will be tagged accordingly.

while azriel’s burn scars in canon serve as a physical representation and reminder of the abuse he survived from his father and brothers, when i was reflecting on them and azriel’s own complex relationship with his romantic life and sexuality i realized that if the author of acotar was anyone other than sjm azriel’s scars could easily be read as symbolic representations of trauma from csa. it comes down to them being on his hands as well, hands so often being the conduit by which any type of physical intimacy is initiated.

i think this interpretation is strengthened by azriel’s aversion to fire while fire has been associated with incredibly passionate sex in universe (“fire in his blood and fucks like it too”).

what it ultimately comes down to, for me, is azriel’s centuries long obsession with mor. which comes off as incredibly comphet and strange until the eris reveal, which brings to light the incredibly charged relationship between eris and azriel. and it leads me to wonder how much of it really is mor, if it’s not just the safety of the idea of her to cover what azriel really desires because he’s functionally unable to process that.

not only are the illyrians written as incredibly traditional, but there is no indication given they are accepting of same sex attraction. azriel, who suffered so extremely at the hands of his father and brothers, that he still bares the physical burn scars to his hands, having any attraction to the heir of autumn, practically the crown prince of fire, would be incomprehensible to azriel’s mind. and any part of him that did comprehend it would be terrified and probably ashamed.

eris, of course, represents everything azriel fears and despises. but more importantly, he is the opportunity for azriel to heal from past traumas and fully accept himself and his sexuality.

this interpretation doesn’t negate the possibility for ‘kinky’ azriel either. since everyone seems to be preoccupied with whether he can be a leather dom daddy or not. frankly, any sort of bdsm practice would offer azriel a sort of distance during intimacy (depending on the act and his role) but above all else, enthusiastic and clear consent.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

hot take but some of y'all with abusive and/or controlling parents would do better on the streets. I'm not gonna provide criteria for how to tell because i'm not an expert and everybody's situation is different, but here's a friendly reminder that they don't even have to lay a finger on you for this to be the case.

this kind of turned into a mini (NON-EXHAUSTIVE) advice post so:

Remember, if you think this might be you, please please please try to find a way to start researching what resources will be available to you, and try to leave on a weekday because many places are closed for intakes on weekends.

Reach out to people who you know will keep your concerns confidential. Find out who's considered a mandated reporter and what they absolutely have to report - which could differ from state to state/area.

You can pack a 'go bag' without raising suspicions if you frame it as an emergency preparation for, say, a house fire or natural disaster. I would highly recommend investing a nice duffel bag.

Bring lots of trash bags and/or grocery bags and lots of extra socks (laundry programs lose socks all the time). If you're bringing canned food, get your own can opener.

If you have a food allergy, I would highly recommend prioritizing getting on food stamps, as many shelters and programs straight-up will not accommodate your allergies.

Anyways this absolutely wasn't meant to be an advice post or masterlist of what to do and what not to do but if y'all wanna add on i think that'd be great. as with any advice, your mileage may vary.

(ice cold take but if you're a parent and your kid would do better on the streets than in their own damn home with their own damn family then you've done fucked up and i think you should pay your child One Million Dollars For Everything. Per year. Forever.)

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

I guess this is a headcanon? (TW: Starvation & Child Neglect/Abuse, maybe ED?, Long post)

I'm very hesitant, if not against taking things from the MCU phase 4 as canon. (For multiple reasons; new writers bragging about never having watched the previous movies, inconsistencies in lore/writing, abuse apologism/victim blaming, cis-washing, obvious character bias, incest, characters being wildly OOC, etc.) Hell, even Phase 3 is guilty of being unreliable at times, such as with Thor Ragnarok.

However, there is one thing about the 'What If...?' series that gives me pause for its implications now that I've been able to sit on it for a while. Because that, at least, makes sense with the original two phases lore and themes.

When we see Loki in the universe where they're returned to Jotunheim and raised among others of their race, Loki isn't small. Loki is actually about the same height as the average Jotun. Which seems to imply that Loki's decreased height in the base universe isn't just due to genetics. Sure, Loki was tiny as a baby, but clearly, they had the means of growing to average without issue.

Because of this, I've come to a conclusion that accidentally makes Odin and Frigga's parenting of Loki worse: Loki was malnourished.

This explains why Loki's musculature and height are both different. Hell, Loki has a six pack here, and their arm muscles are clearly larger, too.

To me, this makes a lot of sense. Jotuns, being larger creatures, would obviously require a lot more caloric intake in order to grow and function properly, but because of royal Asgard customs, I imagine it was probably instilled in Loki that eating more than the average Asgardian is 'unsightly' and not proper for someone of their status. So, Loki ate about average for an Asgardian, but way less than a Jotun should. Thus, due to not eating correctly for his species, they end up with their growth stunted.

Now, all this being said... that makes Odin and Frigga's piss-poor parenting even worse. Because that would imply they were knowingly starving Loki to either keep up appearances and stunt their growth on purpose so people wouldn't catch on, or they just didn't care enough to feed them correctly. Because there's no way they couldn't have known Loki would need more food than the average Asgardian. Especially given one had first-hand experience with Jotuns and the other is the self-proclaimed 'smartest woman in Asgard'.

Let's also not forget the fact that Loki's body likely is more accustomed to colder climates being a frost giant, and Asgard is much warmer, which would also have an impact on them health-wise. Now you have a cocktail of 'Oh God, my body hurts' for Loki's entire childhood. (Which adds to Loki's desire to prove they're worthy of love and respect and to be equal to their brother, who would've been healthy growing up, while Loki was probably sickly and had to be tended to more often, leading to them feeling weak, and/or possibly being compared to 'the stronger brother' by others.)

Possibly, this could've settled a bit by puberty, with Loki's body adapting to the environment after growing up there, as well as their growth stopping altogether once puberty stops.

I can't help but feel sad though, like- please let them have extra dinner, their stomach must feel like it's imploding!

Not sure if anyone else noticed that, or came to this conclusion - someone probably has - but this is part of my headcanon now.

[avephelis]

(SPOILRERS ON RITPIDE EPISODE 100 if u havent seen it)

hey saw ur post on jayson ferin and thinking abt how young he was when he became a parent n if he actually loved may or not .. like he did fuck off (to go visit may) in episode 100 when jay told him may was dying so he cares for her somewhat. is it love? is it just looking out for the mother of his children ? dk

IT'S SO INTERESTING TO ME I NEED CONDI TO DROP MORE FERIN BACKSTORY MANN. personally i think at least at some point he loved may and probably still does but like. did something sour there? was he just always this way? is his idea of love just inherently flawed?

idk jayson ferin is a fascinating character to me (terrible father, fascinating person)... i kind of wonder if having kids at a young age could also be related to the ferin legacy thing? because if faye ferin is still active in the navy i'd assume she'd be pretty young for a grandmother, too. lot of thoughts about her relationship with jayson and drey.

and i think about jayson shaming jay for leaving her mother alone, back in the block arc. because he did the exact same thing, even whilst may was ill, and i wonder if he was just being manipulative or if he was projecting or if he was genuinely unaware. shaking condi and grizzly DROP THE INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA LORE. DROP IT.

[cardhamine]

*Sighs and unpacks my entire write-up for William Afton in this AU*

WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THE WAFERS

See Read More for Will's entire history prior to the fic, essentially. <3

TWs - FNAF-relevant child abuse/murder, Antisocial Personality Disorder discussed, cursing (but really that's it except uhhh trans Henry ig but I'd say that's not a trigger as much as just something that some people hate the idea of)

- William was born in 1947 as the only child of two products of Old Money from England. They were not in love and viewed their marriage as a business transaction, but they were amicable otherwise. Their marriage was open as long as no one found out. Business troubles required that they move to America when William was a teenager.

- William is a 3rd. His father William II (did go by Bill) was a difficult man who also treated his son as a branch of his business.

- William's mother's name was Juliet. She was a stay-at-home mother, but she was not affectionate. She kept up with most of the family's finances.

-The family business was originally from his mother's side. They were semi-famous toy makers. Father's side were investors. Both families worth a million or more. (Not as impressive in 2023 money but a big deal then).

- William's family emphasized the importance of LEGACY. If you don't leave something memorable behind, you may as well have not existed. You will rot in the dirt and be forgotten. Your life will have meant nothing. (Plus you were supposed to continue the legacy of your forefathers, so now you've fucked that up, loser)

- That gets in Will's head but manifests into a drive for work and fear of death that develops into a phobia before he's even reached college age.

- The Aftons were angry at William for wanting to go into things like puppetry/robotics/engineering instead of just taking the business, but he spun the idea as a continuation/evolution of the family toy making business and they chilled somewhat.

- (He didn't actually care much about the family business but he did genuinely enjoy circuitry and engineering.)

- Will meets Henry in university when he was pre-transition (still being referred to as Henrietta or, preferably, Henri). Henri is brilliant with design and Will with the technological aspects (building, engineering, etc).

- They date (not SUPER seriously bc William is aware his family wouldn't approve) for a couple years. Henri meets a nice woman named Marysol (Mary) in classes, and they end up getting married after a 3 year courtship.

- William stays close friends with Henry (post-transition after wedding, at least socially if not surgically/chemically). Mary is perfectly fine with this, although she can tell there's something off about William.

- (There is something similarly off about Mary. Henry really knows how to pick 'em. Or maybe he has a type. Either way, both William and Mary lie on the antisocial personality disorder spectrum.)

- In regards to their APD symptoms, the two share a lot of the same traits: impaired capacity for empathy (both had better cognitive empathy than affective empathy), lack of respect for social norms/expectations, deceptive behaviors. On the other hand, Mary had some features William lacked, such as violent urges/tendencies and a complete lack of guilt/remorse. (She may have been involved in some violent crime, but she was never found out.) However, she very badly wanted a family and had a larger capacity for affective empathy than William which displayed in her care for Henry and, eventually, Charlie. However, her capacity for AE was VERY person-specific.

- William had a far diminished capacity for affective empathy comparatively (if the average person has 70% capacity to empathize with others, Mary had 35% and Will had 20%). However, that didn't mean he wanted other people to suffer. He preferred for others to be successful, so long as their success didn't inhibit his own. Partially because when people were successful, they were happy, and when they were happy, they didn't trouble him with their problems; partially because he did have that smidgen of empathy. He also experienced guilt, though that often made him more irritable than apologetic.

- William goes through a semi-arranged marriage to a very sweet woman named Violet who is also the child of an old money family but who wanted to be married to someone she loved. She did end up loving William, and he was fond of her.

- William and Mary are aware of their similarities immediately. They eventually have a meeting about it. Mary insists that they agree to never bring one another's families into any of their activities. At the time, Will has literally never done or even considered doing anything she's implying. But he agrees. She emphasizes that she will ruin his family if he ruins hers. He says, "Ditto."

- Fredbear’s Family Diner is opened by William and Henry around 1971.

- Michael William Afton was born a couple years after the two married. He looked a lot like William and like Bill, and that was something that made it difficult for Will to be overly fond of him. He also represented the family legacy that Will felt was thrust upon him his entire life. On top of that, he was a rebellious child who caused Will a lot of irritation, and Will was not very forgiving of that. Overall, they had a miserable relationship.

- They had two more children after Michael because Violet wanted them, even though the Afton side of the family viewed it a waste of resources, given they already had a male heir. William felt real affection for the first time at the birth of Elizabeth "Lizzie" Viola Afton. She looked like Violet but was precocious and intelligent like William.

- Shortly thereafter, the Emilys adopted Charlie, and the two girls eventually became inseparable.

- Evan was born 2 years later. He was a quiet, nervous child. Michael's irritation at being unloved by his father was mostly taken out on Evan, because 1. Lizzie was very protected by her father but also 2. Michael also loved his little sister too much to hurt her.

- Evan Cecil "Cece" Afton was Violet's "favorite" (though she loved all of her children too much to make that obvious.) She doted on him a lot, since he was the baby.

- William develops the Talking Fredbear plush with an internal radio so that the children can communicate with him without barging into his workshop and bothering him. (Cece uses it the most.)

- William and Henry open the first of the Freddy's establishments around this time.

- Things go smoothly until Cece's accident in 1983 (as in, "The Bite of"). He was 8. Though Michael was only teasing his brother, an electrical short caused Fredbear's jaws to clamp down, leading Cece to sustain a critical injury to his frontal lobe. The family is devastated. He is kept in a medically-induced coma for several months. William did adapt the Talking Fredbear plush so the family and he could record messages which would play every once in a while for Cece when they were not at the hospital.

- Unfortunately, he does not recover and eventually passes away from hospital-acquired pneumonia.

- Violet does not take the incident well and must be hospitalized for stress-induced psychopathy shortly thereafter. She passes away for unclear reasons while hospitalized.

