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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

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fall into temptation | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

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

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

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

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before.

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

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

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

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

Joseph? Was that it?

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

Shit.

He’d been caught gawking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

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

He smirked. “Which part?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

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

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

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

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

You were leaving. Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

Kent was going after you.

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

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

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

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.

That couldn’t fucking be good.

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

That’s when he heard it.

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

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

Red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

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

“No. I didn’t.” Your voice was small, barely audible.

But he’d heard it loud and clear.

“She’s lying!” Kent tried to tell him. “She’s—”

Joel delivered the first punch, a blow so hard he’d felt the younger man’s nose crack underneath his curled fist. He struck him again and again, the blows coming in harder and harder, turning Kent’s face into a bloodied pulp.

If Joel didn’t get a grip, he would kill him. Part of him wanted to fucking kill Kent for putting his hands you—and more so for accusing of you wanting it. Pathetic fucking bastard.

Holding Kent up by the throat with one hand, Joel pulled his switchblade from the back pocket of his jeans with the other. Fingers curled tightly around the hilt, Joel held up the knife into Kent’s view. He had left his eyes purple and swollen, but judging by the pitiful little pleas for mercy, it was clear that he could still somehow see the sharp blade being held an inch or so away from his face.

“If I ever catch you anywhere near her again, I ain’t gonna be so fuckin’ generous,” Joel growled warningly. “I ain’t gonna let you walk away next time, boy. That understood?”

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

“Good.” Joel released him, stepping backwards as he fell to the ground. “Get the fuck outta my face. Now.”

Kent managed to scramble to his feet and staggered off, disappearing from the alley.

Chest heaving, Joel inhaled a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled it through his mouth before turning to you once more.

Petrified, you still hadn’t moved a single muscle.

You looked fucking terrified. Whether it was from Kent’s assault or the way Joel had nearly beaten him to death right in front of you, it was hard to tell.

Crouching down beside you, Joel caught your subtle flinch. He proceeded to move slowly as he reached for the hem of your skirt. Delicately, he gripped the soft, flowing fabric and pulled it down into place. Joel then held his hand out to you.

You hesitated for a split second, but accepted his hand and allowed him to help you up to your feet.

“You alright, little dove?” The nickname had fallen from his lips before he could even think to stop it.

“I think so,” you replied, nodding your head. You’d started to tremble and even though it had nothing to do with being cold, Joel took notice of it and he shrugged out of his camel colored jacket. He gave it to you, draping it over your shoulders. The scent of him instantly enveloped you—a mouth watering masculine mixture of clean soap, woodiness, and musk. It was far more intoxicating than the scotch you had tried back inside the bar. He didn’t utter a word to you as he wrapped his jacket around your body, both of his hands pulling gently at the lapels to bring them together in front of your chest. That was when you glanced down and saw he’d injured his hand. You gasped lightly. “Are you okay?”

Maybe it was the adrenaline, but Joel hadn’t even noticed that he’d split his knuckles wide open. Giving it a light shake, he assured you gruffly, “M’fine.”

Without thinking it through, you gingerly grabbed Joel’s hand, holding it in both of yours. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” you countered. You inspected it as best as you could in such poor lighting. “You’re bleeding.”

“Trust me, I’ve had a whole lot worse,” he deadpanned.

Ignoring his remark, you asked, “Can you move all your fingers for me? Just to make sure that it isn’t broken?”

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

That word, and the way you’d said it, sent a shiver up the length of his spine.

Joel started wiggling his fingers in your palms. He winced slightly at the soreness. More than that, he knew his cuts and bruises would be all the fucking proof Tommy and Maria would need to know that he had been the one who rearranged Kent’s face.

“See?” He spoke after a minute as he continued to move his fingers up and down. “Ain’t broken.”

“Let me clean you up,” you offered. Looking up at him, you cradled his hand as if it were a fragile baby bird you wanted to take home and nurse back to health.

“That really ain’t necessary.”

“You just saved me from—it’s the least I can do for you,” you insisted. Seeing him open his mouth just to protest again, you cut him off. “Please?”

There it was again.

Christ. That word sounded too good coming from those plush, pretty lips of yours.

Joel sighed out in defeat. “Alright then,” he relented. “I s’ppose there ain’t no harm in lettin’ you clean me up a bit, little dove.”

Pleased that he had finally accepted, you carefully let go of his hand and took a step back, beckoning for him to follow you. “Come with me,” you said to him. “I know somewhere private we can go.”

When you came to a stop at the old church house, Joel shook his head and took a step backwards.

Puzzled, your brows knitted together. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

He backed away further. “I ain’t goin’ in there.”

You tossed him an amused glance. “It’s a church.”

“Yeah, I know that. I ain’t exactly a man of God.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “So? What does that have to do with me taking you inside to clean your hand up for you?”

Shuffling his weight from boot to boot, Joel shrugged. “Just don’t think I belong in there, that’s all.”

“Do you think you’re going to melt if you step foot inside?” you teased him. After a minute, it became apparent that he was being serious about it. Joel’s discomfort about going inside the church wasn’t some kind of joke on his part, it was real. “Don’t be silly. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a man of God. That doesn’t mean that you’re going to explode or burn into a pile of ashes for going inside, you know.”

“After all the terrible shit I’ve done?” He looked up at the building, shaking his head again. “I just might burn, little dove.”

You bit back a small smile. You’d already grown to be quite fond of his sweet nickname for you.

“There’s a first aid kit inside I can use to patch you up,” you told him. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

His lower lip rolled in between teeth as he thought it over. “I ain’t too sure about this—”

“It’s only going to take me five minutes to get your hand cleaned up and then you can leave. Okay?”

You were as stubborn as you were sweet. How the fuck was he supposed to say no to you?

Reluctantly, Joel finally agreed to it. “Okay.” He followed you up the creaking, wooden porch steps towards the double doors. He’d just started to wonder how the two of you were even supposed to get into the building after hours when you leaned down, lifting the old mat on the floor to reveal a set of keys. Unable to help himself, he scoffed, “Serious?”

“Doesn’t everyone keep a key under their mat?”

“Yeah at their fuckin’ house. Not their church.”

“Well to be fair, this is kind of like a second home. I spend quite a bit of time here,” you confessed.

Joel raised an eyebrow at you. “So much time that you’ve decided to keep a set of keys under the mat?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep at night, I’ll come here alone and sit with my thoughts for a while.” You shrugged. “Maria let me have the spare set of keys. She knows I come here and so does the rest of the council. I trespass with their full permission,” you kidded with a small grin.

Unlocking one of the two doors, you stepped over the threshold and waited expectantly for Joel. But he stood there, making no move to join you on the other side.

“This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps,” he admitted.

You laughed. “It’s only the outside that’s creepy, I promise.”

Grimacing, Joel finally walked inside, his back and shoulders stiff with tension as he stepped into the place of worship.

You closed the door and flipped on the lights, then opened a second set of double doors with another key from the ring.

“Whoa.” He was pleasantly surprised. For as old as this place was, the interior of the church was quite nice. He could tell that it had been well cared for in its lifetime—the former contractor in him had little choice but to appreciate the high ceiling, the large windows, and the satin finish of the white paint on the rustic, wooden panel walls.

There were a total of twelve pews, six on each side of the church. There was an older, antique piano in pristine condition nestled over in one corner of the room and in another, there was a large chalkboard propped up on a wooden easel, biblical verses that had been the focus of the congregation’s previous gathering still scribbled across it in white chalk.

“See?” You nudged his arm with your elbow. “This isn’t so awful, right?”

“S’ppose it ain’t all that bad,” he muttered.

Your eyes twinkled with pure amusement, adding, “And you didn’t burn into a pile of ashes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel grumbled out in response. “Can we just get this over with so I can get outta here?”

You tossed him a playful little eye roll then nodded towards the pews. “Go ahead and just have a seat anywhere,” you instructed him. “I’ll be right back.”

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel slowly made his way down the aisle holding his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had started wearing off, it’d started throbbing with pain.

There was an altar at the front of the church—if he could even call it an altar.

It was a plain oakwood table with a white fair linen cloth draped over it and nothing else.

Above it, bolted onto the wall, was a wooden cross.

He averted his eyes, turning away from it.

Of all the shit to be intimidated by in this world.

A fucking slab of carved wood.

Joel’s attention shifted over to the chalkboard. He squinted at it, silently reading the verse to himself.

God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability. 1 Corinthians 10:13

“But with the temptation, he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it,” you recited the rest of the verse from behind him.

“No offense darlin’, but it sounds like nothin’ but a whole lotta gibberish to me,” he remarked to you over his shoulder.

“No offense taken, Joel.”

Whirling around on the heel of his worn boot, Joel blurted, “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Tommy Miller’s brother. Everybody in this town knows your name.” You held up the white tin box in your hands. A big, red cross had been spray painted onto the lid. You sat down in the first pew and patted the seat right beside you. “Come sit.”

He sauntered over and dropped down next to you, watching as you opened up the box and started digging through its contents. “You know my name,” he stated after a few seconds of silence. “Sure would be nice for me to know yours.”

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

Joel repeated it. It rolled almost too sweetly off his tongue.

“S’real pretty, little dove. Just like you.”

His compliment nearly knocked all of the air out of your lungs and for a split second, you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Cheeks burning, you murmured a small thank you and plucked a bottle of saline solution from the kit along with a piece of clean cotton. You tried not to think about the way his eyes were fixed intently on you as you unscrewed the cap and poured a bit of the liquid onto the cotton. “It shouldn’t sting,” you reassured him, reaching for Joel’s injured hand. It was rough and calloused, a stark contrast against your own soft and smooth. You set his hand down on your knee, a strange sensation fluttering in the depths of your lower belly when the warmth of his skin seeped right through the fabric of your skirt.

Comfortable silence fell over the both of you like a curtain as you started cleaning the blood off of his knuckles and his long, thick fingers.

“You really believe in all this stuff?” Joel spoke, his question echoing off the bare walls of the church.

You continued dabbing at his cuts, thinking it over in your head for a moment.

“I honestly don’t know,” you admitted.

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I have always been taught to believe in God, Joel. It’s all that I’ve ever known. I grew up in a religious community,” you explained to him, making sure to keep your eyes focused on his hand. Tossing aside the bloodied wad of cotton, you picked up another piece adding more saline to it. “After the outbreak, things changed, of course. I couldn’t imagine how He could let something like this happen. When we lost our mother to infection about five years ago, I stopped praying. I finally stopped holding onto the ounce of hope I had that He would make the world right again. I refused to believe in God. Sometimes I still do,” you confessed quietly.

“You said you spend a lot of time here. Why come to church if you’re not even sure you believe in any of this shit anymore?”

“I’m always here because there’s still a part of me that thinks there’s a chance for me to believe again. When I told you I come here when I can’t sleep at night, it’s true. It’s my time to be here completely alone, the time that I use to mend my broken relationship with God. Or at least, I’ve been trying to mend it.” Taking a little glass pot of homemade antibiotic ointment one of the women in the town made and traded, you took off the lid and scooped out some of the salve with the tip of your finger. You applied it carefully to his cuts and continued, “But lately, the more that I try to pray and talk to Him, the more foolish I feel. It’s just not working. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time.”

