#it was the loss of two children in a row

[halfyearsqueen]

the way " she was my only daughter and they killed her. they stole my crown and murdered my daughter and they shall answer for it, " was spoken at visenya's funeral. the way she was in so much physical pain that she needed milk of the poppy to blunt the edge of it. the way she was in labour for three days knowing something had gone terribly wrong, and she still wasn’t coming yet. the way she rested for the night, and then there was her funeral, and council, and then her coronation. and more councils. the way she sat in council for the three days post sending luke off to storm’s end wholly unaware he was dead already

[perlelune]

Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You flinch as you enter Livia Cardew’s house, the attention drifting towards you causing your stomach to knot. 

You suck in a lungful of bravery. 

What a strange sight you must make, strolling in with Clemensia Dovecote and Coriolanus Snow of all people, her arm twined with yours while his hand rests on the small of your back. Your heart pounds in your chest, the urge to retreat and run outside radiating from every cell in your body.

You don’t belong here.

They will laugh at you.

Silly girl playing dress-up.

Tendrils of doubt creep alongside the walls of your fretful brain. You feel assessed, and perhaps found to be lacking, with every step you take. 

“Don’t look down, angel.”

A sharp exhale flies from your lips as your chin is tilted upwards. You drown in the ocean beneath Coriolanus’ furrowed brow. His intense focus tugs you back to the present. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“It’ll be fine. You look stunning,” Clemmie assures, bumping your shoulder with hers. 

You give a shaky nod. It’s true. After all, Clemmie put so much effort into your appearance. You should at least hold your head high and act normal.

Livia comes up to you. The dim candlelight reflects in her bouncy golden curls. Her bright red lips stretch in a wide smile as she gauges you.

“You guys came together?” 

Despite her perky inflection, you don’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes, or how they track the position of Coriolanus’ hand on your back.

“I drove them,” Coriolanus informs.

“Oh,” she says, nodding. She opens her arms. “You guys should get a drink, make yourselves comfortable.”

“I actually don’t…”

Clemmie flashes you a reassuring smile. 

“It’s fine. We’ll get you something else.”

They both bring you to a table where an intense game of cards is in progress. You hear Festus curse and bang his fists over the table after seemingly getting a bad hand. The others around him laugh, one of them reshuffling the cards.

Some faces you recognize from the University and others you don’t. You feel their intrigued gazes when Coriolanus pulls a chair for you. As you take a seat, he and Clemmie do the same. Your eyes roam over the table. Piles of chips, row of cards and red dices. Clemensia mentioned games. You supposed she meant card games. And from the looks of it, money appears to be on the line. You suppose when they are not betting on the lives of children, these are the kind of things Capitol kids are up to.

With money and time to spare, it makes sense you suppose. Your head has always been buried so far in your books, you have never stopped to wonder what the future leaders of Panem are up to.

A sliver of fascination flutters through you as you soak in the scene at the table. 

“Snow. Clemmie. Took you long enough,” Ivy says.

“You cannot rush perfection,” Clemmie replies, flicking her glossy raven locks above her shoulder. 

Ivy rolls her eyes while Coriolanus grabs a set of cards from the draw pile. He frowns at them, a look of displeasure spreading on his face. A King, a queen and two aces. You don’t know how this particular game is played but you gather from his expression that he must hold a bad hand. 

Dices are thrown. Despite not understanding the rules, you try to follow along. When someone offers you a set of cards, you politely decline.

The dark-haired stranger cocks his head as he scrutinizes you. 

“So, you’re her daughter, right?”

Confused, you cast him a puzzled look.

“Gaul,” he specifies. 

You shrink. Wherever you are, you cannot escape the overwhelming reach of your mother’s shadow. Twisting your fingers in your lap, you give a mumbled reply.

“Yeah, she’s my mother.”

He shifts in his chair, letting out a quiet whistle.

“Wow. She always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

Clemmie groans before scolding him. 

“Well, she’s nothing like her mother so shut up and play, Octavius.”

Another girl sitting across from him pipes up.