- William's phobia of death engulfs his life. He throws himself into his work and spends every waking moment either keeping his business afloat or trying to "solve the death problem". His ideas become more and more psychotic. He learns about the theory of Remnant and begins making plans. He reminds himself to eat and sleep just so he can keep appearances up for Elizabeth. This goes on for a year or so until he develops his theory to use remnant to transmute the soul to a sturdier body that won't die. He just needs test subjects.

- Mary can tell that Will is becoming worse. She reminds him of their agreement: they’re to keep both their families out of any of their bad behavior. William agrees and intends to keep the promise.

- (1985) The Missing Children Incident occurs. Charlie sees William tossing his bloodied uniform in the dumpster next door and returning to the building that night after police have already done primary investigation (questioned him/searched the place and found nothing). He cares at least a small bit for Charlie and is somewhat aggrieved about what he "has to do." He makes it quick and painless.

- The Emilys are devastated, and Mary knows immediately what happened. She doesn't say anything, just plans.

- William DID develop the sister location (Circus Baby's Pizza World) to collect subjects to continue his experiments. His children are NOT allowed to set foot on the premises, and he impresses upon Michael that he should do what he can to make sure Elizabeth never does. He emphasizes that Michael has the responsibility to make up for what “Michael did” to Cece and his mother.

- Not a month later, Mary got her revenge on William by "bringing Lizzie to see Daddy at work as a surprise". William did not know Elizabeth was there, and Mary directed her to Circus Baby when no one else was in the room.

- William goes absolutely bonkers after this.

- (Henry never has any clue William or Mary were involved in their children's deaths - until a decade or more later when he accepts William's involvement in the other children's disappearances/murders. He never realizes Mary killed Lizzie and forever blames her death on William.)

- (Michael essentially goes to live with Uncle Henry and Aunt Mary until he leaves for college, and it helps the three heal a lot. Henry likely lives through these events due to having Michael to watch after/set an example for.)

- (1987) The details Will described to Vanny when defending his murderous behavior were accurate. The DCI did occur at a birthday party for children from the hospice wing of the local children's hospital. William intended to transmute their souls to the animatronics. They were 100% a science experiment, and that was a very disgusting thing to do. He had convinced himself that the ends justified the means. He said the "curing death for everyone" bit as an excuse/manipulation for Vanny's sake, though, as he at no point ever cared how his research might improve the lives of others. He was only obsessed with escaping death personally and would do almost anything to make that happen

- The deaths are thoroughly investigated but inevitably it was impossible to prove William was to blame, despite him being brought to trial. He did step down as co-CEO of the company at this time.

- Sometime after this, while attempting to harvest remnant from the suits he stuffed the DCI victims in, he's Springlocked.

- By the end of his life, William had directly killed 12 children (including Charlie) and indirectly (via the Funtime Animatronics) killed an unclear number more.  

- His methods of murder were generally quick and painless. These methods are also easiest to clean up and hide. He had no reason to be overly cruel, as he was not studying Agony and had not discovered it before his death.

- Springtrap is a whole other ballgame. William's soul and remnant did inhabit the Spring Bonnie suit for decades, but his consciousness was not as clear due to the Agony created during his violent, torturous death also impacting that form's feelings and behaviors. This is one reason Springtrap is so often recklessly violent/homocidal.

- Glitchtrap is a much purer form of his consciousness not as manipulated by Agony, so he's more like his original personality.

- Overall, William (in Breached) is a deeply troubled man suffering from APD but who also allowed himself to excuse some of the worst possible human behaviors. He tried to excuse himself by blaming his evil actions on his personal fears. Then, he tried justifying them through half-baked promises of breakthroughs in science/healthcare which were entirely fabricated (i.e. they were not preconceived on his part, just an afterthought). He would have committed all his atrocities even if the outcome would have only benefited him, regardless of what he said to gaslight Vanny into feeling guilty for questioning his actions.

- Harming anyone, especially children, in any way is horrible, and taking away another person’s agency via emotional abuse/torture is also horrible. My William is definitely an abusive, miserable, evil person. However, I’m leaving out much of the additions from the books, including this Wafer Debacle. This is because I think he is a much more interesting and compelling villain if we are able to see the steps he took to get where he got. Being someone with personal struggles who gives in to desperate, selfish desires to protect themselves from their greatest fears is something more relatable and therefore more insidious, perhaps even more disconcerting to read than someone who makes fear gas for kids because they’re wicked (IMO). Being cartoonishly rotten isn’t my vision for him in this AU. On the other hand, there are real life villains who have perpetrated similar (perhaps not with the sci-fi, fear gas aspects) violence against their own children (See “A Child Called It” book if you want to be nauseated forever until you die but also TW TW TW TW!!!), so it wouldn’t be completely unreasonable to claim a horror game/novel villain would go to such lengths. Just. I’m not going that direction with my William in particular.  

- (Malhare was being honest about "not carving up the kids", i.e torturing them like she does her adult victims. Her theory on getting good remnant samples involves torture (leads to her independent ‘breakthrough’ about Agony, before she looks into previous research on the subject by P. Taggart). William’s theory involves the victims being young (remnant is newer/easier to manipulate). From a scientific research perspective, including 2 or more uncontrolled variables in the research would mess with results and make it difficult and possibly impossible to decipher which variable was actually effective. So.)

- Just a fun fact, he did really feel real fondness for Vanny initially. He saw a lot of Lizzie's precocious nature in her, and he loved the ego boost from her gushing over how wonderful his company/designs were. He thought she was capable and had promise in robotics/engineering. He's just a very selfish person who uses people as pawns, whether he likes them or not. And if they start getting in his way, he isn't afraid to let them burn.

[aries-007]

I just remembered something that happened at my boyfriend's (now fiancé) high school grad party. Keep in mind this was several years ago and I don't remember everything.

Basically I was sitting at a table with my mom and three (3) of her mom friends. I've known these women practically all my life. At this point my mom had wandered off to do something (I really don't remember what) and it was just me and these other ladies.

For a bit of background;

We know these ladies cus I went to school with their kids (from elementary thru high school) and we would play together sometimes. They all have kids that are close to my age as well as kids who are still in elementary school.

Now for the story. Basically I was sitting there eating my pizza and listening to whatever they were saying (not too uncommon for me, I normally stay quiet unless I've got something to add to the conversation). At some point they started talking about some drama at the elementary their kids go to (and that I went to). Essentially, there was a girl in the same class as their kids who seemed to be being bullied.

I don't remember all they said was going on with her, but one of the things was that some nasty stuff was being written about her on the bathroom stalls. Stuff like "[girl] is ugly" and "[girl] should just kill herself" and "[girl] should die". (Keep in mind, this girl would've been 10-12 years old at this point)

(I had considered adding my two cents about mental health and how this was awful but decided I didn't need to, as at least two of the moms have a kid with mental health issues and who was bullied in elementary.)

Apparently the girl had •issues• and at some point one mom said she wouldn't be surprised if the girl was writing these things herself for attention. The other moms agreed, and they kind of started dissing her?

I knew I needed to put in my two cents now, but a different two cents than the original. At the next pause in conversation, I said something similar to the following:

I know I don't know the whole story, but if what you're telling me is actually what's happening and this girl is doing this herself there certainly are problems. If she is the one writing these things, it sounds to me more like a cry for help than a cry for attention. But even if she is doing this for attention, there's still something incredibly wrong. I hope she gets whatever help she needs.

I went on to explain some mental health stuff and my reasonings.

Basically I scolded the parents for 5 minutes and continued trying to emphasize "hey this isn't a good thing" for the next 10 minutes.

I think at some point I pointed out "what if this was your kid who was doing this?"

I just hope the kid got the help she needed and that she's doing alright now.

[waywardtyrantpirate]

Tw: child abuse, torture mentions, sexual abuse

Idk if im going to move this to a new blog or just keep it here. I have gangstalkers, my past bio fam who want to control me.

Anyways I need some help from yall to help me decipher this memory.

I was about 6-7ish when I was crying in my room. I remember I had a nightmare or something an I freaked out. My step father came in an sat down w/ me. Then he put me on his lap. I looked up at him and remember this gross smile he had. Then my memory fades into fuzzy. It looks like static and when I try to remember the room gets darker and static gets more and more. And I get scared.

I don't remember if I went to bed after or...he did something to me. He's had a past w/ sexually assaulting children and drugging them.

Pls if anyone has knowledge of what this is pls tell me.

I recently found out about something called ramcoa. But I don't want to call it that if it's not that bc ik that is a very serious thing and I don't want to offend anyone w/ this. Idk much about it.

[venting-town]

I just realized that 99% of the trauma/abuse I’ve experienced in my life is due to incompetent, abusive, immature and manipulative adults

I wish I was joking when I say 99% of the adults in my life had failed me, but I’m not.

They made me feel like it was MY fault when THEIR stupid-ass feelings got hurt because I didn’t act the way they wanted me to, I said something they didn’t like/agree with, I did something the way they didn’t want me to, I reacted to something the way they didn’t want me to, I’d talk back to them ( aka I didn’t submit to their “ authority “ ), etc etc

Basically it all boils down to stupid-ass trash adults blaming a child for their own immaturity/incompetence/problems

[stargirlinterludefr]

YES TO HEAVEN: jj maybank x reader

Synopsis: Three times JJ is told you love him (+1 time he finally says it back.)

TW: mentions of physical, emotional and verbal abuse, mentions of drug usage (weed), alcohol consumption, mention of Luke Maybank, mention of child abuse, angst to fluff, use of y/n

If there is one thing everyone in the Outer Banks knows about JJ Maybank? It’s his ferocious loyalty. He’s probably the most loyal man to walk the planet. The boy would walk into a fire blind to save the people he loves even if he only had a 0.99% chance of doing so, he’d rather take that chance over anything else.

But, there was one thing you knew about JJ Maybank and that was the fact he was terrified of love. The irony right? A boy so full of love that he’s nearly bursting at the seams, petrified that he isn’t worthy of the very thing.

And yet…you love him as though it’s as easy as breathing.

A fact that he can’t seem to except, no matter how hard he tries.

-

1st Time: SHARING A JOINT

The first time you tell JJ you love him, and not in the friendly way, is when you are both high as kites.

And that’s exactly what JJ pins it down to, the fact that you’re only saying you love him because you’re high. There couldn’t possibly any other reason you love someone like him, right?

“It’s crazy as shit to think that the stars…they’re just like a bunch of dead suns but they’re still vibin’ it up in the sky man.” JJ rambles, intoxicated brain running at a slower pace than usual but still managing keeping up with his everyday hyperactive sober brain.

You stare lovingly, not at the dead suns, but at JJ. Despite how much you’d smoked, your eyes held so much adoration that the Maybank boy could feel it burning into the side of the face and he didn’t dare turn you’re way because he’s sure he’d up and bolt at the sight of such love.

“I wish I could be a star, just chillin’ light years after my death and being some beautiful light in the sky it’s so-“

“I love you.” You blurt out, mind not catching up to the words that had slipped past your lips and perhaps not even realising you’d said them out loud until JJ’s head snapped in your direction at the speed of light.

The look on his face nearly made you cry, the look of utter terror that flashed on his features would be enough to make anyone cry because how could anyone hurt this boy? A boy so special, kind and loving.

A boy who currently looked at you like you had three heads.

“W-What?” JJ splutters, he’d planned to play it off jokingly, as though you were saying it in a friendly way. But he wasn’t stupid, sure he’s had a lot of cuncussion due to all the blows to the head he’s taken, but he wasn’t stupid. Nor was he blind.

He knew the way you looked at him and he knew he looked at you that way too.

You cheeks flush slightly, JJ also tries to downplay that as you being high outta your mind, “I just…I love you, Jay.” You whisper, so earnestly and full of meaning that JJ laughs.

He actually laughs.

You feel sick.

“Nah, you don’t love me man.” He throws out, mind sobering up so quickly that it almost gives him whiplash with the speed it happens. He sits up and shuffles away from you slightly, the feeling of rejection burns deeply in your gut.

You don’t feel so high anymore.

“But I do, love you I mean.” You state, beginning to anxiously pick at your nails as JJ scoffs, tongue rolling on the inside of his cheek as he pulls himself to his feet.

It’s almost embarrassing how quick you are to follow.

“Why’d you-“ He starts, throwing his hands up before slapping them back to his thighs, his glare cutting you in half like a sharp knife. “You- you’re high, y/n, you prolly’ ain’t gonna remember this in the morning.”

You try to speak, but your mouth is hoarse and you wonder if you even have the strength to open it.

“Let’s just forget about this, yeah?” He sighs out and you nearly cry at how you nod, forcing a smile for his benefit.

2nd Time: JOHN B

JJ is sat in the hammock at the Château, blue eyes intently watching as you, Kiara and Sarah giggle like three little girls as you share stories animatedly between one another.

The boy doesn’t even realises he’s smiling at the sight until John B speaks from beside him, “What’s got you looking so happy, and if you dare say you’ve jacked off in my hammock I swear to god…I’ll kill you.” JB warns jokingly, bringing himself to sit across from the blonde haired boy as JJ’s cheeks basically flush.