“Then why keep tryin’ if it ain’t workin’ anymore?”

“Because I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Your old man?” Joel guessed, wincing slightly as you went over a particularly sore spot on his hand, right over the torn up knuckle of his index finger.

“Mhm.” You nodded. “My father never lost faith in Him. He knows how I feel, but he refuses to let me give up on God. He won’t ever let me miss church or go to bed without reciting my nightly prayer. He won’t let me abandon our faith. Not until the day he is cold and buried in his grave.”

“So what I’m gettin’ is that he forces you?”

You finished applying the ointment and wiped the remnants lingering on your finger off on your skirt.

“Force is such a harsh word. I wouldn’t say that—”

“He’s forcin’ you,” Joel said, flatly.

“Joel—”

“You can twist it however the hell you want, sweet girl,” he cut you off. “But if you’re tryin’ this fuckin’ hard to make yourself believe in somethin’ just for the sake of appeasin’ your dad because he can’t or won’t accept how you really feel ‘bout all this, well I hate to break it to you, but you’re bein’ forced.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.

You had never thought about it like that before.

Placing the lid back onto the pot of ointment, you put it back into the first aid kit and then set the tin box down onto the floor. You sat back and clasped your hands together in your lap, not knowing what else to say to him.

He was right, after all.

Joel’s fingers lightly squeezed your knee. “Hey.”

You brought your gaze over to meet his. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you somethin’ ‘bout your dad?”

“What is it?”

Joel chose his words carefully. “Has he ever—he ain’t ever done anythin’ to hurt you, has he?” he asked you, earning himself a perplexed stare. He continued to elaborate. “What I mean is, he ever put his hands on you or anythin’ like that?”

Oh. That’s what he meant.

“Never,” you assured him quickly. “He would never lay a single finger on me or my two sisters.”

He gave your knee another squeeze. “Just needed to make sure of it, sweetheart. Back in the day, I used to hear and see awful things on the news ‘bout—”

You were quick to cut him off. “Look, my father isn’t perfect, but he’s not like that. He’s a good man who only wants what is best for us. He’s strict and he can be tough, but it’s only because he cares. He just doesn’t want us running down the wrong path.”

“The wrong path?”

You shrugged. “Life here in Jackson is decent, but there’s a lot of temptations he doesn’t want any of us falling into. He wants to protect us.”

“By controllin’ you.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

Giving him a wry smile, you assured him, “Joel, it’s really not as bad as you’re making it sound. I could be a whole lot worse off than this, you know.”

There was another short bout of silence.

Joel’s dark eyes fell to your blouse, noticing how a couple of the top buttons had come undone.

He caught the slightest glimpse of the soft curves of your breasts—all it had taken was just a peek at them for his cock to twitch against the zipper of his jeans.

Don’t you get hard in a fuckin’ church, Miller.

His gaze wandered down a little further and that’s when he caught sight of the cross hanging from a delicate gold chain clasped around your neck.

Joel expected the sight of it to calm the straining in his jeans. Somehow, it only made it worse.

“Earlier, when we were standing outside,” you had started to say, “You said you might burn if you came inside the church because of all the terrible shi—things that you’ve done.”

“S’right.”

You peered at him with curiosity. “So what exactly have you done, Joel?”

Joel leaned back into the pew, shaking his head at you as he finally pulled his hand from your knee.

“You really don’t wanna know, little dove.”

“Why not?”

His answer was honest. “Don’t want you to be scared of me.”

Angling your body towards him, you placed one of your hands on his thigh. Your fingers burned right through the dark blue denim of his jeans.

Joel’s lips parted slightly, taken aback by the bold move and the sudden shift in your demeanor.

Were you the same girl who’d nearly had a fucking heart attack a couple of weeks ago when Joel had nodded at you back at the stables?

“I’m not scared of you,” you murmured, softly. You gave his leg a squeeze, pulling your plump bottom lip between your teeth. Between that and the wide innocent doe eyes that you were giving him, it was taking every last ounce of strength Joel had inside him to keep a straight face, to pretend you weren’t driving him absolutely wild with desire.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt such an incredible need to have someone.

Want, sure.

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.

But Joel didn’t just want you.

He fucking needed you.

And he didn’t know why.

“I’m not scared of you,” you repeated, trailing your hand further up his thigh, setting a fire neither one of you would soon be able to contain.

Joel leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close towards yours. His warm breath fanned over your lips. It was still laced with bourbon. “You sure ‘bout that, darlin’ girl?”

You tried to answer him in the steadiest voice that you could muster, but it was impossible for you to hide the effect this man had on you.

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

Lifting his uninjured hand, he reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair that had fallen out of your braids behind your ear. As his hand fell away, the palm of it grazed against the silkiness of your cheek.

Though brief, the contact sent an electric current through each and every last single nerve ending in your entire body.

Exhaling sharply, your eyelids fluttered closed. You nearly whimpered out his name. “Joel?”

“What is it, babygirl? What do you want?”

“I—I want you to kiss me.”

Joel leaned in even closer, stopping only when his mouth was less than an inch away from yours.

You heard him chuckle softly.

“Y’know, I’d expect better manners from a good girl like you,” he tsked lightly, his nose skimming near the corner of your mouth. Closer. “What’s the magic word, little dove?”

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle.

Joel closed the remaining gap of space, capturing your lips with his own. He remembered his brother talking about you at the bar—how he had told Joel that you had never even held a man’s hand before.

It occurred to him that he was giving you your first kiss. Him. Joel Miller. The town’s resident asshole and a man who was well over twice your own age. He was the one giving you your very first kiss.

The guilt suddenly started to creep in, sinking into his bones.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

And what about you?

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away slightly in an attempt to stop it from going any further. He tried again, mumbling against your lips, “We gotta stop. This ain’t right—”

You were having none of it.

None.

Clutching fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt, you swung your leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. Your knees rested on either side of him on the bench.

“Please,” you nearly pleaded. “Just kiss me. I want it—I want this. I promise you that I do.” You placed both of your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them around him as you slowly sank down further onto his lap. “I want this, Joel.”

Suddenly, he realized that you were asking him for more than just his kiss.

Now he knew for sure that all common sense had left that pretty little head of yours.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

Joel bit back a groan. How could he deny you?

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

“You sure ‘bout this?”

Your fingers toyed with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Yes. I’m sure.”

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

Joel cupped the side of your face in his large palm and tilted his head up towards yours. Your mouths fused together and although he tried to be gentle, it was proving to be much too difficult—how could he be gentle when you were practically clinging to him? Holding onto him with fervor as if you’d been holding onto dear fucking life itself?

Temperatures rising, you quickly shrugged out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with a soft thud before wrapping your arms around him once again. You melted against him as your mouth molded to his in a perfect fit.

His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore the cavern even further.

Eagerly, your lips parted, granting him access. His tongue slipped past them, meeting yours in a slow and sensual heated dance.

You breathed him deeply into your lungs, a little moan vibrating at the back of your throat.

Joel’s hands went to your waist and he yanked the hem of your blouse free from your skirt.

“Can I feel you, baby?” he asked, breathlessly. His mouth abandoned yours and he began to trail hot, open mouthed kisses underneath your jawline.

Dazed, all you could do was nod in reply and utter, “Mhm.”

Joel’s hands slipped under your blouse and he slid them up the length of your sides. “Fuck, you gotta be the softest fuckin’ thing,” he cursed against the delicate, tender flesh of your neck. His lips latched onto your pulse point, suckling at the skin there as his fingertips dug into your hips. He needed to feel more, but he forced himself to wait. The last thing he wanted to do was make a wrong move or move too fast and scare you off.

“Joel,” you mewled his name. “Joel, I need—”

You trailed off, moaning when his mouth released your skin with a loud, wet popping noise.

“Tell me, sweet girl. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” he promised. “Anythin’ you need or want, I’ll give it to you. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

“You, Joel. I need you.”

His hips involuntarily bucked upwards and you let out a startled gasp the moment you felt his bulge, hard as a rock, brush against your clothed cunt.

Tearing away from him, it suddenly hit you. You’re in a church, straddling a much, much older man in a pew—and if that wasn’t sinful enough, the warm and slick arousal pooling between your thighs only proved that you were ready to fall into temptation, give into the lust and give your body to Joel. But it was none of those things that worried you. It was something else.

You pulled yourself out of his arms and jumped up off his lap, nearly tripping over your own two feet.

“Darlin’ are you—?”

You didn’t even hear the rest of his question.

Knees trembling, you somehow managed to make your way up to the altar. Heart pounding and head spinning, you planted both of your hands firmly on the table and steadied yourself. Part of you hoped that Joel would just get up and leave. But a bigger part of you hoped he wouldn’t.

Joel rose to his feet. “Listen, ain’t nothin’ wrong if you changed your mind, alright?”

“I didn’t,” you choked out. “That’s—that’s not it at all.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

Embarrassed, you tried to explain yourself. “I have never done anything like this before. I’m a—”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word out loud.

“You’re a what?”

Blazing heat flooded your face. “Joel, please don’t make me say it,” you groaned. “For the sake of my sanity, don’t make me say it.” You heard the sound of his brown leather boots as he walked up behind you, one heavy footstep after the other.

“Turn around, sweet girl.”

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.

Swallowing dryly, you obeyed and did as you were told. He stood close and you found yourself at eye level with his chest.

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t.

“I said, look at me.” Joel gingerly took your chin in between his thumb and index finger. He lifted your face, forcing your gaze to meet his own, timid and submissive meeting bold and dominant in a sweet and tender exchange. “Never known the lovin’ of a man, have you little dove?”

He backed you up against the table, pinning you in between it and himself. Planting both of his hands on either side of you, he caged you in and brought his chest flush against yours, pressing your bodies together.

Close, but somehow not close enough.

Joel lifted his hand to your cheek, cradling it in his palm. His thumb swept over your quivering bottom lip.

You reached behind you, clutching at the fair linen as you tried with every fiber of your entire being to remind yourself that you were standing at the altar where your father preached and delivered all of his sermons to the faithful people of Jackson.

The very same altar where your father encouraged you to kneel and pray in effort to mend the broken relationship you had with God.

You couldn’t help but to think if you were to get on your knees tonight, it wouldn’t be for prayer.

“I asked you a question, darlin’.” Joel’s voice broke into your train of thought. “Need you to be a good girl and give me an answer, alright?”

“My father loves me,” you stammered out in reply. “He loves me and my sisters—”

“C’mon, babygirl.” He chuckled and shook his head at you, lightly pinching your cheek. “That ain’t what I mean and you damn well know it.”

Sighing softly, you finally answered, “No, Joel.”

“No, what?”

“No, I’ve never known the loving of a man.”

Joel slipped the tip of his thumb between your lips and leaned into you, his hardness pressing against your upper thigh. Even through all the clothes, you could feel every inch of him. “Do you wanna know how it feels, baby? What it feels like when a man makes you his own?”

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he prompted, pulling his hand away.