“All those snakes in the arena, just crawling around and climbing over that girl.” She shudders. “I still get nightmares about it.”

The boy turns to Coriolanus.

“What happened to her anyway, that songbird of yours?”A smirk blooms on Octavius’ lips, his eyes locking with the blond’s. “She was yours, wasn’t she, Snow?”

An eerie quiet falls over the table. Even the soft piano notes playing in the background dwindle as every eye travels to Coriolanus. You shift in your chair, curiosity driving your gaze towards him as well. 

A tight-lipped smile decorates his handsome features, his icy blue eyes zeroing on Octavius. 

Your blood chills as his cool baritone rises.

“It’s your turn to play,” Coriolanus says, completely ignoring the question. 

You swallow the lump in your throat. Everyone knows Lucy Gray Baird, the beautiful, sharp-tongued tribute who belonged to Coriolanus Snow, is a subject that should never be brought up in his presence. No one exactly knows what happened between the two. Perhaps they reunited during his time in District 12. Perhaps they did not. Coriolanus wouldn’t speak of it. And the rare times you witnessed him being asked about it, there was a coldness in his blue eyes that unsettled you. Like now. 

Whatever happened between him and the singing girl would remain a mystery. The only certainty is that he came back to the Capitol changed, with an aura around him that made everyone wary. 

You can only assume he and that Lucy girl did not last. So the subject must still be a sore spot. 

Octavius flinches under the blond’s stare, showing his cards for the entire table to see. 

The blond’s brow arches. Scoffing, he displays his own hand. 

Octavius curses under his breath as laughs erupt. He begrudgingly slides his entire stack of chips towards Coriolanus. 

Victory glints in the blond’s cobalt orbs.

“Perhaps you should focus on your game,” he says. “Instead of blathering about ghosts and district rats.”

Slack-jawed, you stare at Coriolanus. His expression before had you believe he drew a terrible set of cards. Obviously it wasn't the case. He somehow fooled you and everyone else at the table. 

The game continues. More chips are exchanged. Coriolanus’ pile keeps getting higher. It’s clear he’s an expert at the game. Everyone at the table tries to read him but his collected demeanor concedes very little.

“You must be my good luck charm, angel,” he says, sending you a smile that has your stomach fluttering. 

Luck…as you note the staggering amounts of chips he’s collected thus far, you wonder if that’s what this is. If there isn’t more to it. Coriolanus seems terrifyingly adept at luring his opponents with a false sense of comfort. He’ll make a bad hand look like a good one, and a good hand look like a bad one. Set a trap and watch as others confidently walk into it. 

Growing overwhelmed, you rise from your chair. The clamor of your heart fills your ears, the weight of others’ attention making your head spin.

Coriolanus’ head slants.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

The words leave your mouth in a breathless heap. “I just need a minute.”

“Is everything alright?” Clemmie inquires, concern scrunching her pretty features.

You shift and scratch your arm.

“I’m just gonna get a drink.”

“I could get you one,” he suggests.

“No, you guys stay and play,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m fine on my own.”

You ignore the way his eyes linger as you walk away, that itchy prickle over your nape that ripples down to your spine.

Swallowing thickly, you shuffle across Livia’s living room. An Avox maid offers you a glass on the way but you turn her down. 

You ask for an alcohol-free drink and the maid tosses you an apologetic look. Your shoulders slump. 

You peer around and find a spot at the bottom of the stairs. You sit, relieved to finally have a moment of peace. Being around so many people at once is still a novelty. You lean against the wooden railings. Was coming here a mistake? You can’t help but wonder. You noted someone pulling a bottle of morphling earlier and Ivy swallowing a handful of pills. At this point, everyone has imbibed, indulged, or both.

The thrall of oblivion is often strong in the Capitol. Too many things need forgetting. Too many sins. Too many horrors.

In that moment, as laughter from the living room rings inside your ears, you feel acutely out of place. 

“Sorry. I only have posca, wine or whiskey.”