“Nah man, you know I wouldn’t do that shit infront of impressionable ladies.” He mocks, eyes darting to you and back to John B who looks at JJ as though he’s got him all figured out.

“What’re you doin’ anyway? Thought you, Pope n Cleo were off gettin’ some beers?” He then quizzes, trying to play it off, he can essentially feel John B’s interrogation looming.

The Routledge boy shrugs, “We were, we got back like ten minutes ago, you not hear us call out?”

Busted. He’s so fucking busted.

JJ clears his throat as he leans back on his arms, “Was probably nappin’ the sun has been killin’ me off, bro.”

“Uh huh, you sure it’s the sun that’s been making you all…distracted?” John B quizzes, eyebrow raised as he stares intently at his best friend who refuses to look him in the eye. Completely out of character for JJ’s golden retriever like nature, he never avoided eyes with anyone unless he was afraid.

JJ clenched his jaw, his eyes unknowingly travelling to you once more and this time, John B follows his line of sight and his mind clicks into place.

“Ah.” He him making JJ’s head snap toward him as the Maybank boy narrows his eyes toward his best friend.

“What? What does ‘ah’ mean?” JJ interrogates quickly, nudging JB with his knee so the boy would answer him instead of wearing a very annoying smirk on his sun kissed face.

“Ah means that you have feelings for y/n.” John B states bluntly, deciding to not beat around the bush because he knew better than anyone that beating around the bush is exactly the thing that has prevented you and JJ from confronting your feelings for this long.

JJ shifts uncomfortably and shakes his head, “The fuck? Only feelings I have for y/n are like the same ones I have for like…Kiara and Cleo, hell even you man.” JJ quickly defends and from the corner of his eye, he tries not to watch as you laugh so beautifully at something Sarah said.

Your laugh was like JJ’s own personal drug, if he could bottle the sound and get drunk to it every night he would.

John B laughs dryly before saying, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jay, she obviously likes or even loves you back so why not just…you know?” He says, imitating kissing motions with his hands as JJ’s face scrunches up.

“First of all, that makes you look like your a puppet bein’ controlled or some shit,” JJ begins, sitting up slightly in the hammock “And secondly, she obviously doesn’t like me and I don’t like her, we’re just friends.” He stresses, shrugging despite the desperate look in his eyes that always tells John B the truth of it.

And to prove himself wrong, both you and JJ turn your heads at the same time, catching each other’s gaze for a few moments. You always felt as though the world comes come to a halt when this happens, as though both you and him were the only ones in the world but then you feel Kiara nudge your shoulder and you remember JJ said he basically wouldn’t feel the same way about you, ever.

John B shook his head with a small laugh as he watches the interaction, standing up from the hammock as JJ’s eyes dart from yours and up to John B who gives him a quick pat to the shoulder.

“I don’t know what you tell yourself, bro, but…friends don’t look at each other like that.”

3rd time: AFTER A FIGHT WITH LUKE.

The third time that JJ is told you love him probably goes down in the worst way possible.

JJ had just had a huge argument with his father, the reason for which he couldn’t even remember now, all he knows is Luke had punched him square in the jaw and followed it with a kick to the ribs for good measure.

So, JJ was bottled to the brim with anger. And to make matters worse? You were looking at him with so much love that it made him feel sick, he didn’t deserve that love. He didn’t deserve you.

He was currently sat on the dock of the Château, face tensed and twisted with anger as he stared out at the water and you sat beside him…face twisted with anguish at the fact this had happened to the boy you loved.

JJ couldn’t look at you, again. But not because he didn’t want to but because he knew that if he did, he’d likely flip the top off the bottle that was holding everything inside of him and the thought of doing so absolutely terrified him.

“Do you want me to get some ice for your cheek? It’d probably help with the swelling.” You ask softly, eyes trailing down the side of the boys face as he doesn’t respond.

JJ really wanted you to be quiet but your love and care was overflowing and his was overcome by a blinding anger that he was struggling hard to contain, the anger that was hanging loosely by a thread which he sensed was about to be snapped at any moment.

“Or maybe a beer? Or I could roll a joint? It might be good if you-“

“God, would you just shut the fuck up!”

Snap.

Your face subtly drops but you’re quick to pick it back up, you know you have no right to be upset, he’s just angry at his dad. He’s not angry at you, right?

“All you ever fuckin’ do is yap down my ear, ‘oh do you want some ice JJ?’, ‘do you like this new shirt I got JJ?’, ‘I love you, JJ.” The boy mocks and you feel as though you’re being sliced open, your feelings laid bare like a wounded animal.

JJ scoffs out a dry humourless laugh as he raises to his feet, you are once again embarrassingly quick to follow. “I mean, it’s so fuckin’ tiring, you spout so much worthless shit down my ear like how am I supposed to get a clear thought when you’re clinging to me like I’m some sort of lost limb! It’s pathetic as shit, bro!”

His chest heaves in pure anger, anger you desperatley try to believe isn’t directed at you.

“This is just your anger talkin’, Jay, it’s not me you’re angry at its-“ JJ groans loudly enough to cut you off as his hands gesture to you wildly.

“And here you go again! Wafflin’ bullshit that I don’t give a fuck about, dictating to me how I should feel! Is that what you hoped? When you told me you loved me? That you’d get the same thing said back?” Your heart beat is sickeningly fast in your chest and you try to will your voice to come out as strong when you mutter;

“I mean, maybe? I-I never expected for you to say it back-“

“Damn y/n, I mean I know you’re smart but I never took you to be blind as shit! You and me? We ain’t gonna happen!” As JJ’s fuse burns out, his chest heaving and his words all but escaping him your heart shatters.

You both stand there, staring widely at one another.

Regret seeps into JJ’s eyes so quickly that you don’t have time to notice, your own eyes holding so much hurt that it cuts right through JJ’s anger and grasps harshly at his heart. Tugging roughly at the love he has for you, his blue eyes sweeping over your soul shattering expression.

JJ wants you to scream back, he wants you to hit him, he knows he deserves it. But you’re not his dad, and he’s unleashed his anger on you like you were.

You’d never lay a hand on him, the thought of doing so would likely make you keel over and vomit. You’re probably the most gentle person he’s ever come across and he’s just thrown whatever gentleness you’d extended to him, through your love for him, right back right into your face. Harshly.

And all you say in response?

Nothing at all.

You nod, tears now horrifically slipping down your face as you simply turn and walk away.

JJ’s ashamed to admit he doesn’t go after you, he remains frozen in place. Mind whirring at the fact that for a second, he’d acted exactly like his father.

+1: JJ SAYS IT BACK.

You never claimed to be an expert on love, you actually found it incredibly hard to believe in. Growing up and not seeing your parents love one another is a harsh reminder that you don’t actually know what love is supposed to be.

Or, maybe you do.

It’s the love you hold so dearly for your friends, the small things you love like the music you listen to and the mismatched socks you wear.

Love is how you’d define what you held in your heart for JJ, despite all the cruel words he’d hauled your way.

There is one thing your parents taught you about love…the fact that it hurts.

You’d never seen your parents actively be happy together, but when you looked upon old photos and gazed at your older siblings you knew they must’ve loved each other once upon a time. You and your siblings were a product of that love, the proof that danced in front of their faces to ensure they don’t forget. Proof of a love that burned out.

You don’t think your love for JJ will ever burn out and that’s what hurts you the most. You can’t even bring yourself to be angry at him for what he said, because he was right.

Why did you expect him to feel the same way? Why did you even hold out hope?

You hadn’t seen the Maybank boy since your fight, Sarah had told you that he was searching high and low for you but you’d somehow managed to stay out of his path.

In other words? You were hiding on the beach where you first told JJ you loved him. In a very cliche movie kind of way, you knew he wouldn’t think to check this particular spot until the last minute.

And you didn’t intend on being here when he did figure it out, but, in the aftermath? You’re insanely glad you were.

You hear him approach, you don’t acknowledge him but JJ approaches anyway and he stands still just watching you for a few moments, clearly undecided on what he could say to you.

JJ had come up with a million different speeches and scenarios of how this would play out but he didn’t expect to be tongue tied the minute he caught sight of you laying on the beach, simply gazing up at the stars.

So, he brings himself to lay beside you. He keeps a respectful distance but the fact you aren’t maiming him to death or screaming for him to leave gives him the slightest flicker of hope.

“You know, it’s uh crazy as shit to think about the stars, they’re just a bunch of dead suns but they’re still vibin’ up in the sky.” JJ quotes and he swears he sees the corner of your lip twitch, you just won’t give him the satisfaction of a smile.

“I always liked the stars, in a sort of fucked up way, they remind me that i’m not alone. That there’s billions of people under the same exact sky livin’ and breathin’ at the same time as me.” He rambles, his head now turning to you so he can gaze upon you.

This time, you’re the one who can’t bring yourself to look back.

“What I’m tryna say is, the stars…they remind me of you.” At that, your eyes find his, JJ smiling softly as he catches your gaze.

“Stars are so beautiful, they can direct you on the places you need to go a-and they remind you that no matter what, they’ll always be there, so insanely gorgeous.” You sit up and JJ is proudly fast to follow you this time.

“Wh- why are you saying this, JJ?” You whisper, voice so gentle that JJ’s heart aches at the fact he said all those cruel things to you.

“I’m saying this because…I-I love you, and i’m sorry i’ve been such a fucking idiot and i’ve been hiding behind this stupid ass wall I put up but i just know that ever since I met you…no one else has been worth even thinkin’ about.” He rambles desperately, hands coming to clasp your own as you stare up at him.

You’re so beautiful that JJ has to physically restrain himself from simply smashing his lips onto yours before you can take the time to respond.

You stare at him with so much fear in your eyes that JJ imagines it’s exactly what he looked like when you told him you loved him that first time.

“B-but what if things get like complicated? What if we fight? I-I mean-“ You start but JJ is quick to cut you off.

“I don’t care how complicated this gets, baby, I want you.” He says so earnestly and full of meaning that it takes you all but two seconds to lean forward and kiss him.

JJ happily excepts your kiss, the two of you breathing a sigh of relief at the feeling.

And from the corner of his eye, JJ thinks he sees the stars shine a little bit brighter.

[mad-hunts]

'i know what you are,' 'since james gordon told me what you were.' jesus christ, did these two ever shut up, barton thought. he didn't give a rats ass about what some ex-attorney thought of him; it was the principle that they were so quick to point the finger at barton that really irritated him. because that implied that jim hadn't brought his fate upon himself, which was wrong to barton. a loud and incredulous laugh left his mouth then, ❝ he shot my father in front of me when i was just a kid, you miserable, self-righteous son of a bitch. you think that he deserved to just get away with that? i honestly should've killed jim for what he did, because my dad was the only thing that i had as a child. and the dirtbag still decided to take him away from me! ❞

there was no doubt that the bar-goers inside as well as anyone nearby could probably hear all that barton was saying now. for, he was certainly raising his voice at the both of them now. though he wasn't quite to the level of anger where all he could see was red... barton was pretty damn close to it. nevermind all of the conflicting thoughts that he had had about wesley over the years; as barton was making an active attempt to rid himself of them at that moment after all. though, it was clearly messed up that he had to learn how to lie very quickly while living with him. that is... or barton would be subject to being screamed at, physically threatened, or just made to feel completely powerless in one way or another. and that was only a portion of what his father had done to him.

so, barton's brain had taken to basically twisting the whole situation right on its head, and creating false ideas about it. because there was no other way for him to accept what had happened. though a part of him still feared wesley to this day. what two-face had said was just the push barton needed to decide, yeah, he definitely didn't want the both of them to be able to walk away from this. faint involuntary tremors were happening in his arms as he gritted his teeth. barton spoke to two-face with so much fury and vitriol behind his voice, then, ❝ ooh... i am going to fucking kill you. you're a good-for-nothing failure who no one really cares about — you know that? they just feel sorry for you, because poor harvey and two-face had such a promising future ahead of them, and now look at them! ❞

only one punch into the fight and he was already thinking about reaching into his boot to grab his knife. but no, a part of barton honestly wanted to try to take the other down with only his hands. now whether that would actually work remained to be seen. barton was just so angry that he went for what most people would probably consider an illegal move: a punch to the throat. though, he had missed in this instance, and so barton directed a kick to two-faces stomach that he hoped would be more successful in landing.

@mad-hunts from x

"I've been wanting to beat you to a withering, stinking pulp since James Gordon told me exactly what you were. We don't need an excuse, but you were kind enough to provide one."

As though Harvey Dent hadn't been taking a beating all his life.

He felt pain, but it was easy to rage through it - anything short of another round of acid to the face wasn't enough to make him stop once he got invested. He felt pain enough. He'd been shot, strangled, beaten, tortured, and martyred - pain defined every moment of Two-Face's existence, and the more pain he felt, the easier it was for his personality to dominate Harvey's.