“Yes, please.”

“I can show you.” Joel paused. “But not tonight.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Both of you were so clearly riled up and he was going to take a pass?

He almost laughed at your expression.

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

“Just don’t wanna rush it, not with you,” Joel said in a tone so soft it nearly threw you for a loop. “M’gonna need you to be real patient for me, just for a little while, alright? You think you can do that, little dove? Think you can be patient for me?”

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller self insert #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #fic: fall into temptation

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bluestar22x · 3 months ago

Text

The Fallen Warrior: Prologue

Pairing: Jaoel (Joel Miller) x OFC!Eva (Prologue)

Other Characters: Sarah, Thomas (Tommy Miller)

Summary: His memories of them are like clips from a highlight reel

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 6,700(ish)

Warnings: AU, butchered biblical lore for the sake of the plot, fowl language, violence, blood, smut (unprotected p in v), mild description of birth, death, grief, brief mention of rape and manipulative relationships by evil angels, mentions of suicidal thoughts, an almost attempt at suicide

Author’s Note: Thanks to @almostfoxglove for making the lovely moodboard for me!

xxx

The story of Adam and Eve is unarguably one of the most recognized stories from the Bible, if not the most. It tells of the first man and woman, and how they loss their immortality in exchange for tasting the forbidden fruit, lured by the snake that was Lucifer into yearning for its knowledge.

But Joel knew the truth behind the tale. The fruit was not a fruit at all, and the snake was not Lucifer, or even one of his minions.

No, the snake was love, and the fruit was pleasure.

Centuries later, he still dreams of them.

The memories containing them clipped like a highlight reel that he helplessly observes as he slumbers most nights.

It freshens the festering wounds on his soul; renews the agony he would do anything to numb permanently.

Almost anything.

He never would wish to forget the beginning. He only longed to erase the pain at the end.

Have you heard of Lucifer and how he and his aligned angels rebelled against God? How God banished them from Heaven for it and created Hell to be their prison?

Like any prison, Hell was not inescapable. Lucifer was able to influence humans from below, and his fellow fallen angels managed to slip through the exits, the gates of Hell, every once in a while. They influenced the humans, turned them from the light, from God, and the most sinful of the humans were punished too.

Their souls were sent to Hell, and with time, they became demons, Lucifer's minions. These demons were easier to summon to Earth, and became the biggest threat to humanity by sheer numbers.

God's angels were sent to Earth regularly to combat them. He also had a son who sacrificed himself in the hopes of saving as many souls as possible. The fight was still fairly matched.

Usually light and darkness balanced out, but every once in a while, usually when the fallen walked the Earth, darkness threatened all.

One of these times lasted decades. And in those decades the fallen fell into temptation, as were their natures. They saw the beauty of human women and sought them out, taking pleasure in them, tasting them, whether or not they were willing. Whether or not there was deception involved.

Inevitably, offspring resulted from these unions. Nephilim. Giants in the Bible, but deceptively human in truth. Dangerous all the same. They were overpowered and seen as a threat to humanity, so they were exterminated from the Earth.

A flood of blood was left in the wake of the war against them. Not since Lucifer's rebellion had the light been in such turmoil, for no matter how monstrous the nephilim were at times, they were still the children of their brethren.

Archangel Jaoel had been one of the many who struggled with the morality of the slaughter, advocating for imprisonment instead. But Archangel Michael, the leader of all angels in Heaven, God's right hand, held a zero tolerance. As far as he was concerned, nephilim were too big of a risk to let live. Better they die and let God and Lucifer decide where their souls ended up.

So all of Heaven's angels fell in line with his orders, even Jaoel.

Eventually the blood stains faded from his ethereal hands.

It didn't matter. He still remembered their faces.

There were many centuries of peace before the next battle between good and evil commenced. Demons were rising again in massive numbers, and many angels were sent to Earth to protect humans of interest. Humans that were important or going to be important someday.

Jaoel was amongst the angels sent down to play guardian angel, to his dismay. He was an archangel. He'd played messenger before, but never babysitter. He was a warrior. He wanted to fight, not stand around and observe a human for days on end in case a demon sought to extinguish their life.

He couldn't even comprehend how the human he was assigned could be important. Eva was a sheep farmer, living in the forest in seclusion, unusual for a woman of her time, but she had no qualities of a leader.

She was quiet, naturally so since she hardly ever interacted with other humans except to trade. She was soft, too emotional for her time. She mourned the animals she hunted; she sobbed for the lambs that never got to take their first breaths. She lived in her own little bubble, content with not knowing the outside world.

What demon would bother an attempt to corrupt her or take her life? They had no reason to harm a shepherd; no way to draw her towards the dark. Jaoel wasn't sure he'd ever seen a human so pure. Her eternal light an endearing companion to her God-given beauty. Her dark curls and rich bronze skin.

Her allure was sly, slinking slowly into the recesses of Jaeol's mind, igniting something deep within him that had never been awakened before. He felt it every time Eva talked kindly to her woolly wards. Every time she smiled. Every time she laughed or sang, her syrupy voice lulling him into temptation.

He was compelled to know her. For her to know him. He introduced himself to her as a human vagabond in need of work, using her kind heart against her, forcing proximity. She hired him and he began to help her mend fences and care for her sheep under the ruse. He had a lot to learn, but Eva was a patient teacher.

It was too late by the time he realized he'd gone too far; gotten too close, fallen into the trap many angels had before him. He'd convinced himself they could be friends, all the while the passions of human copulation dangerously plagued his daydreams. He knew enough of it, the science behind the physical act, to have a picture of it in mind, to understand it, though not the emotions and sensations linked to it.

He wished to experience it all with her, rational thought slowly losing its battle.

A battle that swiftly came to its pathetic end on a late summer morning almost a year to the day after he initiated their first interaction, six from the day he was assigned as her protector.

That day a demon made an attempt on her life and she'd witnessed his wrath in full glory as he easily plunged his angelic blade in its chest, smoky gray wings exposed for her to eyeball in great detail before he hid them away belatedly.

She was not afraid as he feared she would be, only grateful that a divine being was there to save her.

"Will you be leaving, now that the threat has been extinguished?" she inquired, her expression trained with the intention of hiding her warring emotions.

"I do not know," he answered honestly, allowing himself to brush his smooth fingertips along the contours of one of her cheeks, to touch her for the first time.

He drew in a sharp breath. Her skin was softer than he'd ever imagined.

Her warm brown eyes fluttered shut to his quiet affection finally expressed. She shared it with him.

"So what now?"

What now indeed. Was the demon her only threat or was there more to come? How soon would he be called back home if she was safe?

How much longer did they have?

Jaoel didn't want to wait to find out.

He pulled Eva to him, an iron grip on her upper arms, crushing his lips to hers with a ferocity that combated his inexperience. She melted in his hold, absorbing all of his need, accepting it, expressing her own in the form of a sweet moan that reverberated in his sensitive ears and etched itself permanently into his cerebrum.

He kissed her over and over again, unable to get enough of her divine taste. Years of longing, and she was finally his.

As he was hers.

Without spoken word they both expressed their yearning for more through those desperate kisses and touches to every part of each other they could easily reach without parting.

Eva slowly stepped backwards, leading him like a mythical siren into her home, a cottage perfect for two.

In the dim light of the stony dwelling they began to peel off their clothing, peppering kisses to each other's newly exposed skin as they did so.

"Have you ever done this before?" she asked between heaving breaths, her tone lacking judgement.

"Never," he replied, a drawn out groan accompanying his words as her right hand skimmed tantalizingly close to the waistline of his underwear, too close to the hardening bulge in his pants.

He could feel a heat blooming over his cheekbones. He had often prided himself with knowledge. To be as unsure as he was in their situation was humbling.

Eva smiled widely and placed a hand along his bearded jaw. "I will show you then."

He watched intensely as she removed his last garment then reached out for his right hand and guided it down her body, over the tops of her bared breasts and her soft stomach, not hesitating when his hand found the nest of dark hair between her hips, and only stopping when his fingers glided into her folds with her direction.

She was so warm and wet, more inviting than he could've hoped.

She gasped at the touch she'd instigated, swinging her head back, and Jaoel felt his stomach swoop at the sight of the sinful strain of her neck. He tugged her closer and sucked a bruise onto the skin over her vein there, and she hummed happily, basking in his affection.

"That's it," Eva murmured breathlessly. "Let what you see and feel guide you. I want it all, Jaoel. Everything you want. Everything you'll give."

With some men it would have been a dangerous promise, seen as permission to reveal their darkest desires, ones that shined a light on their cruelty, but she knew she could trust him. That he would take care of her. She'd known him well before she knew what he was, and what he was didn't matter. Only who he was. Her Jaoel. The man who tended to her sheep as attentively as she did. Who ate her every word. Who had never judged her for thinking out loud.

He hissed at her vow and rested his forehead against hers. "I want you all around me. I want to know exactly how it feels. But first I want to see how it feels."

He cupped her firmly where she'd left his hand and she got the message, silently showing him where her sensitive nub was and how to use his fingers to elicit a response from her.

He was mesmerized by what resulted - her quickening breaths, the unrestrained moans that tumbled out of her mouth, the pounding of her heart that sounded like thunder to his supernatural ears. Sweat glistened on her skin as she rocked herself into his touch, trying to get herself there faster, a desperate look on her face.

He found her hole with his index finger, without her help, and hooked it inside her, and that was what did her in. Her breath caught and she mewed into his face, slumping in his muscular arms as she did so.

"Faex!" she panted. "Are you sure you haven't done that before?"

Jaoel hardly heard her question, too caught up in the instant replay rolling in his mind. He'd always thought Eva was beautiful, but she was even more so when she came. And those sounds that she'd made, the way she'd leaned on him after, he'd almost been unable to control himself. He was aching so badly for her that it was all he could think about.

He messily covered her mouth with his and easily scooped her up off the ground, taking full advantage of his superior strength. She threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly as he pushed her up against the wall of the cottage's main room, ignoring the hardness of the stone pressed into her spine to focus on his, grinding her heat against his ready cock after securing her legs around his hips.

They worked together to ease her down onto him as he slowly pushed up inside her, not stopping until he was covered to the hilt.

The sensation of being confined by her warm, slick walls overwhelmed him. A feverish instinct he didn't know he had took over, urging him to drive into her repeatedly, seeking friction as she raked her delicate fingers through his thick wavy hair, encouraging him. "That's it. That's it. Jaoel!"

He'd set a pace not too fast or slow, but it didn't matter. There was no way for him to hold off long enough for her to come again, not with how good everything felt, even as it bordered pain. Not with how she writhed against him and whimpered.

"Can't take it anymore," he grunted out.

"Don't then," she gasped.

Several more deep snaps of his hips into her and his body stiffened as he filled her up with his seed. He shut his eyes as it happened, fully embracing the ecstasy and relief that paired perfectly with his release.

When he opened them again his eyes met hers, and they beamed at each other. His heart wanted to burst at the unabated joy in her expression. He knew he loved her then.