You lift your head. Your eyes widen when you realize Livia Cardew’s standing in front of you. “Well. I swiped that last one from my dad’s stash,” she adds with a small giggle.

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

You’ve probably overstayed your welcome anyway. This isn’t your crowd. But Clemmie insisted and you had no idea how to refuse. How do you even refuse something you have painfully yearned for all these years? 

Livia scrutinizes you for what seems an eternity before speaking again. 

“He’ll throw you away once he’s done with you, you know?”

You blink, dismayed by her abrupt statement. “I’m sorry?”

She lets out a weary sigh, a look grazing sympathy flickering on her face. It vanishes quickly. Her mouth tightens. 

“Snow,” she groans, frustration evident in her tone. “He doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself.” Your brows knit. “I’m just trying to warn you.” She chews on her bottom lip, seeming to hesitate before bending closer to whisper, “Just…watch out, okay?”

Stumped by her sudden display of concern, no word leaves your tongue. You fold your arms, shifting on the stairs. Can you even trust any word coming from Livia’s mouth? Without Clemmie’s interjection, you’re fairly sure you wouldn't have been allowed into her home. Ever since she met you, she’s considered you with such blatant disdain. As if you were a stain that won’t let itself be erased.

You struggle picturing her delivering helpful advice.

“Liv, I hope you’re not giving her a hard time again.”

You let your body sag, grateful for Clemmie’s impromptu appearance. You get to your feet. Livia whirls towards the brunette, feigning innocence. “I’m being a gracious host,” she chimes.

Clemmie’s gaze narrows. 

All smiles again, she turns to you as Livia stomps away.

“Don’t worry about her.”

You nibble your bottom lip.

“Maybe it’s best if I head out.”

She frowns. “But you just got here.”

“I suppose…” Your mind scrambles for an excuse. You blurt out the first thing that springs inside your head. “I need to go feed Walter anyway.”

Curiosity fills her onyx stare.

“Walter? Who’s Walter?”

“My cat.”

Silence stretches for a long minute before she bursts out in uncontrollable laughter. 

Hand draping over her mouth, the brunette says, “Is that your excuse? You need to go feed your cat?”

Heat rushes to your face. Said aloud, you concede it sounds silly. Akin to a lame, hasty excuse. While there are bits of truth in your response, you can’t deny you’re craving for a way out. 

Clemmie cradles your face.

“The first time is always a bit awkward. You’ve got no idea what you’re doing, what is even going on…” She beams at you. “But you can’t back out. Not when you’re already here.”

You mull it over.

After all, wasn’t it what you wished for? Being seen, included. For years, longing twisted inside your chest while you watched your classmates form bonds and forge lifelong friendships. Meanwhile, you withered in a corner, making yourself smaller and smaller everyday. Clemmie has been nothing but kind. And Coriolanus…while his presence plucks at your nerves, you have to admit he’s been a gentleman so far. Offering to drive you home, carrying your books, and berating every guy who said something mean to you or brushed you off. No one’s ever stood up for you like that before.

Maybe you ought to try harder to fit in, be normal.

Giving a slow nod, you surrender.

“Alright. I guess I can stay a little longer.”

“You know what you need?” Her eyes twinkle. “Liquid courage.” She grabs two glasses of wine from the Avox maid’s tray. “Let’s just drink. To your first party. One of many, I hope.”

She tries to place one in your hand but you resist. 

“Clemmie, I told you I don’t-”

“I know. I know…but don’t you want to mark the occasion?” She tilts her head sideways, sympathy etched on her pretty face. “Come on, do you want to be that girl who finishes Uni and hasn’t tried anything new? The girl who’s never taken a chance?” She holds your gaze, pressing the drink between your fingers. “Sad, alone, not a single experience to reminisce…Is this really  what you want?”

“No, it’s not. You’re right,” you mutter, your fingers tightening around the glass. 

“You came here to be someone else. So be someone else.”

Her words embolden you to take a large swig of the drink. When there’s still some of it left, she encourages you to finish it. Then, she nudges you to have another glass, sliding a tiny yellow pill inside your other hand.