"He should have capped you too when he had the chance and saved the rest of us the fucked-up future you'd go on to create for you and everyone around you."

When Two-Face was in charge, all six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of Harvey Dent was all his to orchestrate havoc.

Barton could jab and kick and elbow all he wanted. Two-Face made it a point to keep him in close quarters, where he was at his most punishing, and simply beating down.

"You think I'm a thug? Good. My rap sheet is about to have your name on it."

[ghoststyles]

Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

______________________________________________________________

Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up. 

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat. 

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid. 

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more. 

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must. 

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty. 

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job. 

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell. 

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there. 

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!” 

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand. 

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night. 

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock. 

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears. 

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again. 

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply. 

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours. 

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes. 

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that. 

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame. 

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off. 

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week. 

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field  - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon. 

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house. 

Scout’s honor. 

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat. 

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club. 

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits. 

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd. 

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into. 

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

~

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply. 

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down. 

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows. 

“Fuck!” 

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

~

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends. 

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents. 

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity. 

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you. 

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out. 

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach. 

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead. 

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind. 

~

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around. 

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us. 

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave. 

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue. 

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight? 

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

~

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins. 

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

~

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy. 

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car. 

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed. 

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with. 

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile. 

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it. 

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment. 

~

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family. 

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman. 

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect. 

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep. 

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face. 

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling. 

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

~

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice. 

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while. 

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face. 

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance. 

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about. 

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement. 

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing. 

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on. 

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move. 

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south. 

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

~

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them. 

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

~

He doesn’t even remember how it went down. 

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy. 

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights. 

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations. 

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice. 

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone. 

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

~

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you. 

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest. 

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs. 

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues. 

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

~

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again. 

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait. 

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole. 

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest. 

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?” 

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition. 

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises. 

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy. 

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection. 

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life. 

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for. 

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his. 

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you. 

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs. 

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you. 

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently. 

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.” 

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest. 

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping. 

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you. 

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch. 

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s. 

Harry is finally home. 

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Requiem for the Damned ଓ♱˚⋆

*holds head in hands* Idk why Dottore keeps haunting me with writing inspo. And for this idea to manifest just before Holy Week….fuck it, I hope you all enjoy the blasphemous tale of Priest! Dottore x Demon! Darling _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

Tw:: yandere, violence, death, religious abuse, dubcon, mention of nsfw, MINORS DNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 2.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Despite your status as a wandering demon, you have no place in human cognizance. Rather, you conceal yourself from mortal eyes in favor of close observations and whispered temptations. Humans, from your perspective, are interesting creatures—they are ambitious, easily influenced by spiritual beings, capable of both good and evil.

♡ And what better example than the one who summoned you on a starry night? Such rituals are not uncommon amongst heretics, but most only succeed in invoking the contempt of their fellow humans. And few would invoke your name, much less commit sacrilege within the walls of the Church.

♡ You sense danger immediately upon your appearance. Within the summoning circle, you take note of your sigil perfectly illustrated in blood against marble. Beyond it, what alarms you is not your sacred surroundings nor the fresh corpse mixed with your offerings of books and fruit. It is the figure standing over you, cloaked in moonlight, gazing at you with eyes the color of hellfire.

“My ritual is a success. Welcome to my humble church, o noble demon…or would you rather be addressed by your epithet? ______, Fallen Seraph, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge.”

♡ A glimpse into his soul is all it takes to strike fear into your heart. Within Hell, there are rumors of a small village in Sumeru. Its people are nothing of note, a congregation of simpletons whose lives revolve around the beliefs of their Church. The lone exception is the main priest, Father Zandik, better known as Il Dottore.

♡ The stories, passed through human voices, speak of a child ostracized for his unconventional beliefs and his interest in the macabre. Branded a madman, he was placed in the care of the Church elders who corrected his ways of thinking. Once he became of age, Zandik was given the choice to move out of the rectory or to remain as a priest; he chose the latter of his own volition.

♡ Since his ordination, Zandik has proved himself to be an exceptional priest. He educates the masses, reviews theological texts, performs exorcisms, and provides religious counsel for the doubtful. He even serves as the town’s doctor, fully gaining the acceptance of his community.

♡ The rumors don’t stop there. For Il Dottore earned his title by performing miracles. It is he who guides the people into religious ecstasy, he who cures the sick from mysterious curses, he who blesses the weak into “enhanced humans.” There are already whispers that once Dottore’s mortality catches up with him, he will surely be canonized as the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles.

♡ But spiritual beings such as yourself know the truth. That Dottore is neither a kind priest nor a devout believer, that his days in the Church only magnified his heretical inclinations. Disillusioned with God, Zandik decided to turn His religious sanctuary into his own laboratory, one where he could fulfill his lust for knowledge through a mask of holiness.

♡ He manipulates the people with false teachings. He triggers religious ecstasy with drugged incense. He singles out devotees to “test their faith” during the quiet hours of the Church. And what the town perceives as curses and miracles are actually scientific experiments in which Dottore plays god.

♡ It’s too late to escape. No matter your divine powers, nothing prepares you for Dottore’s traps. The incantations, the barrier of the summoning circle, an aura so holy yet sinister that it couldn’t possibly come from ordinary religious objects—all you can do is fall to your knees and beg for his mercy, all the while he watches you with a confident smile.

♡ His intentions are like that of any human: He summoned you to form a contract. In exchange for his soul, he demands your knowledge, your resources, your full servitude for so long as he roams the mortal plane. Your hesitation only triggers another wave of scorching pain, followed by panic as Dottore grips your horn and forces you to face him.

“Make no mistake, ______. The mere fact of your divinity does not make you indestructible. In exchange for your cooperation, you will bear witness to experiments of the same magnitude as God’s creations. What say you?”

♡ You have no other choice. And that is how, in the sanctity of the Church, you make a deal with the human named Zandik. Once the pact has been forged, Dottore admires the bright sigil on his chest, plucks a few feathers from your wings, and disables the summoning circle so you can leave. Thus begins your personal hell.

♡ It is easy for you to answer Dottore’s questions about the divine. The horror lies in assisting him in experiments, responding to his summons no matter the inconvenience, allowing him to extract your blood, tears, and feathers. No, what’s most humiliating is when he uses your body for his “research,” bending you over the altar and bringing you to physical ecstasy against your will.

♡ At this point, you don’t know who to pray to. One night, Dottore shows you a secret room in his laboratory. As soon as he lights the lamps, your eyes take in numerous bodies and skeletons of a different classification from his usual victims. The extra bones jutting from the scapulas, the amputated wings, the halos pinned to the walls, the holy aura you’d felt from his religious objects…instantly, Dottore’s powers make sense.

“This is my first specimen. She was my guardian angel…no, I jest. She was a mere messenger who implored me to repent for my sins. From her words, I deduced it had been within Heaven’s capacity to save me during my youth—and yet God only sent an angel to me after my first act of blasphemy.”

The angels…how many has he killed? Not even during your fall from Heaven did you feel such primal fear for your life. But you cannot scream—you have long been trained to resist fight and flight. All you can do is listen to Dottore’s explanation, watch as he approaches a pure white skeleton and wraps his hands around its fractured hyoid bone.

He gives you a calm smile. “Luckily, her body provided me with indispensable resources for my experiments and my procurement of her brethren. I believe her name was Sohreh.”

♡ Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Dottore points at the far corner of the room to reveal a space dedicated to demons. Four dead bodies, their causes of death vividly described. Horns, wings, and other body parts amputated in exchange for lives spared after exorcisms. And when Dottore returns to your side, tracing the wound from where he broke off your horn, you can only tremble and acquiesce to a checkup. It grows back fully by the end of the year.

♡ He has his moments of vulnerability, however. Perhaps it is due to your nature as a demon, a creature which represents evil, that Dottore does not hide his heart from you. Once, after his usual confessions—he always makes up trivial sins—he remains in the confessional until his fellow priest has left. Then he goes to the altar and summons you.

♡ What catches you off-guard is not his lack of greetings. Rather, it’s the way he pulls you close to his body, lips ghosting the curve of your ear. There, in the heart of the Church, he whispers to you every sin he has ever committed. Despite his normal tone of voice, his words have never betrayed a language so guiltless, so sincere, so human.

♡ He asks how much of his madness is to blame on the influence of demons, or if he had been born wicked. He asks if humans were truly given the mental faculties to withstand temptation regardless of their circumstances. He asks if the same can be said for spiritual beings, questioning why former angels like you were also created with the capacity to sin. He even asks if praying for a demon can offer them any hope of salvation.

♡ It takes you a while to answer his questions. It’s just like him to put your emotions in disarray, to make you feel pity for the very cause of your current suffering. Against your nature, you wonder if there is still a chance for Zandik, if he can somehow repent or find a way to save himself from your contract and all of his sins. Even if it is too late, He has always been more forgiving to humans than angels.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

“Do you know why I became a demon, Zandik?”

Your question is what prompts Zandik to pull away from you, though his touch lingers. His gaze, as always, is unfathomable; you can never discern what hides within those pools of crimson.

“No, I do not. Few demonological texts allude to your existence, and only the Lesser Key of Deshret cites your previous status as an angel of the highest ranking. I have made theories in relation to your epithets but I respect all possibilities. Now what would you, as the primary source, reveal to me?”

Now it is your turn to confess.

“Seraphim are the closest to God but for that reason, we are the most distant from His creations. Everything we know of the world is derived only from what He tells us, not our own insights. And so I defied His Word and ate the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, committing the same sin which condemned all of humanity.”

The tip of your upper wing brushes against Zandik’s face, while your middle wings encircle his body in a loose hug. As for your lower wings…they are nothing but twin scars covered in short feathers. After your descent, it seemed like a rational decision to chop them off, broken as they were. It helped that your wings had just outgrown their original purpose.

For once, you barely flinch at the sensation of his touch against your scars. Many times, Zandik has inquired about the loss of your lower wings and even asked if he could have them. They still remain in Hell, tucked away in a corner of your home, eyes forever closed.

It takes a few seconds for him to respond. “Do you ever regret your decision?”

You shrug. “It was difficult at first, naturally. Many of my eyes were blinded—yes, that is why I rarely open the ones on my wings—but those which still function have seen so many wonderful sights up-close. Neither must I cover my face with my remaining wings. And despite being what your kind and my former brethren would dub a monster…I’m happier now.”

“I see, I see.” His curiosity appears far from sated, however, a sentiment you can empathize with. “As I thought, God is incomprehensible. For Him to deny even His greatest creation of salvation…it confirms that there are limits to the forgiveness of that which humans call a ‘loving god.’ Thank you for sharing this knowledge with me.”

And just as quickly as he initiated his confession, Zandik steps out of your grasp and dismisses you. But you make no haste, silently watching him after you “leave.”

His expression is thoughtful. A gloved hand touches his chest, right above your sigil.

Such an interesting creature.

Honestly, you don’t know what to make of your feelings for this human. Much as you despise his cruel treatment towards you, he never fails to capture your interest with his experiments and philosophies. Whenever he speaks of God, you wonder if a small part of him still desires to be saved. But that will never be.

Zandik preaches salvation with the knowledge that he will never receive it. For the Church never taught him how to love.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ Il Dottore never became the Patron Saint of Doctors and Miracles. Neither did he have a funeral mass befitting of a priest, nor a peaceful death from natural causes. Instead, he died young, laicized, once again denounced as a heretic by his community.

♡ You don’t know how his crimes were exposed, and why now. Perhaps it is God’s punishment for him, a blessing for his victims, or both. Either way, Dottore paid for his sins on a sunny day, burned at the stake before a disdainful crowd. Not long after his heart stopped beating, his belongings were thrown into the fire—research, tools, anything which carried his memory.

♡ You never left his side. After his last rites, led by an elderly bishop who condemned Zandik as he did in the past, you sat next to him and offered a final conversation. He didn’t express any fear nor sadness in regards to his imminent death, merely stating it a pity that his achievements could never be appreciated in his town.

♡ …He did ask if there is any chance of meeting again in Hell, but you reminded him that the punishment of sinners is out of your jurisdiction. Plus, it’s better that way—you have no desire to avenge yourself, and you’d rather not witness Zandik’s suffering for all eternity. You can only imagine the severity of his punishment, what more if he is assigned to one of the demons he exorcized.

♡ During his execution, you stood at the front of the crowd. You kept your eyes trained on him, for so long as his scarlet orbs remained open, whispering the prayers for the dead on his behalf. While a part of you felt liberated, another was mournful. You hope your last words to Zandik gave him solace in his final moments.

“Rest now, Zandik. God may never forgive your sins, but I shall.”