He set her down gently on her feet again and kissed her more sweetly than before, dipping two fingers into her heat as he did so and thrusting them in and out in the same manner as he had with his cock. Eva submitted, clinging to him as he wound her up again.

He didn't stop until she was crying out his name.

He'd been out with a bow and arrow hunting unsuccessfully for deer all morning the day his life unfathomably changed.

Jaoel arrived back home empty handed but not displeased. He and Eva still had plenty to eat from his last hunt and the garden, so some time alone to sort his thoughts on the back of a horse was reward enough.

His peace did not last for long when he discovered the cottage vacant of all life. Fear struck his soul as his mind drew the worst conclusion. That Eva had been discovered by his brethren and ripped away from him less than a full year after they first indulged in the passion that came with romantic love.

But then he remembered the spring nearby that ran tepid warm, the pool she loved to bathe in, and recalled her wishes to be in it.

But if she's there - Jaoel thought, freezing at the implication of her going there alone.

He dropped his bow at the door and raced for the cave where the warm body of water was contained. It was a little ways into it, but not so much so that darkness impended his sight - or anyone's for that matter. The sunlight still shone through.

He sucked in a deep breath of simultaneous relief and trepidation as he made out her naked form in the pool, arms bent over the edge with her forehead pressed to the backs of her splayed hands.

"Eva," he called out hesitantly.

She lifted her head to peer over at him and her shoulders relaxed at the same time as a corner of her mouth curled up. "Knew you'd remember. I wanted to wait for you, but it got to be too much. I wanted to make sure I could still walk here."

He kicked off his boots and sat beside her on the edge, letting his legs drop into the pleasantly warm liquid she was sitting in. "When did you start feeling the pains?"

"Almost immediately after you left," she informed him. "But not soon enough to flag you down."

"The whole morning?"

She nodded and he pulled his lips into a thin line, a subtle grimace. "I'm sorry, mulsa. If I had known I'd have never gone out."

"You couldn't have known," she said with a hitched breath. She tensed up and dug her nails into the gravel surrounding the natural pool. "You're here now."

Jaoel turned to place a hand on her shoulder in support as she rode out what people in later times would call a contraction.

"I should've alerted the midwife days ago when the baby dropped," he stated aloud.

"That was not my wish," she hissed.

It had been his.

When Eva had conceived his child in mid autumn the previous year, only a couple months after they began their passionate relationship, Jaoel had feared her being struck down by Heaven's army, but then she'd come up with the ridiculous idea of doing this on her own, no medical back up if something were to go wrong, as they did fairly often in her time, and then he'd feared that more.

She didn't like the local midwife though, and he had to admit he understood why. She was not very sympathetic and wasn't afraid to lecture her patients when they didn't perfectly follow the rules she had set in place, including a zero tolerance for manual labor outside the home. That included herding sheep.

The stern elderly woman would probably have an aneurysm if she knew Eva had forgone a bed for a pool of water. Water births were not typical, but a town friend had told her about the practice once when she was halfway through her pregnancy and Eva hadn't given up the dream since.

She'd been so determined to give birth in the spring that when Jaoel had brought up his concerns she'd pushed back. "Let me do it alone then!" she had shouted.

And he had gently turned her head to look him back in the eyes. "Not so long as I breathe."

The idea of being there through the entire birth was daunting, but he would not leave her without someone to comfort her and help usher their child into the world.

A child he'd once dreaded, but now nervously awaited.

It was not like he hadn't understood how he'd gotten Eva pregnant. He'd known fully well what repeated unprotected copulation with her would likely lead to, but she'd made him feel invincible for a time, and she'd wanted a family long before he entered her life. The combination of his recklessness and her care free attitude about it had made her pregnancy only a matter of time.

At the beginning he couldn't share the happiness she felt because he'd seen first hand the cards that were dealt to nephilim. He'd dealt some of the cards himself, to mostly mature ones who had actually deserved it, but still. It would be hypocritical to think his child would be above eradication; that his fellow angels would leave them alone just because he was the father.

Eva would not let him stay detached. She convinced him to voice his concerns and to forgive himself for obeying his orders. She'd convinced him that they were safe at the farm for now, and when they weren't they'd move on. That it was going to be okay.

Then she'd pressed his hand to her swollen belly as the baby kicked and he'd lost all reason once more.

He thought of that tiny foot nudging against his palm through firm skin as Eva's contractions increased in strength and closed in on each other.

She clutched at him through it all, like he was a log floating down river rapids. Her salvation.

He held onto her comfortingly, drawing small circles on her back until she pulled herself away from him, towards a rock shelf on the north side of the pool, a shallow spot.

"Baby’s coming," she panted out, sitting up against the side of the pool and already bearing down with her whole body, her eyes squeezed shut.

All the lambings in the world couldn't have prepared him for this.

He followed her, kneeling in the water before her and nodding. "I have you both."

He did his best to stay stoic and encourage her as she worked to move the baby out of her, listening to her body, pushing with the contractions. He felt utterly helpless and impressed by her strength all at once as he waited with his arms open, at the ready.

He wasn't sure exactly how long it took, but one moment his arms were empty and the next he was holding an infant in them - their daughter.

He raised her up out of the water and studied her little face in wonder as she starred back up at him intensely. He could already tell she was going to look so much like her mother, but those dark brown eyes, those were all him.

The observation made his breath catch and he found himself transfixed, locked in that moment with her. Just looking.

Then she scrunched up her face and began to wail.

Jaoel thought he'd seen everything beautiful to see in the universe, but witnessing his daughter's first breath, first cry - a life beginning, one created out of the love he and Eva shared - he'd never seen anything more beautiful outside of his father's throne room.

“It’s alright, babygirl, you’re fine,” he soothed automatically. “Wanna meet your mama?”

He glanced over to Eva and her face lit up. She gestured for him to hand over their daughter almost desperately and he did so carefully so not to drop her back into the water.

A look of awe passed over Eva’s tired face and she started sobbing, her head pressed gently against her daughter’s.

“Are you alright my love?” Jaoel asked, concerned, touching the elbow of her right arm.

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, it’s just…she’s perfect, Jaoel. And she’s ours.”

The disbelief in her shaky voice made him smile. “Yes, she is. And she's just as perfect as her mother.”

Jaoel had never felt such overwhelming joy as he did then, not since standing in front of God himself, and even then it was a different kind of thrill.

He figures years later that he should have known better than to settle into it.

Everything is fleeting.

Jaoel.

One word, his name, and his world greyed.

He'd heard it said behind him, but he didn't want to turn around. He wanted to keep looking forward, watching his five year old daughter innocently play in a field of dandelions, not a care in the world.

He knew that voice. It might as well have been an axe.

"Jaoel, what have you done?" the voice hissed, outrage barely contained.

He swung around then, meeting eyes with a woman nearly his height and in a dark green tunic and sandals. Her hair was a stark pale blonde and her eyes were ghostly blue. Icy, just like her attitude.

"Jophiel," Jaoel said. "What are you doing here?"

"Gathering everyone," Jophiel replied. "The fight is over for now. The demons are controlled. The humans are safe. Or so we thought."

She jerked her head in his daughter's direction.

"She's not dangerous," Jaoel told her firmly. "She's just a child."

"Of course she's dangerous!" Jophiel screeched. "I can feel her power radiating out from here. She is an abomination!"

"She is mine!" Jaoel growled, taking a step forward, chest out. Furious and terrified but refusing to show the latter. "She is no abomination. You've shed enough blood. Leave us be."

"You know they won't do that," said another quieter, subdued voice.

Under other circumstances Jaoel would've been elated to hear it, but it that moment it pained him.

"Thomas," Jaoel whispered.

He craned his neck to see him to his right, dressed in a tunic as well, his cream. He looked younger than Jaoel by six years, around twenty-six years old based on human aging, but it was an allusion. Heaven's angels didn't age. Only the fallen, and even they aged very slowly.

Thomas was as close to a brother of blood as angels could get. Jaoel had been in charge of training him right after the lower angel had been created. They'd spent hundreds of years fighting the dark side by side. They'd cared about and trusted each other more than all their other fellow angels.

Jaoel had no idea where Thomas would fall in this argument. Thomas was as loyal to Heaven as he'd been and even if he did side with him, it meant he'd be banished from Heaven too. Most likely killed, if not thrown into Hell with the rest of the fallen who would eat him alive for not having sided with them, with Lucifer, when they rebelled.

For his daughter's sake he wanted Thomas on his side, but for his brother's sake he wished he'd never shown up.

Thomas looked torn. He had never agreed with the zero tolerance rule for the nephilim either. He'd slain one, a teenage boy, under Jophiel's direct orders once and had been haunted by it for decades. The boy had shown signs of delinquency but nothing atypical of a human his age. He'd begged for his life. Jophiel had promised a tortured death if Thomas didn't do it himself. She'd cornered him.

She'd never tried it with Jaoel before because they were both archangels, but in that dandelion field she changed that. There was a reason Jophiel had brought Thomas with her. Most likely she'd had her suspicions after Jaoel stopped checking in with his siblings, giving updates.

(In hindsight, it had been a poor decision, but he'd been afraid a fellow angel would see through his lies, the stories he made up to cover that he was no longer just guarding Eva.)

Jaoel could see what Jophiel was trying to do from a mile away.

"You belong with us, Jaoel," she stated stiffly. "I am not completely heartless. Let us dispose of her. Thomas will do it, quick and painless, and then you can come home. I will forgive your transgressions, convince Michael to give you a pass."

She only didn't want to face one of Heaven's most powerful warriors, fallen or not. A lesser angel would've never gotten any ounce of mercy.

"Over my dead body," Jaoel spat out, pulling his blade from one of his coat pockets.

"This won't end well for anyone if we fight him like this," Thomas told Jophiel. "You're a better leader, but Jaoel's a better fighter and he knows all my tricks."

Jophiel huffed, clearly not pleased that he'd pointed it out but smart enough to know not to be bull headed about it. "You're right. We need back up. Come along."

She spread her stunning golden brown wings that spanned ten feet and flew away without further do.

Thomas lingered, unable to look Jaoel straight in the eye.

He sighed. "Of all of our siblings, I'd have put you on the list of least likely to be tempted by a human woman. You've put me in an awkward position, big brother."

"I'm sorry," Jaoel said honestly. "It just happened. I cannot describe how I got here. Why she's here. But look at her, Thomas. Please."

Thomas glanced up, obeying, and Jaoel shifted to see what he was seeing.

His daughter, standing still in the middle of the field with a beautiful blue butterfly clinging to her tiny index finger, her chocolate eyes bright and curious.

When he turned back to Thomas he saw a softness in them. "She is beautiful," his brother admitted. "If it were up to me she would live. You wouldn't be forced away from this place. But alas, it is not my decision. If I argued, I'd be cast out too."

The last two sentences sounded bitter, an aged rage in the words, and Jaoel knew he was thinking of the boy.

Jaoel shook his head. "I'm not asking you to rebel. I'm asking you to disappear, busy yourself. Find a wayward demon on your way to gather others for our execution. Stay out of this."

Thomas gave him a small, bittersweet smile. "Always looking out for me." His expression turned solemn. "Even when I fail you."