You scowl down at your palm.

“What’s this?”

“Morphling extract. It’ll help you relax.”

You look at Clemmie. Excitement sways in her eyes.

You toss your head back and gulp down the pill. She congratulates you. It catches in your throat and you wash it down with more alcohol. 

The effect is near instantaneous. 

Your muscles uncoil, your fear melting away. Soft, fluffy clouds replace the foggy cluster of your thoughts. A pleasant buzz spreads through your veins. 

“Come on, let’s join the others,” she says, seizing your hand and tugging you along. 

You end up on the sofa, wedged between her and Coriolanus. 

He drinks you in, a subtle smile blooming on his lips.

“You seem happy.”

“I am happy.”

Your sharp, immediate answer broadens his smile.

“What are you guys doing?” Clemmie asks. 

Livia sighs. “It’s a stupid game we haven’t played since the Academy.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. I like it,” Ivy protests. She grabs a bottle of posca and begins to pour some in everyone’s glass. “You take a drink when there’s something you haven’t done. Simple right?”

The game is indeed easy. It also makes you want to crawl inside a hole and never come out as the night gets further along. A myriad of questions is flung at the group. Each of them grows the well of embarrassment pitting in your stomach. 

You’re forced to take a drink when Ivy asks who’s had sex, who has done it with more than one person, who has kissed a boy or girl. 

Many times, you are the only one grabbing your glass, exposing your lack of experience to the entire group. You hear a stifled laugh somewhere besides you. Your face ignites. 

You bolt upwards, shooting the group an apologetic look. 

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say. 

You stumble away. However after just a few wobbly steps toward the exit, you keel over and almost collide with the marbled tiles. 

A pair of strong arms slither around your waist, preventing your collapse. 

“Are you alright, angel?” Coriolanus whispers against your temple. 

You raise shaky fingers to your face, or what you think is your face. Your fingertips are like cotton, nothing beneath them feeling as it should. 

Your brows crumple.

“I can’t feel my legs. I-I can’t feel my face.” Your mind swirls as you look up. The room bends off its axis around you. Panic rushes through you. “I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you then,” he says.

You shake your head. Even that tiny motion makes you want to puke. 

You swallow the surge of bile in your throat. 

“No. You should return to the party. I couldn’t, I can’t…”

Coriolanus’ brows furrow. 

“I’m not letting you go home by yourself at this hour and in this state,” he says, practically carrying you out of Livia’s house as you slump against him. 

“What about Clemmie?” 

He smiles at you as you hobble alongside him. 

“She can find her own way home.”

[01zfan]

savior | p. wb

(???)!wonbin x fem. reader | 5.2k

the treacherous weather brings an someone to your churches doorstep. he thanks you for saving him in the only way he knows how.

contains: sex in the sanctuary, implied virginity loss, wonbin is either an angel or a succubus you decide

sacrilegious masterlist

when it rained, it rained hard. thunderclaps boomed and lightening touched down somewhere near you. being surrounded by farmland only made everything worse, the smell of wet manure would settle over your village like a thick fog. 

another strike of lightening caused the building you were in to shake. dust fell from the ceiling. a bucket that was collecting water droplets gave you an occasional sound. other than that it was quiet, everyone was long gone.

you had become the keeper of the church house. it was something like a family heirloom, passing down from generations. the man of the church would become the pastor, leading sermons and sunday service. the women would become the keeper of the church. making sure the church remains in good condition. over generations your building had become rundown. it was smaller compared to other churches. the sanctuary was half the size of the church one town over. the sanctuary could only fit two rows of pews with four pews in each row. your loyal congregation sat shoulder to shoulder on sunday’s, fanning themselves with the weekly programs. the kitchen was so small it barely fit the oven and fridge. many parishioners cooked food and brought it from home, trying to get a anything cooked in the kitchen was useless.ww the children’s prayer room could barely first ten people. because of limited space kids were moved from youth group constantly. when someone in the congregation would have a child someone from youth group would “graduate” to join the older people in the sanctuary. 