♡ And thus ends the life of Il Dottore. In the following days, the Church is purged of its holy, sinister aura, mainly because they discarded the religious objects tainted with angel remains. You continue your usual obligations as a wandering demon, but the humans you observe pale in comparison to your companion of many years.

♡ Not long after, you return to Hell for your other divine duties. As soon as you appear in your abode, however, something feels off. The sinister aura, the offering of books and fruit, your lower wings gone from their original place… The answer comes in the form of a hand grabbing you by the horn, pulling you backwards, twisting your body to meet a familiar gaze the color of hearth-fire. Only, this time, those eyes are brimming with pure joy, paired with a genuine smile.

♡ Apparently, Dottore’s soul did end up in Hell but not in the way you expected. In a proud voice, he explains that the Devil gave him a special fate. Whether it was due to vacant positions or everyone’s fear of the infamous “Demon-Killer,” you’ll never know. What Dottore does confirm is that as the demon bound to him via contract, you have to take responsibility and act as his companion in Hell.

“Rather than subject me to eternal suffering, the Devil believed that my talents would prove useful for the punishments of my fellow sinners. How wonderful is it for my achievements to be recognized in Hell? …Oh? I didn’t predict such a physical reaction from you. All of your eyes are wide open, and you seem to be on the verge of fainting.”

♡ You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. To think your personal hell has been extended to eternity—are your sins enough to warrant such a fate?! But after confirming your misfortune, all you can do is sigh and tend to Zandik. He looks exactly the same, with the exception of a few burn scars on his body. And judging by the familiar black feathers on his person, he seems eager to discard his former religious attire along with his mask of faith.

♡ And when Zandik unfastens his scorched cassock, he takes your hand and places it on his unburned chest, right above your sigil. It glows vibrantly, brighter than any light you laid eyes on in Heaven. And beneath the flesh, you can feel his heart beating in sync with yours.

“Tell me, ______, do I still appear human to you?”

“You already know my answer to that question. But fine, I’ll admit it: Yes, you always have.”

♡ 

More Church AU here!! Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

At long last, I am free from Priesttore…thank you to everyone. To my readers, to my fellow Dottore simps, to my mutuals who indulged my tortured DMs after midnight, to the artist whose fan art inspired this idea to begin with. May you all have a lovely day╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Tag a Dottore enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @mochinon-yah @diodellet @lcveaesop @oofasleep @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @boundinparchment @harmonysanreads @teabutmakeitazure @yandere-wishes @yanmaresu @nicebonescomrades @nimandu @lesanyanyas @moarar

[nerdwhoauthorinserts]

Need some 'vent'ilation, one moment-

Me: You know, as I've gotten older, I realize you and mom were never actually trying to be malicious towards me. You were trying your best to raise me, and I can appreciate that. My dad, immediately: But we're the worst parents ever, right? Me: ...N-no? I never said that? My dad: Yeah, I know. I'm the 'most terrible human being ever', right? You were so abused. *Starts going on the 'I put a roof over your head' shpeel* Me: What is happening? I literally just said I didn't hold any of that against you. My dad: Any of what? The 'abuse'? What did I ever do to you? Me: You mean besides punching a hole in my door, slamming me on the hardwood floor onto my spine, pushing me into shelves, belittling me constantly, grabbing my arm so hard it left a bruise, pressuring me into drinking when I was underage despite me saying I didn't want to, calling me a f*ggot, r*tard, and making fun of me every chance you get? My dad: I've never done any of those things, you're lying! Besides, I pick at you because that's just how I am, I'm an asshole! Me: Jesus Christ, why are you like this?!

[many-but-one]

Satanic Panic, The False Memory Foundation’s Shaky Origins, and Why You Should Believe RAMCOA Survivors

(TW: mentions of RAMCOA, False Memory Foundation, child torture & death, cults, trafficking)

Pretty disappointed to see a fairly popular and well known blog on tumblr is encouraging the idea that RAMCOA doesn’t exist. Just came across this post and was pretty bummed to see the comments too.

For those that agree with them (most of my followers won’t but who knows who will stumble across this), please know that RAMCOA has been going on for much longer than the Satanic Panic. The Satanic Panic was fabricated in an effort to discredit RAMCOA survivors. It was supported by the False Memory Foundation, which was created by a man (and his wife) trying to prove his daughter’s repressed memories of trauma involving him did not really happen. [Explained further in the third article further down in this post]

For the record, false memory/planting false memories has been disproven, it’s not possible to fully plant false memories in patients. Some memories can be altered to an extent because memories can be disjointed and influence from others can cause memories to shift slightly, which is why it’s not encouraged for trauma patients to share exact detailed memories with each other. For example, if two trauma patients were abused by their father and had a similar situation happen and patient A spoke about their experience in detail, if both fathers wore glasses and patient A describes their father to have black rimmed glasses, patient B’s memory might shift to believe that their father also had black rimmed glasses, even though his glasses were gold rimmed. However, it’s not possible to fully plant memories that do not exist in a patient’s memory. The “base memory” so to speak has to be there in order for any alterations to occur, and those alterations that are possible are often rather minuscule, such as glasses or whether or not their abuser had facial hair or not, or the color of the person’s eyes. Not an entire scene of RA. [Again, explained well by the third article below.]

Repressed memory has been proven to exist. (Though it’s more accurately called dissociated memories by clinicians) It can even exist in people who have traumas that happen in adulthood. Pieces of a traumatic event may go missing in a patient’s working memory, and they may not retrieve it until they are ready to process the memory and all the emotions and information that comes with it. However, it still exists stored in the brain, just in a different area than working memory. It’s why triggers to the traumatic event (that the patient may not even realize are triggers until they occur) can cause flashbacks and memory resurfacing during said flashbacks.

Some sources explaining the False Memory Foundation and the harm they’ve caused: [a good overview of a woman who was major in the development of the idea of repressed memory being a myth, by a researcher of child psychiatry], [while this is a psychology today article, I think this explains well how misused the idea of FMS - false memory syndrome - is.] [A comprehensive article explaining the roots of the FMF and how the studies used to “prove” false memory are terrible and easily debunked, with several assertions from professionals in the field.] I want to add that while the FMF has dissolved and rightfully so, the British False Memory Society is still alive and well, as well as the Satanic Temple’s Grey Faction, and both groups still cite False Memory Syndrome as being real and claim that RAMCOA survivors have false memories of their abuse.

However, before Satanic Panic happened, people were starting to actually believe in the existence of RAMCOA and the concept of DID was brought into the mainstream. A survivor on tiktok has a very good video on this situation. And that scared people, especially the abusers themselves who didn’t want to get caught. That’s when the False Memory Foundation stepped in on the heels of Satanic Panic and literally rewrote the textbooks therapists learned from, and basically taught everyone that repressed memory doesn’t exist. Any therapists that spoke about their patients’ experiences with RAMCOA were sued. Therapists stopped wanting to treat RAMCOA patients for fear of being sued and/or losing their license or being told they planted these memories in their patients’ heads and possibly losing their licenses. It led to generations of old therapists not treating RAMCOA patients and generations of new therapists learning it doesn’t exist.

But it does exist. To outright deny that child torture cannot exist is absurd. 1-2% of reported child abuse falls under the definition of child torture. [source, TW: photos of children with serious injuries from torture included on page 7 of this document] For the record, my abuse was never and has never been reported, and most survivors—RAMCOA and non-RAMCOA, whose trauma falls under the definition of torture—never reported or plan to report.

Even if you find the mind control aspect to be far-fetched, ritual abuse most certainly does exist. I’ve seen videos on the surface web on fucking tiktok of all places of child torture and ritual abuse. Organized abuse such as sex trafficking and labor trafficking does exist. Two out of those three things in the acronym are well documented to exist. And for the record, ritual abuse and cult abuse even in adults can cause extreme mind and identity alteration, upwards to the point of nearly being mind control. Look up OSDD-2 in the DSM-V. Look up just about any cult survivors testimonies and hear how they talk about how they nearly became a different person within their cult, how the cult uses torture and mind altering drugs to get their initiates to commit terrible acts of violence to each other. Now imagine if that same stuff were happening to a child whose mind is significantly easier to mold and change. Even if the child RAMCOA survivor does not develop DID, it can cause extreme conditioned responses in which the child (or now grown adult or teen) will still do the responses even now because as a child they were threatened with torture or death if they didn’t do it.

Mind control is essentially an extreme form of conditioning, and with the plethoras of research on DID and how it functions, it’s not even a difficult concept to grasp that a cult member might learn how to split new alters in a child via torture and then manipulate those alters to do what they want individually. Anyone who knows fuck all about DID knows that alters can be triggered out via positive and negative triggers. All mind control programming is, is creating a specific trigger for a specific alter and then when that child is exposed to that trigger, that alter comes out and does the task it was taught to do—usually via torture, manipulation, and threats of harm to the child or those the child loves. It’s not a difficult concept to grasp, and with how long TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers have had to perfect their work, it’s no surprise that they’ve learned how to make alters do extremely complex tasks or hold onto specific functions, always at the ready for their specific trigger.

RAMCOA research doesn’t exist in mainstream spaces because it’s nearly impossible to be taken seriously because of people who claim it doesn’t exist when it’s not even a complex topic to understand. They just don’t want to accept that it exists. The concept is terrifying, harrowing, and at some times almost absurd—and that combination makes it easier for people to put their blinders up and decide it doesn’t exist. [Edited to add: On top of this, what little research is done on it is steeped in conspiracy theories that often have roots in antisemitism. While I’ve asserted that Miller’s deprogramming books are good reads for RAMCOA survivors, she does often sound conspiratorial, and quotes Svali, a known antisemite. While I don’t think RAMCOA is exclusively related to the Illuminati stuff she often talks about, Miller’s work cannot be completely discounted because of her beliefs of where the abuse originated. Where it originates matters much less than the fact that it happens. However, not from dark, underground, secret societies—but from normal places like churches, children’s own homes (yes, RAMCOA can be done by a single parent to a single child, it just may look different than say, a trafficking ring), trafficking rings, militaristic groups, political cults, etc. I wanted to put the above put there because I know someone is going to come at me and try to say the researchers who talk about it were conspiracy theorists. Yeah, they were. Maybe they were the only ones willing to talk openly about it because of the fact they’re conspiracy theorists? I don’t know. However, I think it should also be noted that just because the researchers sucked doesn’t mean the information taken from them isn’t useful when you weed out the conspiracy stuff. For example, a LOT of modern understanding of medicine was taken from Nazi and Japanese experiments during WWII. Arguably some of the worst doctors on earth. Do we discount everything we learned because they were horrible, evil, people? No. While those who studied RAMCOA went about it in shit ways, that doesn’t discount the information learned completely. Likewise, much of modern psych understanding came from roots that included incredibly unethical experiments that would never be allowed today. Do we throw out all of that info too? No, we don’t. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t hold these people accountable, I’m saying we cannot throw out all discussion of RAMCOA because the doctors who talked about it were shitty people.]

I wish I could decide it doesn’t exist. I have permanent scarring that proves what happened did happen. I have doctor’s visits that prove I am disabled because of the traumas I went through. I have a DID specialist who didn’t even know programming to our extent even existed before our parts started telling her what they went through and she heard it from our own mouth. She had to learn how to deprogram us on the fly because she’d never done so before. So fuck off with your “oh, RAMCOA patients only have RAMCOA because they’ve been influenced by their therapist to believe they do” bullshit.

I relive my traumas in flashbacks and nightmares daily. There have been periods in my healing process where I couldn’t leave the house without someone with me for months. I couldn’t hold a job for nearly a year. I didn’t know any of this happened to me until I was in my 20s. I thought my memory was just bad and the only parts of my childhood I remembered were little blips of good things, usually involving my parent that was not involved with the cult or memories with friends at school or when I was hanging out with my sports teammates. Living with this stuff is hell. You think I want to live with this stuff? If I could permanently erase it all from my memory forever I would. But I can’t. I don’t have that luxury.

It happened. And I’m not the only child it happened to, both in the area of my country I live in and in areas all over my country and the world. This is not an isolated phenomenon. It is more common than anyone tends to realize (though still rarer than most DID cases, thank fuck). I was lucky to survive. I survived because they wanted me to. I saw a lot of children, teens, and adults who were not as “lucky” as I was. If you won’t respect survivors and their stories, at least respect the ones who didn’t survive. They didn’t deserve their final moments to be so full of pain. All of the children in these groups deserved to be loved and cared for and treated with softness and compassion. So do adult survivors like me and many others.

If I could end on one thing, it would be to urge the doubters to have some fucking compassion and empathy for people who have been through things they cannot even begin to understand. My past feels like a nightmare I will never be able to escape. I cannot erase it. I can only try to heal from it. So heal I will do, and in the process I will continue to speak the truth of my experience as safely as I can.

You want proof it’s real? Survivors are your proof.

WE are the proof.