Jaoel's stomach dropped and he realized then that Jophiel had never mentioned killing Eva, even though the mothers of the nephilim were always executed as well.

"No..."

"Jophiel has been observing you all morning," Thomas told him. "She waited until you left and struck herself. She found me after, said there was one last evil for me to dispatch. A nephilim. She never said it was your daughter. But she did say she already killed the mother."

Jaoel backed a few steps from him. "No...no...you're lying. Jophiel's put you up to it."

"I wish it was one of her elaborate plans, that I was lying. But I'm not."

"NO!" Jaoel snarled, charging forward to grab a fist full of the fabric just under his neck. "She can't be dead!"

"Take your daughter and run, now." Thomas said, more pleading than commanding. "I'll bury her."

"No! You're lying! I'm not leaving her behind."

It couldn't be true. She was his one. His soulmate, as the humans would say. Denial was all he had to keep himself from falling apart.

Thomas sought his eyes out. "Look me in the eyes, brother, you know I'm a bad liar."

Jaoel didn't want to, but he did, and he regretted it. There was no lie in his eyes. Only painful truth.

Thomas saw the change in his expression. The anguish. "I'm so sorry." He went to cup his face but Jaoel fell to his knees.

Thomas was already gathering him up and helping him back to his feet as soon as he hit the ground. "Go. Save your daughter while you still can. She won't take long."

He might have as well shoved a blade through his heart, it would've hurt less. But Jaoel knew Thomas was right. He had to leave with his daughter now. He couldn't go back to bury Eva. He couldn't go home to say goodbye.

Tears blinded him. "Bury her by the oak tree next to the barn. She loved lying in the shade there on sunny days."

Thomas gave him a curt nod. "It is done."

Jaoel started for his daughter on trembling legs.

"Jaoel," Thomas called out after he got a few feet.

He glanced back at him. "Her name was Eva."

"And your daughter's?" Thomas inquired.

"Sarah," Jaoel answered. "It was her grandmother's name."

He didn't waste anymore time after that, racing towards Sarah without checking if Thomas was leaving. He could take care of himself. Sarah could not.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" she asked, frowning at the way he'd rushed to her and at the pain in his expression.

"Daddy can't explain now," he told her, trying not to choke up. "Dangerous people are coming here. We have to go."

Her eyes rounded with fear. "What about Mommy?"

"I sent someone to get her," Jaoel replied. It was vague enough not to be a lie.

He would tell her the full truth later, after they put distance between them and Jophiel.

"We're going to fly to escape them," he said, trying to mask his grief as much as he could. "Come quick."

Sarah lit up. She had always loved flying. Flying made everything better.

She jumped into Jaoel's waiting arms and wrapped her arms around his neck as he unfurled his wings. She stared at them in awe as she always did, then Jaoel launched off the ground.

He flew her far away, not sure where to go, only knowing that no matter where they went, they'd never be safe for long.

The morning light shining through the open bedroom window of the abandoned cottage Jaoel had set up as a safehouse just before her birth bathed Sarah in gold as she slumbered, a sight that soothed Jaoel's ravaged, aching heart.

Finding out Eva was dead had been painful, telling Sarah the news had destroyed him.

She'd fallen asleep from utter exhaustion after all the tears she'd shed, but despite how weary Jaoel was, he'd been unable to catch any sleep himself.

He was too worried about his siblings finding them. Was too caught up in how open ended everything felt. He'd never be able to tell Eva goodbye. Would never have any idea what her final moments were like. He could only hope Jophiel had been merciful about it; something that had never been her strong suit.

He'd spent most of the night pacing or leaning on the door frame to the bedroom, watching his daughter, the rise and fall of her chest and the sound of her heart beating the only things keeping his despair at bay.

Then a striking blue butterfly, of the same species as the one that had been on Sarah's finger in the field flew into the room on a wind and landed softly on her forehead.

Something about its choice of a resting spot made Jaoel recall how sometimes butterflies were used as messengers by those who have passed on, and his breath hitched as he realized that Eva had died before the butterfly had settled onto their daughter's finger. That blue had been her favorite color.

"Eva?" he whispered. It couldn't be, could it? Was the butterfly a message to him?

It immediately flew off, back to the forest beyond the cottage, and Jaoel knew that was the answer to his question.

It gave him some solace.

She was still around, even if he, a fallen, couldn't see her.

It was almost mid morning and Sarah was still sound asleep when the door to the cottage quietly creaked open. A human would've missed it, but Jaoel didn't.

He dug out his blade from his coat and crept towards the main living space, every muscle in his body tensed in preparation for a fight.

He'd expected Jophiel or one of her closest allies to be waiting for him, but he found Thomas instead, standing by the fireplace.

"Thomas, what are you doing here?" he hissed. "How'd you find me?"

"I know you better than you may think," Thomas answered, the left side of his mouth quirking up slightly. "Luckily Jophiel has not cared to."

"You were supposed stay away," Jaoel told him, a flair of anger in his chest over his brother putting himself at risk for him. "You cannot be here long or you'll be cast out too."

Thomas approached him and lifted his right hand to squeeze his shoulder as he met his eyes. "I am staying. For far too long I have heeded their every order, sacrificed my morality in the name of their laws, for a father who has not let us see his face for centuries. I'm tired of cowering, brother. I am standing my ground. Your lover has been laid to rest, the animals rehomed, and you will not protect your daughter alone, no matter where we must go."

Jaoel felt tears stinging his eyes once more, and to his surprise Thomas' eyes were shining too.

"Thank you," he said, his words nearly getting caught in his throat.

There was no use arguing with Thomas once he'd firmly drawn a stick in the sand, so he accepted his help. It felt good too, the burden on his shoulders feeling slightly less heavy with his beloved brother pledging to be there.

He yanked Thomas into a spontaneous embrace and his brother flinched, caught off guard, but soon relaxed into it and patted his back.

"Daddy, who is he?"

Jaoel backed away from Thomas to turn to Sarah, who was standing just outside the door of the bedroom, staring at the younger angel curiously.

"Sarah, this is Thomas," Jaoel replied, glancing to him before meeting her eyes. "Your uncle."

For years Jaoel and Thomas traveled all over the world with Sarah, fearful that if they stopped moving their brethren would catch up. It kept her safe, but also built frustration up in her as she aged. She wanted to be with other children, to learn in the same environment as they did. She got tired of being so isolated, so cooped up. As much as she loved her father and uncle, they weren't enough. Safety was not enough.

She was just a teenager being a teenager when she crept out of the cabin they were staying in while they were both sleeping, having the intention of hanging out with a few other girls in the village for several hours.

She was just a teenager, fourteen years old, when she healed a serious head injury one of the girls acquired while they were flitting around the forest like nymphs of myth in the night.

It was an unfortunate matter of circumstance that an angel that hadn't even been searching for her sensed her power when she used it and found her before Jaoel and Thomas could.

They met her friends first, bawling and clinging to each other, hardly able to spit out enough intelligible words to let them know what had happened. They'd seen things their young human minds couldn't grasp and witnessed a girl their age being slain. They'd be haunted by it for the rest of their lives.

As soon as they got the location Jaoel was racing through the thick treeline to find his daughter, legs pumping as hard as they could, faster than any human's but still not fast enough because he was already too late. He knew that, but he was compelled forward anyway.

He found her on her back, innocent brown eyes open and empty, staring blankly up at nothing. Her shirt was caked with blood that was beginning to dry. There was a stab wound to her abdomen, one clearly made by an angel's blade.

Jaoel dropped to his knees and gathered her already cool body into his arms, holding her close, his head in the crook of her neck.

"No, no, come on, come on babygirl, wake up, wake up!"

He was rocking her body, in total devastation, when Thomas caught up. He fell to the ground at the heartbreaking sight before him, weeping alongside his brother.

They did not notice the ugly grey moth that fluttered down to sit on Joel's hunched back, by his right shoulder, a symbol of what he'd become.

Thomas was burying Sarah just outside the cabin but Jaoel could not bare to help. Instead he was sitting in a chair in the bedroom she'd been occupying just a few hours before, flipping his blade between his calloused fingers.

He paused to point it at his heart and tried to muster up the strength it would take to shove it in, knowing there would be prolonged pain if he did it wrong. But maybe that's what he deserved, subjecting Eva and then their daughter to the wrath of his family. It had been selfish. He should have stayed a distant observer. Saved Eva and moved on.

"Jaoel."

He flinched and his eyes darted up to see his brother standing in the doorway.

"Don't do it," he pleaded. "We can heal together. We can find a new home."

"I cannot go on without her, Thomas," Jaoel murmured, struggling to breathe as he spoke. "Go."

"You would leave me to fend for myself?" his brother asked.

Jaoel wanted to punch him for it. "You're nearly as old as I am; you can take care of yourself!"

Eyes downcast, Thomas nodded. "You are right. But I wish not to. I have already buried a niece tonight; do not make me bury you too."

Bastard.

Jaoel wanted nothing more than to end the unbearable weight that had fallen over him since he'd found Sarah's body, but the hand gripping the blade loosened its hold without his consent and it tumbled to the floor.

For as much as he was in pain, he could not leave his brother to mourn alone, to live alone. Not when he'd fallen because of him.

Joel Miller wakes up from the dream turned nightmare and swipes at the sticky tear track on his cheek.

When will it end? He wonders silently in the dark of his second story bedroom.

He can't help but think, far from the first time, that maybe he should've used the blade after all.

xxx

Latin Translations:

Faex = shit

Mulsa = honey

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

#Joel Miller #The Last Of Us (HBO)#Joel Miller Fanfic (Mine)#X Reader #TLOU AU #The Fallen Warrior Series

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hymnonlips · 2 years ago

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God Favored Her: An Introduction + Three Photos Tag Game

Due to recent (and at the same time ancient) events, I’ve taken it upon myself to try to repurpose my frustration into something creative.

Enter: God Favored Her

(details, moodboards, and playlists under the cut!)

*TW: Sexual Harassment & Assault, Abortion, Stalking, Conversion Therapy, Incest

God Favored Her is a collection of short stories about the lives of different modern day women inspired by the women from the bible. Currently, there are four planned installments:

Eve🗧

Synopsis: Eve navigates her desire to have sex with her boyfriend within a highly conservative environment. Ultimately, she decides to give into her desires, but is later punished harshly, now facing the future she never wanted to have.

Spotify Link: Here.

Note: In this interpretation, the apple is now a cherry, a representation of losing your virginity. The whole Fall of Man story is all about the loss of innocence, so I thought it would be interesting to take it in this direction.

Bathsheba🗧

Synopsis: Bathsheba, a woman who lives with her veteran husband (who is mostly away), discovers that naked photos of herself were taken without her consent when someone across the street begins stalking her. She feels ashamed of her forgetfulness to close her blinds and realizes that she can’t ask for help. Faced with his money and power, she feels pressured into giving into his advances. Ultimately, Bathsheba becomes pregnant with his child and she contemplates on living in a man’s world as a woman without a man.

Spotify Link: Here.