besides the sanctuary, kitchen, and youth group room there was the closet that doubled as your makeshift bedroom. you didn’t usually sleep in the church, preferring the comfort of your own bed. but the rain came suddenly while you were closing up and trying to find your way back home in this weather was a safety hazard. you didn’t mind, you liked hearing the rain beat down against the walls of the church. you remember the story of the tornado that caused destruction across your town but the church remained intact. you feel safer here than you did at home. this place was protected, and by extension so were you.

you wandered between the pews looking for trash. you also sometimes considered sleeping on the polished wood of the pews, just to have a change of scenery. the time you spent in the church let you know the oratory like the back of your hand. after eating some food left over in the fridge you eventually settled into the storage room. you put out your wicker lamp and put it on the drawer next to your setup. you changed into your white nightgown and laid on your cot, pulled the blanket up to your chin and fell asleep to the sound of rain falling and lightening strikes.

you don’t know how long you were asleep when you heard banging on the door. it started off as something you heard in your subconscious, far away from the plane of sleeping that your mind was in. like an alarm, the pounding on the door became louder and more constant. you sat up in bed, heart beating fast. you weren’t sure if your groggy mind was playing tricks on you but when you heard three more knocks you knew it wasn’t your imagination. you carefully pulled yourself out of bed, grabbing the wicker lamp that had been put out. you turned the dial on the kerosine, making a low flame illuminate the space in front of you.

you slowly opened the creaky door of the storage room. you tiptoed through the rooms of the church, trying to figure out where the banging was coming from. any other time you would’ve ignored it, but the inclement weather made you compassionate. if someone was looking for refuge from the rain, they had come to the right place. you look through the tiny peephole of the door. the door knocker had been broken a long time ago, so you see the man through the peephole bang on the door again. the vibration from the knock pushes you back but once he is done you go back to look at him through the peephole.

the man looks like he is a far from home. you know everyone in your small township, many of them you have known since you were a child. you did not recognize the mans face. you would’ve remembered seeing a face like his. he looked serene even drenched in rain. his long wet hair was pushed back, uncut but proper like he was royalty. someone as beautiful as him didn’t belong in a wretched place like your home. he knocked again, pulling you back into the current situation. you cleared your throat, trying to sound domineering.

“who goes there?” you say. 

your voice echoes inside of the church, but the man on the other side can barely hear you.

“i seek refuge from the rain.” he yelled through the door. 

his voice was almost carried away by the wind. you pressed your ear to the crack in the door.

“where do you come from?” you yell back.

“i come from two towns over.” he yells. 

the rain only picks up, and you can hear a thunderclap in the distance.

“what business do you have here?” you say.

your heart pounds in your chest. although you do want to give one of god’s men refuge from the rain, being alone with a stranger wasn’t safe. 

“i came to retrieve cattle but i got lost in the rain. i was able to find a stable for my horses but i have nowhere to lay my head tonight.” he talks to you in a normal volume, almost pressing his lips against the door so you can hear his voice.

silence follows his answer. your blood pumps in your ears. you look directly behind you down the righteous path and look at the statue of jesus christ that stands behind the podium. you look to it for an answer as another bolt of lightening touches down.

“do you fear god?” you ask finally. 

a god-fearing man would never cause harm to the keeper of the church, or lie in the presence of god. 

he says nothing on the other end of the door. all you can hear is rain beating down on the old wood floors, the dripping water in the bucket behind you.

“i am a god fearing man of flesh and blood.” he says finally.

you free the doors of its large bolt. the old door hesitates and you have to pull harder than usual. the door suddenly swings open from the wind, you use all your strength to hold it. the man stands before you, drenched with a smile on his face. he bows his head to you, a sign of gratitude for taking mercy on him. you can’t help but stare at the man. he says the rain took him by surprise but he looks like he’s in control of the situation. 