[Edit: changed some wording for clarification + added a section after rereading a couple hours later]

[Edit 2: I realized I said my abuse has never been reported, I meant my RAMCOA related abuse. Want to make that clear. I reported sexual abuse done by my church to CPS and nothing came of it. CPS actually wrongfully claimed that since they had no reports existing of that church harming kids they wouldn’t pursue it since it happened so long ago, when a cursory google search of said location shows they’ve been reported multiple times and all reports were dropped. Why, I’m not sure.]

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 6

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦,"

summary: joel finally let him make a woman out of you, as you both now in this together, just you and him.

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

CHAPTER 6

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 5

next | chapter 7

Another week had begun its slow, inevitable march toward Sunday, the day of the dance troupe’s performance, and every day felt more intense than the last. You were drowning in rehearsals, schoolwork, and the looming graduation that was just weeks away. Every minute of your day seemed spoken for, filled with the weight of responsibility and expectation. But even in the midst of all this, you and Joel found ways to be together.

Late at night, after everyone had gone to bed, you’d sneak out of your window and meet him in the truck parked a few blocks away. Or he’d call you, his voice a low, comforting murmur as you curled up in bed, the house quieter without your father’s overbearing presence. Your mother, wrapped up in her own world, turned a blind eye to your late nights, allowing you more freedom as long as you kept up appearances during the day. It was in these stolen moments, with the world asleep, that you felt the pull between you and Joel growing stronger.

Being with him was like finding refuge from a storm. His presence calmed you, his voice soothed you, and his touch—those rare, fleeting moments when your hands brushed or when he held you close—ignited something deep inside you. You were falling for him, and you knew it. It wasn’t just infatuation or some fleeting crush. It was the kind of love that snuck up on you slowly, like a vine wrapping around your heart, binding you to him with every passing day.

Joel felt it too, though he struggled to name it. He’d never intended to fall in love again, especially not with you, so young and full of life. But there it was, this fierce protectiveness that had morphed into something much deeper. It was in the way he thought about you constantly, the way his heart twisted when he saw you smile, the way he ached for you in ways that scared him. Love had a way of finding him, even when he thought he’d shut the door on it for good.

Yet, neither of you spoke of it. The word “love” hung in the air, unspoken, because saying it out loud would change everything. So you let it linger, allowing the unspoken bond to grow, rich with possibilities and fears.

At the church, rehearsals were growing more intense with each passing day. Jemima was absent, ill with the flu, and it had spread like wildfire that she and Ben were expecting their first child. The news sent waves of excitement through the troupe, but it also left Ben in charge, his presence more pronounced now that Jemima wasn’t there to temper him.

You began to notice things about Ben that made your skin crawl. He wasn’t just watching you; he was watching all of the younger girls too, his eyes lingering just a little too long. He was full of compliments and encouragements, and while the other girls seemed to lap it up, something about it felt wrong to you. It was subtle—just a hint of something dark lurking beneath his charming exterior. But you could sense it, like the distant rumble of thunder on a clear day.

After rehearsal, you decided to stay behind in the church, needing a moment to yourself. The soft strains of gospel music echoed through the empty hall, and you let it wash over you, trying to clear your mind. Emma was there too, chatting away about the upcoming performance, and to your surprise, Ellie had stayed as well, snapping pictures on her phone.

“These are for the behind-the-scenes album I’m putting together,” she said with a grin, her camera clicking away as she captured the stained glass windows, the pews, the half-empty stage. Ellie had a sharp eye, always finding beauty in the mundane.

Just as you were starting to relax, the heavy oak door creaked open, and Ben walked in, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. “Afternoon, girls,” he greeted, his voice smooth as ever.

“Afternoon, Ben,” you, Emma, and Ellie chorused in return, each in your own tone. Emma’s voice was bright and eager, yours polite but reserved, and Ellie’s—Ellie’s had a slight edge to it.

“You’re all doing great,” Ben continued, his gaze sweeping over you. “The routine is really coming together. I’m impressed. Just a few more adjustments, and you’ll be perfect for Sunday.”

Emma giggled, clearly pleased with his praise. “Thanks, Ben. We’ve been working hard.”

Ben smiled at her, and then his eyes settled on you, and you felt that uncomfortable prickle again. “And you, you’ve really found your rhythm. It’s good to see,” he said, his voice dipping into something softer, more personal.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Thanks, Ben. Just trying to keep up.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Oh, you’re doing more than keeping up. You’re leading the pack. Really standing out.” His compliment was laced with something that made you want to shrink back, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see your discomfort.

Ellie, who had been quietly observing from behind her camera, stepped forward. “You know, Ben, the girls have been working really hard. Maybe you should give them a break and let them have some fun,” she said, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

Ben’s smile faltered just a fraction. “Fun is important too, Ellie,” he said smoothly, but there was an edge to his voice now. He turned his attention back to you. “Anyway, keep it up. I'll see you girls tomorrow for another practice," You and Emma nodded and say goodbye to him.

He lingered a moment longer, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie, before finally walking away, leaving the three of you in a heavy silence.

Ellie waited until he was out of earshot before turning to you and Emma. “Is it just me or something's off with that new Pastor?"

Emma frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Ben’s great. He’s just being supportive.”

Ellie shook her head, her expression serious. “Supportive, sure. But there’s something else. I don’t know, he just… he gives me the creeps.”

You chuckled softly as you bent down, cooling down your sore leg muscles after the intense rehearsal. “He’s just being nice, Ellie,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “He’s new in town, and Jemima just got back here after years. Maybe he’s still adjusting.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, but still, something’s off. Have you noticed how he barely interacts with Jemima? It’s like they’re not even married.”

Emma, sitting nearby and stretching her arms, shrugged. “That’s not so unusual. They got married really young, and Jemima’s father pretty much arranged the whole thing. Sometimes that kind of marriage starts off with all the passion in the world, but then, over time, it fades. You get bored. What was once exciting becomes mundane, especially if you’re not with the right person. I just hope that doesn’t happen with Jim and me.”

Emma’s words echoed in your mind, and you found yourself lost in thought. You and Joel were in that heated, intoxicating phase where every touch felt electric, every glance held a thousand unspoken promises. But what if it didn’t last? What if the fire between you eventually died down, leaving only ashes of what once was? Could Joel grow tired of you, the way Ben seemed to have grown distant from Jemima?

Ellie noticed your distraction and nudged you gently. “Hey, you okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Emma turned her attention to you as well, her eyes curious. “Yeah, you’re awfully quiet. What about you and this new boy you’ve been spending time with? Have you tried, you know… to please him?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you shook your head quickly. “No, I haven’t. He said he doesn’t want to rush things if I’m not ready.”

Emma smiled warmly, her eyes soft with understanding. “Aw, he sounds sweet. Taking things slow is good.”

Ellie, however, wasn’t about to let the conversation end there. “Wait, who’s this boy? Jamie?” The mention of his name made your heart tighten, a pang of discomfort cutting through you.

Emma was quick to correct her. “No, not Jamie. She broke up with him. This one’s new.” Emma leaned in closer, a mischievous grin on her face. “She said she wants to please him, and you know… blow him.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, half in disgust and half in amusement. “Gross! But seriously, who is this guy? You’re being so mysterious about him.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone sinking in deep water. There was no way you could tell them the truth—not about Joel, not about the intense, forbidden love that had blossomed between you two in the shadows. Instead, you kept your tone light, trying to mask the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“So,” you began cautiously, your voice a little shaky, “what if there’s someone… someone who makes you feel everything at once? Like, when I’m with him, it’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating, like I could just… fly.”

Emma, who was a little older and more experienced in these matters, tilted her head thoughtfully. “That sounds intense. But in a good way, right? Like, you’re feeling things you’ve never felt before?”

You nodded, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah, exactly. But it’s also scary, you know? Like, what if I’m the only one feeling this way? What if… what if he doesn’t feel the same, or he’s just—”

Ellie, who was the youngest but no less insightful, cut in. “Boys are confusing. I don’t understand them half the time. But if he’s making you feel like that, it sounds like he’s important to you. Have you talked to him about it? Like, really talked?”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. “Not really. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure if I’m even making sense to myself. It’s like… when I’m with him, everything else fades away, and it’s just us. But then I start thinking—what if I’m just dreaming? What if he’s not really into me the way I’m into him? What if… what if I’m not enough?”

Emma leaned forward, her gaze steady and warm. “Love is a gamble, always. It’s putting your heart out there, knowing it might get hurt. But from what you’re saying, it sounds like you care about him a lot. And that’s not something to take lightly. The fact that he makes you feel like you’re flying… that’s something special. Don’t be afraid of it.”

Ellie, despite her inexperience, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, maybe I don’t get boys, but I do know that if someone makes you feel that way, you’ve got to go for it. But also… protect yourself. Make sure he’s worth it.”

You took a deep breath, their words comforting but not fully easing the uncertainty gnawing at you. “It’s just… I’m falling for him, I think. Really falling. But I keep wondering—what if he doesn’t catch me? What if I just… crash?”

Emma nodded thoughtfully, her eyes soft with understanding. "If he’s showing you that he cares, even in small ways, that’s a good sign. Maybe he does have feelings for you, but sometimes guys—especially older guys—are more complicated. They’ve been through stuff, you know? Past relationships, heartbreaks, things that might make them scared to fall again.”

You froze for a moment, realizing your slip-up, but quickly tried to cover it. "Wait, how do you know he's older than me? I never said that."

Emma smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You didn’t have to. The way you describe him—how he’s cautious, how he’s been through stuff—it’s not hard to guess. Sounds like he’s probably some college guy you met at a party or something.”

You bit your lip, Emma’s words hitting closer to home than she knew. Joel had his scars, that much you could tell. You’d seen the way he sometimes looked at you, as if he wanted to reach out but something held him back. The fear of history repeating itself, perhaps, of loving and losing all over again.

“But if he’s giving you mixed signals,” Emma continued gently, “it might be worth talking to him about it. Slowly, of course. Just… open up the conversation. Let him know how you’re feeling. Sometimes they just need a little nudge to be honest about what’s going on in their head.”

You sighed, thinking of Joel’s careful distance, the way he always seemed to pull back just when things got too intense. “I’m just scared, you know? We were talking about Ben and Jemima earlier, how things can start off so strong, and then… fade away. What if that happens to us? What if we’re so in love now, but then he gets bored, or… or realizes he doesn’t actually want me?”

Emma reached over, placing a reassuring hand on your arm. “That’s a valid fear, especially with what we see around us. But relationships are built on more than just the initial spark. It’s about growing together, working through the ups and downs. If you’re both willing to put in the effort, to communicate and be honest with each other, there’s no reason it has to fade. But you have to trust each other too.”

You nodded slowly, taking in her words. Trust. That was the foundation of everything, wasn’t it? And while you knew you trusted Joel with your life, trusting him with your heart was a different matter entirely. The idea of opening up that conversation with him, of laying your feelings bare, was terrifying—but maybe it was the only way to move forward.

“Just… take it one step at a time,” Emma added softly. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just be honest with yourself and with him, and see where it leads.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, the knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little. 

Ellie leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "He’s older? Just tell me who it is, c’monnn!"

You felt your heart race, a mix of panic and amusement bubbling up inside you. If only they knew who you were actually talking about. You shot Ellie a look, half-joking, half-serious. “Oh, if you found out who I’m talking about, you’d… you’d probably kill me.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Now you have to tell me. Who is this mystery guy? Don’t leave me hanging!”

You shook your head, laughing nervously as you tried to steer the conversation away from the dangerous territory it was headed into. “Nope, not happening. But trust me, he’s… someone who cares a lot about me. And that’s what matters, right?”

Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly, clearly amused by your evasiveness. “Alright, keep your secrets. But just know, we’re here for you, okay? If you ever need to talk… or if you just want to gush about how amazing he is.”

Ellie gave you a teasing nudge. “Yeah, yeah. But seriously, if he’s treating you right, that’s all that matters. If not, we'll kick his senior ass,"

You chuckled at Ellie’s playful threat, though the thought of her actually kicking Joel’s ass was beyond ironic. If only she knew the truth—she’d be horrified, not to mention utterly confused.

As the three of you wrapped up your conversation and began gathering your things to head home, you felt a mix of relief and longing. Joel had promised to take you to the night fair in Houston tomorrow, a rare escape from your daily routine, and the idea of spending the night at his Houston house afterward made your heart race. You’d already told your mom another carefully crafted lie, saying you’d be staying at Ellie’s for the night. Your mom never doubted you, never checked. She believed in the goodness of her preacher’s daughter, convinced that you were beyond sin.

Lately, you found yourself praying more, asking for forgiveness for the web of lies you were spinning, for the thoughts and actions that felt so dirty, so far from the holy path you were supposed to walk. You quoted scriptures to yourself, verses about purity and truth, trying to cling to some semblance of the person you used to be. But each time you whispered those prayers, guilt weighed heavily on your soul like a stone sinking deeper into a dark, endless sea.