Note: I really hated how the bible passages never went into how Bathsheba felt about David watching her and impregnating her. Honest to god, it sounded like she enjoyed it because of her silence. (We’re not even getting into him murdering her husband.)

Mary Magdalene🗧

Synopsis: A disciple at a conversion camp battles inner turmoil when she finds out her lover is soon to leave the camp. She contemplates her status of being the lowly sinner and her lover, the praised saint. She remembers how her love seems to be a completely different person around her—human, even—and wonders which side of her is real—if their love was ever real. Ultimately, when her lover leaves to go on the mission, she is left alone with her prayers to god, begging that he would change her.

Spotify Link: Here.

Note: Alexa, play I Don’t Know How To Love Him.

Honestly, this story is an outlier because this is the only one where she doesn’t get pregnant, which puts into perspective the role women play in the bible. Still, I wanted to tackle this because of the supposed rumor that Magdalene and Jesus had a secret romance (omg I sound so gossipy). I wondered what kind of dynamic would a sinner and a saint have and I realized that this would be worth exploring through a queer lens.

Virgin Mary🗧

Synopsis: A pregnant teenage girl reflects on the mystery of her pregnancy. She navigates family dynamics, trying to amend her innocent youth with the expectation to be as innocent after everything that’s happened. Now a mother, she tries to understand her responsibilities, realizing, as a sixteen-year-old, she’s not ready. Ultimately, with family and morals in mind, she takes it upon herself to have the baby—regardless of her fears and uncertainty surrounding her pregnancy.

Spotify Link: Here.

Notes: This one, I’d say, is the most controversial story as it paints Mary to be an unwilling mother. However, I must say, that Mary was sixteen when she said yes to God, and as a child listening to that story, I was terrified. I’d imagine that at that age, if a god were to ask me to bear his child, I can’t say no. And so, I wanna give a more humanistic lens into the youth of Mary and the expectation, as women, to remain innocent.

Also, Mary’s decision at the end shouldn’t be seen as her disregarding her feelings for the “greater good.” It should be seen as a complicated decision that Mary had to make.

Final Notes🗧

@loveimogen has previously tagged me in a three photos tag game where you find three photos/images (they can be anything at all, memes, vintage photographs, quotes, anything) that you feel describe your wip. Coincidentally, I was working on this post when I was tagged, so I thought I’ll just put it under that. You can find xyr post here!

Also I’ll be tagging @the-writing-moon @thepixiediaries @the-orangeauthor and whoever else wants to join! :DD (No pressure to the ones I tagged tho!)

#EllyOC #EllyGodFavoredHer #biblical themes #feminism #creative writing #WIP #wip intro #writing wip #writers on tumblr #writeblr #im scared to post this ngl #i hope you enjoy it tho!#EllyTA

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letmesumitup · 7 years ago

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perhaps you were born for such a time as this

#queen esther #xerxes #persia #bravery #courage #a queen takes care of her people #esther 4:14 #women of the bible #moodboard monday

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peeterparkr · 5 years ago

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two can play that game⤳t.h.

prologue: the challenge.

story summary: Tired of being let down, you decide to change the game, you didn’t want to be played anymore, so what better way than to become a player yourself. You’re looking for a story and another challenge. When you’re dared to change a player into a committed relationship in exchange to get your big shot, you give in, knowing damn well you’ll make him fall to your feet before you can even say: spoiler.

pairing: player!tom holland x player!reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention

word count: 2.7k

thanks to @gioandreolli for the moodboard, love you gio! Thanks!!

so as you may know this is based on this blurb. As usual, tell me what you think

series masterlist

chapter 1

You woke up to a text, three crying emojis. You rolled your eyes, being sure of what you’d find just as you walked into the studio. You were right. As soon as you walked in you saw your best friend crying. She was sobbing, hard. Tissues all around her. Mia was your best friend, but she also happened to be very stupid. She was the makeup artist in the show you worked for, and she was amazing at everything she did.

Except of course, when it came to men. She never listened to you.

“He broke up with me!” She cried as you approached her, you hugged her tightly. This was routinary for you. You had brought her an ice cream tube so she could start her sorrow.

“But you’ve only been dating for two weeks!” You pointed out.

“I took him to my cousin’s wedding…” She said before taking out a spoon from her purse for the ice cream.

And there was the mistake. You rolled your eyes. So that’s why she didn’t tell you what she was doing that weekend.

Rules of gold: probably number 23: Never, ever take a man to a family party, less a wedding just in the first weeks. He’ll believe you’re rushing him into something and he will run away.

“I love him, y/n,” she said.

Once you fall in love, you lose. You had already lost many times. One illusion after another illusion.

You were tired of the lies, the routines and the thousands of excuses they could tell you.

You knew exactly how each and every date was. You would spend hours putting on makeup, combing your hair, shaving, perfuming, while they only threw themselves some simple blue jeans and a black shirt 10 minutes before.

They were all the same. They would probably arrive in what you would expect to be a fairytale carriage, and you’d be expectant of a prince charming. But it would be an old car, and they would be unpunctual. They wouldn't even get out of the car to open the door for you. Sometimes they wouldn��t even pick you up.

They would take you to a cheap place where they would only talk about themselves, but since you were very dumb, you would probably end up kissing him in his apartment.

And you would ask yourself, why are you there again? Why do they have to be the ones to choose?

In spite of everything, your crushes had been remotely passengers. But even if they were only momentary, it was no excuse for not having you full of tears, waiting for a call, apologizing for something you hadn’t done. Because it was always like that, being the fool who was waiting for a prince to save her. And there you were, giving in to all his whims and wanting to please them from one to another. Then feel the guilt that you had let your heart break again. And again, and again.

After someone had decided to break your heart into a thousand pieces and in the worst way, you decided that maybe it was time to change. It was like an awakening. When you watched your friends and you make yet another girls night with ice cream, chips and pizza, seeing them how they would sob and bawl and then scream when they saw hottie Ryan Gosling in The Notebook, you decided it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that they were always crying.

And you were fed up, after seeing ye another message on your cellphone from the group chat with tearful emojis, you said enough. Just like the one today.

It could not be that they always made the decision and that us as women, were always waiting for them to choose what they wanted. It was not fair that you had to face with indecisive idiots who didn’t know where the hell they wanted to go with the relationship. You decided that you would not fall back into the tangles of a man who just wanted to take you to bed.

Your new bible, Why Men Love Bitches, had taught you a lot of what you knew now. You had made your own strategies and now it would be you who would choose, it was you with the last word. You were tired of being treated like garbage, and you understood something: they would only treat you like garbage if you felt like garbage. So you found out that you needed to change.

You would follow those steps to the letter and now, just one look was all it took to be the owner of the relationship. It was you who took command.

They all fell. They all begged.

Because you understood something very important.

Principle of attraction number 7: act like a prize and you’ll turn him into a believer.

Everything was based on this principle.

Men are so primitive, they keep acting like hunters looking for their prey. You had done it wrong all those years, acting as they wanted. Leaving them the easy way. You know, being the fool who called him the next day and gave in to any nonsense. We’ve all been there, diving in too fast into the relationship, sending him notes and wanting to introduce them to your parents after date two. Being exceptional in everything you do, you know, inviting him over for dinner and cooking one of Martha Stewart’s amazing recipes. We’ve all served them in a silver plate. Because like any other reasonable human being. We believe in love.

It does exist, you’d guess. But you weren’t going to fall now. Not now that you had managed to get all you wanted. Not now that you had guys begging for dates and begging to get things serious.

You had a life. You were not a toy. Because you realized men wanted to be the hunger. So you became a challenge, a challenge they wanted to take.

You became, to his eyes, the prey.

Let's say it this way, for the hunter, being this all primitive men, a deer that they’ve been pursuing would be more attractive than a deer which arrives at his door by ringing the bell.

You understood then, that they wanted the fight.

They wanted the challenge. And you would be, without knowing that they were really your prey falling to your claws.

And so, now you would get a perfect date, and make it fall right at your feet. He would call. You would decide when and where the first kiss would be, and if you wanted to reach second or third base. You would receive the flowers days later. They would be the ones who would be crying while eating chocolate ice cream and watching The Notebook. Not you. Never you. Not anymore.

And if you liked someone, you knew you would get him straight into your claws. You would just have to follow a few simple steps and he would be eating from the palm of your hand.

It was a mixture of red lipsticks, high heels and provocative but elegant clothes. Let them wish, but never get. Plus a few words and actions to make yourself impossible to their eyes and therefore, you’d be that challenge they were looking for.

And you were tired of the love songs, the stupid chick-flicks and all the stupid endings. You were tired of seeing them all do the same stupid love films, always teaching women exactly what they were not supposed to do. You wanted to be a screenwriter yourself, maybe even a director to write what women should do, and not fall for a stupid man just three days after meeting him.

Problem was you didn’t yet have a story. Not a good one, at least. So you were a television producer….’s assistant on a sitcom. Not exactly where you wanted to be, but you know, something was something. You were basically just there making sure things worked out.

Your romantic life was settled, you weren’t seeing anyone seriously simply because you didn’t want them. You were sure you could turn any man, even the worst players into your game.

You weren’t even listening to your friend cry anymore. You were tired.

“If you only listened to me,” you sentenced.

Your other best friend, Barbie, had just walked in, she was also an assistant producer like you. She had walked in sucking on a lollipop and what you were sure were the clothes from yesterday. She probably had hooked up with someone. Because you and her had a very different standing on men. Her theory relied on something simple: “If they’re already playing with me I might as well get something out of it.”

“She’s crying?” She mouthed at you from afar, not wanting to deal with it.

You nodded. She rolled her eyes and made her way to Mia.

“It’s alright, here,” Barbie smirked as she pulled out a mini bottle of vodka. “Spice up your ice cream and treat yourself, sis, it’s only a guy.”

Mia took the mini bottle into her hands and stared at it.

You rolled your eyes and took it from her, putting it on your purse. “We’re at work, idiot.”

Barbara shrugged as she pulled it back out, and sprinkled Mia’s ice cream. You rolled your eyes.

“Did you bang him?” Barbs asked Mia. You frowned and nudged her. “I mean, did you-guys make looooove?”

“Don’t ask her that!” You warned Barbara. But before you could even stop it, Mia was already sobbing again.

Mia sniffed. “We did--- I saw it, we both, we were perfect! We would get-”

“Married, and we’d have three children and get a pomeranian…” Barbs and you said at the unison.

Mia glared. “He broke up with me, why?”

“Because you wanted more than sex,” Barbs said popping her lollipop. “You guys should do what I do, get laid and have fun.”

“If you only listened to me,” you rolled your eyes. “Problem with you both is you both treat yourself like garbage.”

“I...don’t,” Mia sniffed.

The main producer walked in, seeing Mia with puffy eyes. She ignored her but she kept checking stuff on the board she would check every morning.

“Get her on her senses before we start,” she warned you, and stayed close by.

“You know what, yn? if you were that good you’d have a boyfriend by now,” Barbs pointed out. “Your rules and strategies don’t work.”