“come in. the rain still falls” you say hiding behind the open door. the man walks in, wet clothes dripping water all over the floor. he continues to walk in as you close the door behind him, returning the rusting bolt to its place. you are careful to avoid his wet footsteps, making the floorboard creak underneath the fraying rugs.

you still hold the wicker lamp and it illuminates the man in front of you. he appeared to be the same age as you, the typical age for errand boys. you don’t doubt his story, cattle trade was something your village was known for. the rain confused him from his path and the wind brought him to your doorstep. you can’t deny a man with his face asylum. he seems to know it, oozing confidence that makes you believe he has been here before. you hold the wicker lamp to his face to see if you recognize him from anywhere. 

“what is your name, god fearing man of flesh and blood?” you ask.

“wonbin,” he says. even his name is something you’ve never heard before. he says it like it’s a holy name borrowed from the bible itself. “thank you for letting me in.” 

“do you know of this church?” you ask him.

you can feel his gaze over your body. you had forgotten to put on an extra layer of clothes in your haste. you were free of your usual wrapping, only having your thin white night gown in your sleep. you shake the wicker lamp and he returns his gaze to your face.

“how did you know to come here?” you rephrase the question.

“older townships stick to the old ways.” he says. he’s referring to the practice of the church keeper. “did i wake you?”

you nod. “it’s closer to first light than it is to last.” you say.

“i was wandering for what seemed like ages. i could barely see what was in front of me, then i appeared in front of this oratory.” wonbin says, motioning to the interior of the building. 

you’re suddenly embarrassed of a place you’ve always called your second home. people in your parish understand your church and all its ailments. they don’t mind the leaking ceilings and the frayed carpet. they don’t spare a second glance to the chipping paint or the piano missing keys. now there’s a stranger in your presence, a beautiful stranger who appeared before you. he stands by the aged door and you want to apologize profusely that the building isn’t up to your standards, that it’s a family heirloom older than the ground it stands on.

“you came to the right place, traveler.” you hand him the wicker lamp. 

he takes it and holds it at his side. the change in light illuminates the space behind him and you look at the statue of christ. all of the statue is illuminated except for a shadow casting over its face. you can almost make out something you have never seen in the darkness, something that sens shivers up your spine. wonbin clears his throat.

“is there a chance i can borrow spare clothes? i fear the weather might cast a cold on me if i don’t warm up soon.” he says. his wet clothes stick to him like a second skin. he drips water on the carpet he stands on. you look at the water that falls from his hair and lands on his shoulder. everything about him is otherwordly. you clear your throat.

“my apologies. follow me.” you say.

you lead wonbin to the storage closet, where there’s a crate of clothes. he doesn’t come all the way into the room, you’re not sure he could fit anyway. as you look through the crate for clothes that would fit him you can see the wicker lamp light up your room. you’re sure wonbin sees the simple mattress you sleep on. you’re sure he’s used to sleeping on covers stuffed with wool and pillows filled with downy feathers. the man shouldn’t be sleeping on anything less.

you pull out the clothes and set them on top of your bare mattress. you hold your breath, hoping the clothes would be to wonbin’s liking. 

“thank you.” he says. in front of you he begins to take off his clothes and you avert your gaze. 

“are you hungry?” you ask. your eyes follow the cracks in the floor. you examine every plank on the floor, too scared to look up at the man getting undressed in front of you.

“i’ve already eaten.” wonbin says. you can hear the smile on his lips as you fumble with your words and pinch the fabric of your nightgown.

“i will be in the sanctuary.” you say before you excuse yourself. he watches you with a smirk as you leave, closing the door partially behind you. 

as you sit on a pew in the sanctuary, you look towards the storage room. you wonder what wonbin does in there, if he is fully naked in the same room where you sleep at night. men don’t usually have this effect on you. you had never wanted to see a man more than you wanted to see wonbin. you were regarded as a beauty in your village and held in high regard as someone who guards the place of worship. you weren’t caught off guard by men staring or trying to court you. no man wowed you, until you saw the being that washed up on your doorstep. he was beauty like you had never seen, lovely beyond imagination. he was a prepossessing sight, the way his hair framed his face and how his lips were shaped like the heart that beats inside of you. you found yourself trying to take a peak at him through the crack you left in the door. you leaned back and forth in the pew subtly, trying to get a view of him.