As you stepped outside the church and said your goodbyes to Emma and Ellie, you felt a sudden chill. Just as you turned to leave, Ben appeared seemingly out of nowhere, making you jump.

“Oh, Ben! Lord, you scare me,” you exclaimed, trying to steady your racing heart.

He chuckled softly, an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to. Just finishing up some business with the church elders.”

You nodded, still a bit rattled. “I thought you’d gone home already.”

He shook his head, looking at you with those intense eyes that always seemed to linger a moment too long. “Not yet. I had a few things to take care of. Are you heading home now?”

You nodded again, more out of politeness than anything else. “Yeah, I’m walking this time."

"No ride from your friend today?" Ben asked again, "No," You answered, "He's busy," you smile at him politely.

Ben’s expression brightened, and he offered, “Do you need a lift? I’m heading to Burger King, and it’s on the way to your place.”

You hesitated, a little voice inside you whispering to say no. But you’d been raised to never refuse a kind offer, especially from someone who seemed to mean well. It was one of the many lessons your father had drilled into you.

“Sure, that would be nice,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ben smiled, the corners of his mouth curling up, “Great. My car’s just around the corner.”

Ben’s car ride was quiet at first, an awkward silence settling between the two of you. You stared out the window, the streets passing by in a blur, trying to shake the unease that had crept into your chest. But the silence grew heavier, so you decided to break it.

“So, you lived in Mexico before coming here?” you asked, glancing over at him. “How long were you there?”

Ben’s face lit up at the question, the tension in the car easing as he spoke. “Yeah, I did. Jemima and I moved there right after we got married. I was a preacher there, too. The first year was tough—language barriers and all. But now I’m fluent in Spanish. Mexico… it’s an incredible place.”

He launched into stories about his time in Mexico, his voice warm and animated. He spoke highly of the country, describing the vibrant culture, the beautiful landscapes, and the deep faith of the people he ministered to. You found yourself listening intently, the charm in his voice almost infectious.

“You ever been to Mexico?” he asked suddenly, turning the conversation back to you.

You shook your head, a little embarrassed. “No, I’ve never really been anywhere.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “You should go someday. It’s life-changing.”

As he continued to speak, occasionally cracking jokes that were surprisingly funny, you couldn’t help but notice how likable he seemed. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, his words smooth and reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing a bit in his presence.

Before long, you arrived at Burger King. Ben pulled up to the drive-thru and asked, “What do you want? My treat.”

“Oh, no, I’m good. Thanks,” you replied, not wanting to be a bother.

But Ben insisted, ordering something for you anyway. “Trust me, you’ll like it,” he said with a grin.

As you waited in the drive-thru line, he pulled out his phone, showing you photos from his time in Mexico. The images were stunning—vibrant markets, serene beaches, and old churches with intricate architecture.

“Wow, these are beautiful,” you murmured, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah, it was a special time in my life,” Ben replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

You couldn’t help but feel drawn in by his stories and the way he spoke of his experiences with such passion. Yet, beneath it all, there was still that small, persistent feeling in your gut—something you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You listened to Ben’s words, nodding politely, but that uneasy feeling in your stomach only grew stronger. His tone had shifted, taking on the familiar cadence of the sermons you’d heard your father give a thousand times. He began talking about the girls in Mexico, how they were deeply religious, involved in church activities, just like you and your friends.

“It’s good, you know,” Ben continued, his voice warm with approval. “To have a group of young people who still believe in God and walk in His ways. Especially girls your age—this is the time when they’re most likely to stray, to rebel and search for themselves. Like your friend, Emma. How old is she?”

“She’s 20,” you replied, wondering why he was suddenly bringing Emma into the conversation.

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “So she’s the oldest in your dance group?”

“Yeah,” you answered, feeling a slight unease. You couldn’t help but notice that Ben didn’t seem to pay much attention to Emma, probably because she was older, and now that you thought about it, his attention had always been more focused on the younger girls.

“Girls around that age need God the most,” Ben said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “That’s when the temptations are strongest—sex before marriage, drugs, alcohol… it’s important to stay on the right path, to keep close to God.”

You nodded again, but internally, you were starting to feel a bit trapped, as if you were listening to one of your father’s lectures all over again.

Ben shifted the conversation to Ellie. “And how old is Ellie?”

“She’s 16,” you replied, wondering why he was so interested.

“Ah, Ellie… she’s a bit of a tomboy, isn’t she?” Ben remarked, a hint of disapproval in his tone. “Dresses like a boy… but, you know, girls should embrace their femininity, dress like girls. It’s how God made them, after all.”

His words made you cringe inwardly, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from saying something you might regret. His opinions were starting to feel like a lecture on how you and your friends should live your lives, and it was beginning to make you feel nauseated.

Then, suddenly, he looked over at you, his eyes lingering a little too long. “And you… how old are you?”

You tell him your age, trying to keep your voice steady. Ben’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. “You look younger than your age. Act younger too. I wouldn’t have guessed,"

The comment sent a chill down your spine, and you found yourself wondering why he was so focused on everyone’s age. Before you could dwell on it too long, the drive-thru window opened, and the employee handed over the bag of food.

“Here we go,” Ben said with a smile, taking the bag. The momentary distraction was a relief, but that uncomfortable feeling still lingered in the back of your mind, making you question why Ben was so interested in all these details.

Ben handed you the bag of food with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You took it, muttering a quick “thank you” as you tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, with you staring out the window, lost in thought. The houses and trees blurred together as you tried to shake off the lingering discomfort that Ben’s questions had stirred in you.

Before you knew it, you were in front of your house. Ben pulled up to the curb and turned to you with that same smile. “Here we are,” he said. “It was nice talking to you. Remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you can reach out to me, okay? I’d be happy to help.”

You forced a smile and nodded, even though your mind was already halfway out the door. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

As you stepped out of the car and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that the conversation was over. You waved goodbye as Ben drove off, then turned and walked up to your front door.

Inside, the familiar smell of home greeted you, comforting in its simplicity. You found your mom in the kitchen, prepping ingredients for dinner.

“Mama, I'm home,” you said, setting the food on the counter.

She glanced up from her chopping board and smiled. “Hello, sweetheart. Who dropped you off?”

“Ben,” you replied, trying to sound casual.

“Ben?” your mom echoed, her brow furrowing slightly before she nodded. “Alright, then. Go get cleaned up, and then come help me with dinner, okay?”

“Okay, Mama,” you said, grateful for the chance to escape to your room for a moment.

You hurried upstairs, your thoughts still swirling from the strange conversation with Ben. As you washed your hands and face, you tried to focus on the routine, grounding yourself in the simple actions. But Ben’s words kept echoing in your mind, especially the way he’d looked at you, his questions about your friends, and the way he’d emphasized that you could reach out to him anytime.

A shiver ran down your spine as you recalled the way his gaze had lingered on you, the way he’d seemed to be sizing you up. You pushed the thoughts aside, trying to focus on the here and now, on helping your mom with dinner and the promise of a normal evening.

But even as you headed back downstairs to the kitchen, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something about Ben just wasn’t right.

***

Joel sat heavily on one of the barstools at Tommy’s place, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, reflecting the turbulence of his thoughts. It had been a rough day, and he welcomed the soothing burn of the alcohol, hoping it might dull the ache of his internal struggle. Tommy, ever the supportive brother, poured himself a drink and settled beside Joel, the two of them sinking into the comfortable chaos of their late-night ritual.

Joel took a moment to catch his breath as he dialed Ellie’s number, the familiar, comforting weight of his phone in his hand. He left a quick voicemail, letting her know not to wait up for him, and that he had a spare key if she needed it. “Just lock up when you head to bed,” he said, his voice rough but warm. As he hung up, he turned his attention back to the whiskey, its amber glow mirroring the turbulence inside him.

The amber liquid seemed to dance in the dim light, reflecting the stormy skies of his mind. He took a deep sip, savoring the burn as it traced a fiery path down his throat. The warmth was soothing, but it did little to calm the storm raging within him. The ache in his chest felt like an endless ocean, where the waves were laced with memories and fears.

As he sat there, the world around him became a blur of muted colors and distant sounds. His thoughts drifted to you, the person who had entered his life like a sudden gust of wind through a cracked window—unexpected, refreshing, and profoundly unsettling. You were like a burst of sunlight breaking through the relentless clouds of his past, casting long shadows of doubt and hope across the landscape of his heart.

Joel had always been a man of walls and distance, his heart a fortress built from the rubble of loss and pain. After the death of his wife and daughter, he had fortified himself against the world, each brick a testament to his fear and grief. But you, with your light and laughter, had begun to chip away at those walls, like the slow, persistent erosion of the sea against a stubborn cliff.

He was beginning to realize the depth of his feelings for you, but it was like trying to catch a falling star with bare hands—beautiful, elusive, and fraught with danger. You had stirred something in him that he thought was long dead, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart. It was as if you had reignited a fire that he had buried deep beneath layers of sorrow and self-preservation.

Yet, with every flicker of warmth came a wave of fear. Joel’s desire to protect you was intertwined with his dread of falling too deeply, of losing himself in a love that might only lead to more pain. He was terrified of opening up, of allowing himself to be vulnerable again. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss of his own emotions, afraid to take that final step.

The night wore on, and Joel’s thoughts remained tangled in the delicate threads of his emotions. The whiskey continued to burn its way through him, a temporary balm for the deeper ache that lingered just beneath the surface. As he drank, he found himself grappling with the realization that, for the first time in a very long time, he felt truly alive—an unsettling, exhilarating sensation that both frightened and exhilarated him.

Tommy watched him, the lines of concern etched deeply on his face as he took in Joel’s introspective silence. “You alright there, brother? Something on your mind?”

Joel looked up, the weight of his feelings heavy in his gaze. “Yeah, just... thinking about things."

Tommy leaned in, his eyes steady and empathetic. The soft strains of “Helplessly Hoping” played in the background, its melancholic melody wrapping around the room like a comforting blanket. He adjusted the volume on his Bluetooth stereo, the music providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

“You can talk to me, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice steady and reassuring. “What’s got you so wrapped up in your thoughts?”

Joel took a deep breath, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he considered his response. The song’s delicate notes seemed to echo his own uncertainty. He knew he couldn’t lay everything bare—there were things he couldn’t quite put into words, and a person he wasn’t ready to reveal.

“It’s... complicated,” Joel began, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid. “There’s someone in my life who’s making me rethink a lot of things.”

Tommy’s interest piqued, but he remained patient. “Complicated how? If you need advice, I’m here.”

Joel hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to articulate. “I’ve been closed off for a long time. Lost my way after... well, after everything. And now... I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s like she’s pulled me out of this dark place I’ve been in.”

Tommy’s expression softened, sensing the depth of Joel’s struggle. “So this person, she’s important to you?”

Joel nodded slowly, his voice rough with emotion. “Yeah. She’s... making me feel alive again. But it’s not simple. I’m afraid of what it means, and I’m scared of letting myself fall too deep.”

Tommy took a thoughtful sip of his drink, considering Joel’s words. “You know, sometimes the hardest part is letting go of the past. You’ve been through a lot, Joel. But if this person is bringing light into your life, maybe that’s something worth holding onto.”

Joel glanced at Tommy, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and apprehension. “But what if it’s just a fleeting feeling? What if I’m setting myself up for more hurt?”

Tommy shook his head, his demeanor calm and grounded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed. But you can’t keep living in fear of what might happen. Sometimes you have to take a chance, even if it’s scary. You’ve got to ask yourself if the risk is worth the potential for happiness.”

Joel considered Tommy’s words, the song’s lyrics mingling with his thoughts like a haunting reminder of his inner turmoil. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tommy replied. “Love’s not easy. It’s messy and unpredictable, but that’s part of what makes it so powerful. If you’re feeling something genuine, maybe it’s worth exploring, even if it means facing your fears.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the weight of Tommy’s advice settling over him. The whiskey had lost some of its warmth, replaced by a cold clarity that made his choices seem more imminent. “I just don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Tommy clapped Joel on the back, a gesture of camaraderie and support. “You won’t know unless you try."

The room fell silent, save for the soft strains of the song and the occasional clink of glasses. Joel’s mind raced with the possibility of what could be, the fear and excitement warring within him. He knew the path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope—a faint light guiding him through the darkness.

***

The night fair in Houston was alive with energy and light, a vibrant spectacle against the dark sky. As you and Joel arrived, the fairgrounds were bustling with people, the air filled with the sweet scent of cotton candy and the tantalizing aroma of various foods from the stalls.

Joel parked the car and you both walked hand in hand through the fair. The distant music of carnival rides and the laughter of children filled the air. Brightly colored lights illuminated the various attractions, casting a magical glow over the scene.