You shook your head. “Au contraire, I know they work,” you defended yourself. “I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want one. But if you want, I can make anyone you’d tell me to be my boyfriend.”

“Huh, sure,” Barbs laughed.

“Well, look at me, I went out on a date last night and I’m a, not crying and b, not wearing last night’s clothes,” you called them out. “My strategies work, I can make any man a docible man, let’s say. And, you know what? I’m writing a screenplay on that, I’ll prove it.”

“You’re writing a screenplay, now?” Barbs chuckled. “About what?”

“About my game,” you smirked. “About a young woman who makes a player fall in love with her.”

“Ah, chick flick alert!” Barbs chuckled.

“Why can’t I get them? Why do I always fall for their lies?” Mía asked.

“Because you keep doing that,” you pushed. “You keep calling him the next day, you keep letting him decide when he wants to date you, you keep inviting him to weddings, and you keep thinking that sure whenever he invites you to watch Netflix you’ll actually end up watching The Good Place.”

“But, he can change,” Mia said.

“Yes, but not by what you’re doing.” You crossed your arms

“I gave him my apartment key.” Mía cried.

You wanted to hit her.

“Ewgh,” Barbie wrinkled her nose. “No, okay, you’re a lost cause. Like, okay, y/n is crazy but you, Mia you’re really the toughest case.”

“I’m not crazy, I’m smart,” you defended yourself. “I’ll prove it, I’ll even get Mia a boyfriend.”

“Your strategies are just a dumb and pretty way to say you’re a good slut,” Barbs pointed out laughing. “And stop calling them strategies, that sounds super dumb.”

“I’m not a slut, I’m not you, honey,” you frowned.

“What’s the difference?” Barbs asked. “We both technically do the same. I mean you’re also dressing up, and with those sexy red lips, you’re a big of a player as I am, y/n. You’re the female version of Mia’s worst nightmare...Or dream, same difference.”

Mia frowned.

You shook your head. “I get them to date me, I get the fairytale, I get them to be the ones calling me the next day and I don’t find myself like her, crying over stupid things. I get the-”

“You don’t get laid?” Barbie asked. “That’s boring.”

“I get them to be desperately in love with me,” you said. “And I do get laid, I just decide who with and when.”

“How do I get the fairytale?” Mia asked. “Because all I do is try to be the princess…”

“You won’t get the fairytale, because you’re both, in a way, easy!” You explained. “That’s why! You, Barbara, you’re always hooking up with whoever gets in front of you, and you Mia you fall in love the moment they say hello to you! Falling in love is not wrong but letting it be your weakness is!”

“You only get your said fairytale because you’ve been dating a bunch of nerds, I need to see it with a real man.”

“It can work with whoever,” you assured her. “Tonight I’ll prove it, let’s see that my strategies can change even the assholes Mia falls in love with.”

“Hey!” Mia rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll use your strategies.”

“Do they really work?” Someone interrupted. The three of you turned to see the TV producer, your boss, Margaret, watching you.

The three of you went stiff.

“Margo!” You gulped as you turned to her. “I--uh. What?”

“Your strategies,” Margo said, looking down at her phone.

“They don’t,” Barbs said.

You scowled. “They do,” you gulped. “They do, they do…”

Margo chuckled. “And you’re writing a screenplay,” she commented.

“Yeah, yeah, for a movie or series… Uh.”

“Mh,” Margo smirked. “You know, finish it, and I’ll get you to pitch the idea with the supervisors.”

“Wait, what?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Yeah, we’re looking for a new series,” Margo said. “Sounds interesting, and would be a funny sitcom, maybe change a bit, make her a serial dater.”

You gulped. “Yeah, yeah.”

“But are you sure it works?” Margo raised an eyebrow. “Like, if I ask you to get an insufferable player you’d be sure you’d get him to date you?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded. “It’s a strategy really, I-”

“Let’s make a deal,” Margo walked over. “I’ll give you a name, and you’ll need to make him date you, you need to get him into a real relationship, make him fall in love. I want him to end up like her,” she said pointing up at Mia with her tissues. “Then, if I see it works, then I’ll get you to the people so you can have your own sitcom, how does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect--Yes, perfect. I won’t disappoint. I’ll do it!”

“Alright, but you won’t back away?” Margo chuckled. “Even when I tell you who he is?”

“No, of course not!” You were in shock. “How difficult can it be?”

Barbs and Mia were just as shocked as you were.

“Alright then, your new assignment is no other than Tom Holland.”

“Tom--Tom Holland?” You blinked. “As in Spider-Man Tom Holland?”

Margo frowned. “Yes, I’ll give you everything you need to know about him,” she offered. “Unless, of course, you don’t want your screenplay to see the light.”

You coughed. “No, no, it’s okay! I’ll make it work!”

Margo smiled. “Meet me in an hour.” And off she walked, scrawny and stiff.

Mia, Barbie and you had to wait until you knew she was completely gone.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled. “Is this a dream?”

“Oh my god!” Mia cheekily grinned. “Tom Holland, that’s a dream!”

Barb slapped the top of your head. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Tom Holland? The actor? You wouldn’t even get the chance to even meet him, and you just said you could get him into a fucking relationship?”

“The only problem I see here is how I’m making him notice me,” you bit your lip.

“Noticing you?” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Noticing you? You think that’s the slightest problem?”

“It’ll be the biggest one, I’m sure,” you smirked. “I’ll finally prove to you that I know my way around them. You’ll see it, I promise I’ll have Tom freaking Holland bawling over me.”

Mia grinned. “Tom Holland! Can you imagine that?”

“I’ll bet you 50 pounds you won’t even get near him,” Barbara insisted.

“50 pounds and my own sitcom are coming my way,” you shook her hand with a smirk.

----

series masterlist

chapter 1

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stingrayextraordinaire · 2 years ago

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Women of the Bible Moodboards // Bathsheba

It happened, late one afternoon, when David arose from his couch and was walking on the roof of the king’s house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful.

#bathsheba #the bible #women of the bible #women of the bible moodboards #characters #character moodboards #moodboards #aesthetics #my moodboards #my edits #christian faith #christian

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dancingbaek · 5 years ago

Text

To End in Ice and Fire | Part 5

Being born with a particular birthmark is the lurking fear every parent has in their hearts when they bring a child into this dark world. Your parents are the only ones who have never received relief when creating life, because they knew your soul would be damned for eternity when he finally comes to claim what’s his.

Moodboard // Prologue // Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

Spoiler: Jongin is an angry little vampire.

The next morning is much of the same. You wake up a little disoriented, but nonetheless slide out of bed and into the slippers you left waiting. The floor is always so cold in the morning and in the evening and your slippers can hardly fend off the cold. You change into a different dress in the closet, into a deep blue gown that you had trouble lacing up because the corset was just the slightest bit too small. You remedy the situation by sliding on an overcoat, buttoning each and every button. It wards off the chill in the air and you pad slowly to the vanity pressed up to the wall you hadn’t noticed the day before in your confusion and terror.

There’s a large mirror attached to the back of it, with little drawers and a seat cushion set in front of it. On the table is a golden hairbrush, intricate designs spiraling in a circle over the back of it, a large ruby set in the center. A matching hand mirror sits beside it. The Count and Countess did not even have such luxurious items in their household as you suspected the gold might be entirely real. Aside from the two items is a black wooden box, quite plain compared to the jeweled handset. A curious peek inside reveals glittering pieces of jewelry – you spy a string of genuine pearls, sapphire earrings, and garnet and diamond studded bracelets before you quickly shut it.

Raking the brush through your tired locks of hair, you regard yourself in the back mirror. Despite sleeping clear through the night, you look weary. Though talking to Junmyeon the morning before shed some light on your current situation, it had done nothing to set your mind at ease. When you had left your home to make the walk to the church, you had every intention of dying. You had believed you would be ripped apart and drained, much like that innocent boy had been. You had been waiting for the inevitability of death your entire life. You had kneeled every Sunday in church and every night before bed, praying that when it came you could still be saved.

Junmyeon had confirmed that your kidnapper had not brought you here just to kill you. If anything, you gathered that you were regarded as a piece of property to him. Not exactly a new concept to you, considering most marriages were arranged and young women like yourself were bartered off to the man with the highest place in society and the heaviest change purse. You, being a reasonably attractive woman and coming from a well-respected family, would have been good enough to be sold to Richard’s family. You would have been the next Countess and inherited his mother’s jewels and good standing, however you would have never truly owned anything. Everything would be Richard’s, and you would just be a conduit for his children.

You stood from the vanity, blinking images from a future you might have had out of your head. Sweeping your hair off your shoulder you make your way out of your room. Much like the day before, the hallways are mainly lit by candles, the heavy curtains still drawn over the windows. The path to the dining hall is empty of people, and you half expect to see Junmyeon waiting for you at the head of the table. Instead, it too is void of others, however the table is spread with much of the same breakfast food from the day before. You fill a plate with various fruits and cuts of meat before you pause. Being the only one present, and likely the only one in the house, why should you not take the head of the table?

Sitting down where the patriarch typically would affords you a rush of gratification. Although you look out to a table without companionship, the new vantage points allows you to regain some semblance of control over your life. One small decision seems to be enough to propel you through the day.

Junmyeon strolls into the hall while you’re finishing off the last of the sweet grapes. The amusement is plain on his face when he sees where you’ve chosen to sit. Awkwardly you begin to rise from the chair, but he waves it off and sits a few seats down. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“Yes…” You start, grasping for an excuse before you decide on a light shrug and the truth. “I did not expect to have company this morning.”

“I put in for an order of lemon tarts this morning for a reason.” Junmyeon states, leaning forward to pluck one from a plate. You watch him take a bite in confusion but decide not to question it. If the bloodsucking demon wanted to eat a lemon tart, you would let him enjoy it in peace.

“So might we revisit the reason on me being here?” You question him, watching him practically inhale the sweet treat and reach for a second.

“I believe I addressed why you were here yesterday.” Junmyeon states when he swallows. “And I believe I stated Yixing should be speaking with you.”

“If I’m to be forced to live here,” You begin, doing your best to keep the spite from your tone. “I’m going to need things that I do not currently have.”

“Like what?” Junmyeon questions, quirking an eyebrow, already halfway done with his second treat. There was only one remaining.

“Like…” You grasp for common items, not having expected him to actually care. “Well I’m going to need access to a bath, and soaps. Sanitary cloths for my cycles. Womanly things.”

“I’ll make sure to let Yixing know your list of demands for living here.” He states in amusement, standing and plucking the last treat from the table. “I’m sure he’ll fall over himself trying to get those things in order.”

He disappears from the room as you huff lightly, chewing on the last grape with more force than necessary. If they wanted to hold you hostage you at least had the right to be clean. After a few second of debating you rise from the head of the table, following him out to try to squeeze more answers out of him. He has already disappeared, and a quick search of the bottom floor shows that he must have made it up the stairs with alarming quiet and speed.

The rest of the day is spent trying to amuse yourself. You go on another tour of the castle, seeing if you can find anymore unlocked doors. There aren’t any. You run out of ideas to amuse yourself quickly and succumb to deciding to read the day away. While you love reading, it having been how you spent most of your days at home anyways, you had nothing else to do. You should have told Junmyeon to ask Yixing to procure more entertainment.