just as you were about to give up, you saw his bare chest first. you would’ve never thought underneath those clothes he was hiding even more beauty. his stature matched his body, pretty and smooth. wonbin’s chest was broad and his body was lithe. he had a slender sleek muscle to him, unlike the larger boys in your village. they had built up muscle over the years of doing farm work and hard labor. next to them wonbin was different. there was no doubt in your mind they would mock him and call him things like a pretty boy, or wannabe royalty. you didn’t see it as an insult and you hope wonbin didn’t either. he was beauty and grace; fully on display just for you.

his skin had a glow, probably from the rain outside reflecting off the light coming from the wicker lamp. regardless, it made his skin look supple and soft. it was like he had gold hiding underneath his skin, causing him to radiate a gold tan. you thought about how he could’ve managed to keep his body so toned and even. nothing looked out of place on him, everything intentional. you saw the outline of wonbin’s back as he turned. you tried to look away but you were drawn in as the man was seemingly posing for you. his slender muscles rippled underneath the skin of his back. you couldn’t stop your eyes from sinfully dragging down his body. 

you were shaken to your core seeing his manhood. it bobbed in the blessed air of your bedroom. it wasn’t scary, the type of manhood that enticed you. the shadow his dick casted overtook all your feelings, all your teachings. you could write your own bible about the body you saw through the crack of the door. it was like the garden of eve, you don’t know if you could resist taking a bite.

when you dragged you gaze back up you saw the man looking at you. you were basked in the shadows, hidden in the dark of night but you found his gaze to be piercing and direct. you immediately turned your body to look away, instead looking straight forward down the pews at the pastor’s podium. you could hear the door of your bedroom shut. 

maybe it would be better if wonbin never came out, if you didn’t see him until the rain stopped and you bid him farewell and good tides on the rest of his journey. temptation came to your door wearing soaking wet clothes and you let him inside of your church. what were you going to do? 

you had moved to the center of the santuary. maybe if you stood in the same place the pastor walked down to give his sermon you can fin the answer to resisting temptation. as you stood in between the back row of pews, temptation cam out of your bedroom. he comes out looking like royalty in the tattered clothes of a peasant. the aged clothes had turned an almost disgusting shade of off-white, but on wonbin it complemented his skin. you begin reciting bible verses about temptation, trying to dull the ache you felt in the pit of your stomach. you stand from the pew to welcome back your guest. no words come out of your mouth, the only sound is the occasional water droplet caught in the bucket by the podium.

“the clothes fit nicely.” you say. 

no one undergoing a trial should say, ‘i am being tempted by god,’ since god is not tempted by the devil, and he himself doesn’t attempt anyone. but each person is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own evil desire.

wonbin takes a step towards you down the carpeted path towards the podium. the wicker lamp is held in his hand, he looks otherworldly with the shadows casted over his face. you take a step backwards.

and do not bring us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one

you take another step back. with each one you take, wonbin takes one in a longer stride. he’s getting closer and closer to you. you feel drawn to him but you try your hardest to fight it.

watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

you are a weak woman. the daughter of the priest who is straying the furthest from god in the house he built. you thought praying would keep temptation away, but maybe you were praying for him the whole time. the way he came towards you made you feel like you were being hunted. another about to fall prey to him. you wanted it to happen. was it so bad to be wanted? the way wonbin looked at you had to be something out of the bible. if it wasn’t why did it feel so good. you almost trip over a snag in the carpet as you take another step back.

“i am writing these things so you may not sin…”

your back hits the podium.

“but if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the father—jesus christ.” wonbin says.

you felt the air around you freeze. even the rain falling from the ceiling seems to halt. you stood before the man in front of you, doubting if he was of flesh and blood. no person could read your thoughts, no man ever knew what you were thinking. so why did wonbin have a smile on his face reciting part of the verse you had started. he closed the space between you two, putting a soft hand on your chest. your skin was covered with your night gown, but his touch seeped through like rain. it was almost as if he was holding you, smiling at you expectantly to keep talking.