You and Joel started with the classic fare: fluffy cotton candy, crisp corn dogs, and a shared bucket of buttery popcorn. You laughed as Joel tried to guess which food would be the most calorie-laden, joking about how he was saving up for a “cheat day” in honor of the fair. The two of you wandered through the stalls, stopping occasionally to admire the trinkets and games.

At one point, you spotted the towering Ferris wheel, its lights twinkling like a cascade of stars against the night sky. You eagerly suggested riding it, and Joel, though hesitant at first, agreed with a soft chuckle. As the Ferris wheel slowly lifted you high above the fairgrounds, you marveled at the breathtaking view of the city below. The lights danced like fireflies, and for a moment, everything felt serene and perfect.

Afterward, you both ventured into the various game booths, trying your luck at the ring toss, shooting galleries, and more. Joel’s competitive spirit shone through as he focused intently on a ring toss game, and with a triumphant grin, he managed to win you a large, cuddly teddy bear.

You clutched the bear tightly, beaming up at Joel. “You did it! Thank you!”

Joel chuckled, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the festive lights around you. “I promised I’d win you something special, didn’t I?”

You hug him and then saw a photobooth, "Oh my god! They have photobooth, let's go, Joel!"

Joel followed you to the photobooth, his initial reluctance evident in the furrow of his brow. “Come on, doll. I told you, I don’t like my picture taken. I’m not exactly a fan of how I look in photos.”

You tugged on his hand, laughing as you pulled him towards the booth. “Oh, come on, Joel. It’ll be fun! And besides, we don’t have any photos of us together. I want to remember this night.”

Joel sighed, but the hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright. But don’t expect me to be smiling too pretty.”

Inside the photobooth, you both squeezed in, the cramped space adding to the charm of the moment. You set the timer and started with silly faces, pulling exaggerated expressions that made Joel chuckle despite himself. You blew kisses at him and cheekily tried to steal a few pecks, each one making him smile more genuinely.

Joel’s smiles grew softer, his eyes tender as he watched you. In the final frame, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, which prompted you to pull him closer. The moment turned more intimate, and you both ended up sharing a sweet, lingering kiss, captured forever in the final photo.

When the strip of photos emerged, you grinned at the sequence of images. Each picture captured a different facet of your shared joy and affection. You turned to the attendant and asked, “Do you have a pen?”

After receiving a pen, you carefully wrote on the photo strip, “Me and Joel. Houston.” You then showed Joel the photos, laughing as you did. “Look at these! They’re so cute. I’m keeping one for myself.”

Joel took the photo strip, his gaze soft as he looked at the images. “They turned out pretty good, huh?” He smiled, his tone warm and genuine.

You carefully folded one photo and tucked it into your wallet, a small keepsake of your time together. Joel slipped his into his wallet, keeping it close. “I’ll keep mine with me too,” he said, a hint of emotion in his voice. “It’s a nice reminder of tonight.”

As you both left the photobooth, the night air felt a bit cooler, but the warmth between you lingered. Joel’s gestures and the shared laughter had added a special touch to the evening. The fair had been a whirlwind of excitement, but it was these small, tender moments that made the night unforgettable.

As the night wore on, you both decided to head back to the house in Houston. The drive was filled with playful banter and comfortable silence. Joel’s excitement about showing you his latest project was palpable.

Arriving at the house, Joel led you inside. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You followed him up the stairs to the master bedroom, the anticipation evident in his step. When you entered the room, you were struck by how beautifully it had been transformed. The walls were a rich, warm brown, and the classic-modern furnishings blended seamlessly with a touch of Southern charm. The bed was made with crisp, white linens, and the room was thoughtfully decorated with subtle touches that made it feel inviting and elegant.

“Oh, Joel,” you said, your eyes wide with admiration. “This is amazing. Did you really do all this by yourself?”

Joel nodded, a hint of pride in his expression. “Yeah. I figured if we’re going to be spending a lot of time here, it should be comfortable. We’ve been making do with the sofa in the upstairs balcony, and I didn’t want you to keep feeling cramped.”

You walked around the room, touching the smooth surfaces and taking in the details. “It’s perfect. I love it. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you. “I wanted it to be a nice space for us. You’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I wanted you to feel at home. This is our place now.”

You looked back at him, touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Joel. It’s more than I could have imagined. It feels like a real home.”

Joel’s eyes held a mixture of affection and vulnerability. “I’m glad you like it. It’s important to me that you’re comfortable."

You placed the teddy bear on the bedside and flopped onto the bed, the plush comfort enveloping you. You patted the space beside you with a playful smile. “Come on, join me."

Joel hesitated for a moment, then slowly shrugged off his jacket, placing it carefully on the chair. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand, his movements deliberate and unhurried. With a deep breath, he settled onto the bed beside you, the mattress giving slightly under his weight.

The bed was indeed as comfortable as it looked, and you felt a sense of contentment settle over you as you nestled closer to Joel. He positioned himself beside you, his presence warm and reassuring. For a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift, leaving just the two of you in this peaceful cocoon.

Joel’s hand found yours, their touch a simple yet profound connection. He glanced at you, his eyes reflecting a blend of affection and introspection. “You alright?”

You nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. “Yeah, just... happy. You make me really happy. Thank you, Joel.”

Joel’s lips curved into a tender smile before he leaned in and kissed you. The kiss was both passionate and soft, a dance of longing and tenderness that spoke more than words ever could. It was as if in that single moment, you both were saying everything that words might fail to express.

When you finally pulled back, you looked into his eyes, your voice steady but filled with earnest emotion. “Joel, I think I’m ready.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Ready for what?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your words. “I’m ready for you.”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay if you’re not. I don’t want to rush you into anything. We can take our time.”

You shook your head, your resolve unwavering. “No, I’m ready. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Joel’s gaze softened, but he was still cautious. “I want to make sure you’re absolutely certain. This is a big step, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The more you talked, the more you felt a growing sense of frustration. You shifted away from him, sitting up and turning to face him, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “What’s wrong with you, Joel? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Joel’s voice was gentle, trying to calm you. “It’s not that, darlin’. I just want to make sure you’re ready. It’s important to me that you feel secure.”

Your eyes filled with a mix of hurt and desperation. “Is it because I’m no longer a virgin? Because I’m not pure? Because of what Jamie did to me?”

Joel's eyes filled with a deep sorrow as he reached out to hold your hand, but you pulled away, your voice trembling with anguish. "What? Baby, it’s not that..."

Before Joel could finish, you cut him off, your words laced with desperation. "Because I'm dirty? Is that it?"

Joel's face crumpled with pain, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. It’s never been about you being dirty.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to convey his feelings without causing you more hurt. “Then what is it? I need to know, Joel.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “It’s about protecting you. You've been through a lot, and I’m scared of making things worse for you. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me. This... this is about making sure that when we take this step, it’s because we both feel right about it, not because of anything else.”

Your heart ached with the raw honesty in his voice. “I’m not trying to prove anything, Joel. I just... I want us to be close. I thought we were ready.”

Joel’s hand reached out again, but this time you let him take it. His grip was firm but gentle. “I know you do. And I want that too. But I also want to be sure that we’re both in the right place. I don’t want to rush things and have you regret it. I care about you too much for that.”

The sincerity in his voice, combined with the tenderness of his touch, began to ease the tumult inside you. “I’m sorry if I’ve been pushing too hard,” you whispered, your voice softening.

Joel shook his head, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s natural to feel this way."

"But, Joel, I'm ready. You won't hurt me." You said, trying to let Joel know how much you trusted him.

Joel hesitated, searching your eyes for any doubt. "Are you really sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking his large hand in yours, marveling at the size difference. Slowly, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gently. Then, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking it slowly. Joel’s breath hitched, and you could see the desire in his eyes.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours tentatively. The kiss deepened, and you felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling of being completely and utterly connected. As the kiss grew more passionate, you both slowly began to undress, your clothes falling away like the petals of a flower, revealing the soft, delicate parts of yourselves.

Joel’s touch was gentle, his hands exploring your body with reverence. Every caress was like a whisper of devotion, his fingers tracing patterns of love on your skin. He kissed you again, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, to your collarbone, each kiss a promise of his love and care.

As Joel carefully helped you remove your dress, your scars were now fully visible to him. His eyes took them in, and you saw the mixture of sorrow and anger that flashed across his face. It broke Joel's heart to see what your father had done to you, and a deep anger simmered beneath his gentle exterior.

You opened your mouth to speak, to tell Joel how ashamed you felt, but he cut you off, his voice firm but tender. “There’s no need to be ashamed about it. You are beautiful, you are gorgeous to me.”

His words were a balm to your soul, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek. Joel’s hands were steady as he continued to undress you, his touch filled with a mixture of gentleness and determination. He seemed to understand the depth of your vulnerability, treating you with the utmost care.

Joel seemed like the kind of guy who talked you through it during sex, his voice a soothing presence in the midst of your anxiety. “You’re safe with me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve got you. We’ll take this slow, okay?”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. Joel’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that made your heart ache. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he were afraid you might break beneath his touch.

He reached for a condom, his actions slow and deliberate, ensuring that everything was as safe as it could be. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice a low murmur. “We’ll take this at your pace.”

You nodded again, your trust in him unwavering. As Joel moved above you, his eyes locked onto yours, you felt a connection that went beyond the physical. It was a melding of souls, a deep, unspoken bond that made you feel cherished and adored.

Joel entered you slowly, his movements careful and measured. You moaned as he growls. The sensation was different. There was no pain, no fear, just a deep sense of intimacy and connection and pleasure.

Joel’s voice continued to guide you, his words a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re amazing.”

Every movement, every touch, was filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. Joel’s hands were everywhere, caressing your skin, holding you close, ensuring that you felt nothing but love and care. The rhythm of his movements was like a dance, slow and deliberate, each motion a careful expression of his devotion to you.

His hands glided over your body, memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingers. He took his time, his touch gentle yet firm, grounding you in the present moment. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that made your skin tingle with anticipation.

As he moved within you, the initial tension melted away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure and intimacy. Joel’s eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with love and reassurance. Each thrust was measured, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm that built a slow, burning heat between you.

"Oh, Joel," you moan as he keep thrust inside you, your back arched, your eyes rolling deep to above. "Fuck, you're so tight," he cursed.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. “You feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the sincerity and warmth in his tone. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against you. The connection between you deepened, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, creating a beautiful harmony.

Joel’s breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low, steady murmur of encouragement and love. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

The way he spoke to you, the care in his touch, made you feel cherished and adored. The pleasure built slowly, a rising wave that grew stronger with each gentle thrust. Joel’s hands found yours, intertwining your fingers, creating a bond that felt unbreakable.

His pace quickened slightly, you felt amazing and wanting for more. As the heat between you intensified, your hands found their way to his back, clutching him closer.

"Joel..."

"Oh my god, Joel,"

Your voice filled the room, moaning his name and calling out, “Oh God, please.” Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of passion and determination.

“God’s not here, baby,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “God’s not here to save you this time.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your body responding even more intensely. The feeling was almost overwhelming, and you begged him to go faster. Joel obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful.

The sound of the bed creaking added to the symphony of your shared pleasure, mingling with the moans and groans that filled the room. The intensity of the sensations building within you was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, every fiber of your being focused on the incredible feeling Joel was creating inside you.

Joel’s breathing grew ragged, his own moans mixing with yours as he drove deeper into you. “You feel so good,” he cursed under his breath, his voice raw with need. “So tight, so perfect.”

The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one driving you closer to the brink. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as the pressure built, a wave of ecstasy that was about to crash over you.

“Joel...I’m close,” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the sensation peaked.

Joel’s grip on you tightened, his movements becoming almost frantic as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice a desperate plea.

With a final, powerful thrust, you felt yourself shatter, your climax washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your body tensed and then released, a cry of ecstasy escaping your lips. Joel followed moments later, his own release tearing through him, a groan of pure satisfaction as he found his pleasure within you.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound the mingled breathing of you and Joel as you lay intertwined. The intensity of what you had just shared left you both breathless, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of your shared passion.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hands gently stroked your back, a soothing gesture that made you feel safe and cherished. “You are amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness. “So beautiful.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with the love and connection you felt with him. “You too,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch tender and loving. “Thank you for trusting me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You have to say it, you need to say you love him.

Taking a deep breath, you cupped his face in your hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Joel, I... I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability and sincerity.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and then softened with an intensity that took your breath away. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if committing the moment to memory.

“I love you too, baby,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The words wrapped around your heart, filling you with a warmth and security you had never felt before. Joel’s lips found yours again, this time with a deeper, more fervent kiss, a promise of his unwavering love and devotion.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a sense of completeness, as if everything in your life had led to this very moment. The love you shared was a balm to your soul, healing wounds you had long thought would never mend.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, but the connection between you was stronger than ever. Joel rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, savoring the closeness.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice filled with quiet certainty. “And I’ll always be here for you, too.”

With that, you both drifted off to sleep, your hearts and souls entwined, ready to face whatever the future held together.