It is somehow easy demanding things from Junmyeon, or at least speaking to him in a normal manner. He was more human-like than Yixing had been, and if it weren’t for his red eyes and flash of pointed teeth you would have tempted to go as far and say the two of you could be friends. He felt more human, yes, but there were still times where he went far too long without blinking or you caught him looking at your throat.

The next few days pass by much the same. Despite not having a bible you say a short prayer every night, but you quickly begin to lose faith. You discover the room next to yours open the next day, inside being a large claw foot tub with steaming water. A table is set beside it, housing a plethora of soaps for your body and hair. A plush towel sits next to them. You close the door and bolt it shut, sitting in the scalding water until it turns cool and your skin is pruned. You took time to smell all of your options, settling on a mixture of vanilla and peppermint. You scrub and scrub and scrub until you have to get out and wrap the towel around your body.

In fact, every morning since your chat with Junmyeon has produced steaming bath water for your enjoyment. It immediately becomes the favorite part of your day, despite the piano that lulls you to sleep every night. You silently acknowledge the fact that not even those in the largest homes back in your village had the opportunity to bathe each and every day.

Junmyeon does not show up after the second day, but you find yourself not minding it. Though you miss human interaction, you’re content to wallow your days away in solitude, bath water, and tomes thicker than your torso. Which is exactly what you’re doing on the fifth day of the kidnapping – balancing a large book on your knees, peering down at the words in a plush chair in the library. Having chosen something outlining the lineage of a faraway land, you settled in with a cup of tea to read the afternoon away.

You awake sometime later. The curtains you had drawn to let in the late afternoon sun might as well have been shut with all the light that was left. The sky was dark, what light the moon cast hardly penetrating through the window. Sleepily you shift, your legs sliding out from under you and falling stiffly to floor.

Hissing as you pull your feet back, you feel the residual sharp pinpricks of how cold the floor was. Winter was certainly setting in. Blearily you reach down and fumble blindly for the slippers you had discarded before shoving your feet into them. This time you weren’t shocked when your feet hit the floor, and you pushed yourself out of the chair. You stretch your arms above your head, yawning obnoxiously before your mind wakes up enough to realize you can year the piano weaving its way into the library from the music room upstairs.

You’ve never been out of your room when you hear the piano. You still don’t know who plays it. It could be Junmyeon, sure, or it could be Yixing or some other demon you’ve yet to meet – okay, slow down, you tell yourself, taking a breath to steady your increasing thumping heartbeat. The library is on the first floor, the music room on the second, and your room on the third. All you have to do is be quiet going up the stairs.

Creeping outside the library, you’re met with the characteristic stillness of the household. No one is roaming the halls and there’s no noise outside of the soft, lilting melody of the piano keys. It’s even more beautiful now that there’s one less door between you and its location. Closing the door slowly behind you, you began to creep towards the grand staircase. Candles were lighted in their perches on the walls, casting yellow and orange hues against the dark stone. Just a few stairs up, you pause. Was it the fourth or the fifth stair that creaked under added weight? You take a moment to wrack your brain for an answer before you decide to hike up your skirts and stretch to the sixth stair.

Narrowly avoiding a leg cramp, you push yourself back to a respectable position, straightening out your skirts and continuing to sneak up the rest of the staircase. There was only one other stair you had to avoid, and when you reached the top you mentally gave yourself a round of applause. One flight of stairs down, one flight of stairs to go. As you begin your light trek down the hallway towards the next flight of stairs, the feathery lilt of melody swelled, working towards a climax of what you were sure was to be an amazing end of –

“Hello.” A honeyed voice sounded from behind you. You spin in mid stride to face whoever spoke, but there’s no one there. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, squinting lightly into the weak light cast by the candles. There’s no one there.

“In front of you.” The same voice speaks from behind you once more. You spin again, this time coming face to face with another demon. You take an involuntary step back, back towards the stairs.

He’s easily the most attractive of the three. Towering above you, you see deep chocolate hair parted in the front, and his skin must have been naturally rich because last you knew these demons could not go out in the sun. His skin practically glowed despite the weak lighting, but that’s where the warmth stopped. A sharp jawline, plump lips quirked into a smirk, a straight nose, strong eyebrows, and blood red eyes. Junmyeon’s – even Yixing’s – had life in them, emotion and personality. This man’s were cold, lifeless. Dead, just like him.

“It’s rude not to speak when spoken to.” His voice is huskier than when he first spoke, but still dripping in honey. Immaculately dress, his jacket was unbuttoned halfway, his white shirt underneath similarly unbuttoned. An expanse of tanned skin showed, and you could practically see the iron muscles ripple underneath.

“Hello.” You suddenly find your voice and dip into an uncertain curtsy. He’s different from Junmyeon, different from Yixing. While you knew that they were both deadly, they didn’t look at you like you were a meal. They didn’t look through you.

The man in front of you suddenly smiled a full, toothy grin – and displayed for the first time the fangs you had heard so many rumors about when they spoke of the dead bodies found in the morning. Long, sharp, and almost mockingly glinting in the faint light – you couldn’t help but take another step back.

“That was adorable.” He stated in an amused tone. Your face flushed, and the thought of his fangs again sent your pulse skyrocketing. His eyes darted down to your neck, and he cocked his head to the side. It was as if he could hear your accelerated heart rate. A pink tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, eyes not straying from your neck. You take another step back.

“Just a taste.” He says to himself in a low tone, the amusement from before having vanished as quick as it showed and his eyelids drooped low, hooded. The piano has stopped, but you have no time to take note of this fact. His lips pull back to reveal his fangs again as he leans forward, arms reaching out to keep you from running away. It was like a train wreck. Fear consumed you, rooting you to your place and the only thing you could do was screw your eyes shut in an attempt to ignore what was happening.

“Here to save your little mate, hm, Xing?” The handsome man ground out, and you managed to crack open your eyes. Directly in front of you was a broad back clad in a black suit jacket. Even from behind, even from his shortened name you could tell it was Yixing. Something deep inside of your soul told you it was him.

“You should not touch ladies without permission, Jongin.” Yixing speaks, his voice even. The first time he had spoken to you it had been soft, gentle – now it had an undercurrent of suppressed anger and barely contained contempt. The power shifted in the hallway away from the demon named Jongin and he felt it immediately. From peeking around Yixing, you saw him retreat a few steps. His eyes flickered from Yixing’s to yours, and he sneered.

“Ladies shouldn’t be wandering at night. They don’t know what lurks in the shadows.” He warned, and then he was simply gone. You didn’t blink, at least you don’t think you did; he was just there one moment and gone the next.

Yixing turned to face you after a moment. His hair hung over his forehead now, but he was still just as beautiful. Red eyes peered down at you, and you couldn’t make it past the startling closeness to see the concern clouding them. You take another step backwards, trying to get some physical space in an effort to clear get a grip on your mind.

Except this time, your foot does meet the smooth wooden planks along the floor. Instead, it’s met by nothing but thin air and belatedly you realize that, in your terror of the demon, you had retreated to the first staircase. Having no time to correct your mistake, your body tips backwards as your balance is thrown off. As your arms flail out to try to regain control you let out a very unbecoming yelp at the prospect of falling down the stairs and likely cracking your head open on a step or the landing.

Once again Yixing is there to save you. He reaches to grab hold of your hand, pulling you away from the steps and pivots you around so he’s between you and your close brush with an embarrassment you would never live down. His hands are cold, impossibly cold, and the grip he has on you sends your heartbeat into overtime – scratch that, the proximity he’s holding you at does. One arm has snaked around your waist to hold you firmly to his body, as if he could protect you wholly from making another stupid mistake tonight. His slim build does nothing to hide the fact that he is solid muscle. His hands may be comparable to ice, but his core body just seems to lack heat and is cool through the few layers of clothing he has on. Your own body seems to thrum with the closeness of him, something stirring deep inside of you.

“Careful, little one.” His tone is scolding while his lips are pressed into a thin line, brows scrunched together. The concern is hard to miss this time and the revelation that this heartless being is showing some semblance of kindness to you sends you spiraling further.

Heat colors your cheeks, making it hard to deny the embarrassment you were feeling with the whole situation. Yixing’s eyes rake over your features and you note offhand that his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. It’s a similar reaction Jongin had before he tried to tear into your neck, however you find it hard to react to Yixing the same way. “I-I am so sorry.”

You’re sorry? You instantly cringe at the fact you had apologized to the man – the thing that had kidnapped you from a church just days beforehand. He must have something similar running through his mind because the widening of his eyes and slow blink tell the story. “You’re sorry?” He questions, shaking his head and letting go of you. Somehow, you’re left feeling colder when he does. “You should not apologize for having an appropriate reaction to my kind. You have nothing at all to apologize for.”

“The piano stopped.” You note out loud, voice surprisingly even. Yixing regards you closely, being able to tell so much had happened in such a short period of time for you that you were choosing to focus on the small things before you tackle the large ones. “Were you playing it?”

“Yes,” Yixing answers, adding more gently, “I think it’s time for you to get into bed, little one.”

“I think you’re right.” You concede. He moves to the side, gesturing politely that you continue on your way. The first few steps are a bit wobbly, still feeling blindsided by the events that just transpired. A blood thirsty demon trying to rip into your neck, another, slightly less blood thirsty demon saving you from him, and then saving you from your own clumsy self. You had found yourself wishing these past few days to just run into Yixing again so you could demand that he release you, demand that he take you home unharmed and leave you be. But here he was, looking impossibly handsome in the flickering light, being kind, and you could not bring yourself to do so.

He follows a pace behind, his presence following you down the hall and up another flight of stairs. When you enter your bedroom, he stops in the doorway; lingering, watching. You pull the blankets back from the bed, trying to think of what to say to the red-eyed man.

“Sleep well.” He states softly, beating you to it and reaching in to take hold of the doorknob, beginning to shut the door. Your heart leaps in your throat at the thought of being alone, at the thought of Jongin being somewhere in the house. They don’t know what lurks in the shadows. When Jongin had spoken it, you had taken it as a serious warning. It flared up in your mind again, spreading through you like wildfire.

“Wait!” The panic in your voice made him halt, looking up at you with widened eyes. “What if he ends up coming back?”

Yixing drew himself up to his full height, shoulders tense and expression solemn. “Jongin will not come back, nor will he hurt you. I will not let anyone hurt you. I promise it.” His tone was even but laced with seriousness you had not expected. It was hard not to believe the words when he conveyed them so earnestly.

You turn from him, trying to steady the warmth that spread through you at his sudden flare of protectiveness. Keeping your voice as even as possible, you manage to murmur, “I believe you,” as you slide out of your slippers and into bed. “And I want to talk tomorrow.”

Yixing nods, beginning to close the door once more. “Good night, little one.”

You shrug out of your coat and unlace the corset, shrugging them both off before you lay down in bed, pulling the blankets up high. The piano never starts back up, but you don’t find difficulty in drifting off.

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