“he himself is the atoning sacrifice for our sins.” you say.

“and not only ours.” wonbin says. 

he puts your hands that rest on the podium behind you on his body. you suddenly feel possessed with the strength to rip his shirt open. you want to hear the buttons pop all over the floor, hear the sound of fabric tearing. your focused on the bare chest you saw in your room, rippling muscle and soft skin. wonbin uses his other hand underneath your chin, slowly bringing your gaze up to meet his piercing stare.

“but for those of the whole world.” you say, finishing the bible verse.

wonbin slowly starts working on the buttons of your night gown. you check to see if he’s real, touching his face. you press the pad on your fingers to his lips, plush and rosy. he licks your thumb and you let out a shaky exhale.

“thank you for opening your doors for me.” 

you nod your head in acknowledgement, throat too dry to speak. wonbin takes your hand that touched his lips and slowly guided it under the waistband of his pants. you grazed his manhood, thick and solid. it twitched underneath your touch.

“can you feel my gratitude?” he asks. 

you nod and take all of him in your hand, wrapping around his shaft. wonbin lets out a breath and you feel emboldened to squeeze. a sound escapes his lips and you suck in the air around you both like you are trying to catch the sound.

“i can feel it.” you whisper.

your night gown has only a few more buttons left. you can feel the draft in the church come through the open buttons. you don’t know if it’s the cold air or wonbin’s lips that cause goosebumps to erupt over your flesh.

“what will you do with it?” wonbin asks. 

you can feel his lips move to your neck. he takes your earlobe into his mouth. it’s a sensation you’ve never felt before. you squeeze his shaft again. this time wonbin lets out a moan right in your ear. it’s beautiful and it makes you pump him in your fist. you don’t know what you’re doing besides going against god’s every word. so blasphemous in front of the podium where you have addressed your parish. you wish you could say it was nausea you felt. that it was bile raising in your stomach instead of white-hot excitement. the adrenaline rushed through your body the same way blood rushed to wonbin’s shaft. you had picked up the speed like something took over you. wonbin takes his head from his neck and looks down. you look down, too and the embodiment of sin. 

your hand is in wonbin’s trousers working at an insane pace. your gown is fully unbuttoned now, chest exposed for wonbin to see. he watches your breasts move from the way you’re pumping his dick. your supple flesh jumps slightly, nipples hard from the cold air. wonbin doesn’t stop himself from taking your chest into his hands. kneading the skin. he looks at you in the eyes and you do not falter. you fully embrace what you are doing. it wasn’t hard to think that wonbin was an angel sent to your doorstep to seek refuge from the rain. the rain made it so he couldn’t fly back home to heavens gates. you fully accepted that this was god’s gift to you for showing compassion towards one of his disciples. you let wonbin kiss you as he guides your night gown off your body. 

when it drops, wonbin breaks away from your lips. you stand naked in front of this man but you are not shy. you reach for his clothes and he responds quickly, bring his shirt over his head and his pants down to his ankles. he steps out and returns to your lips. you don’t go back to his manhood, instead letting your hands roam his body. was he made by god or was he god himself? it was hard to tell when he guided you to the floor and let your back rest against the podium.

“have you ever tasted someone else before?” wonbin asked.

you shook your head. wonbin touched the tip of his penis and brought it to your lips. his finger was glistening in the light of the wicker lamp. you carefully took his finger into your mouth, tasting him. it’s salty and you can’t get enough of it. wonbin watches you with hooded eyes as he takes his finger out of your mouth. you think that wonbin will take a finger back to his manhood, but instead he presses it and another one into your glistening slit. you gasp and he does the same thing you did, taking his finger into his mouth. you watched as his pink tongue comes out of his mouth only for a moment. you are so engrossed in his finger, reading his expressions and studying everything about wonbin the same way you did hymns. 

you don’t know what to do next when wonbin takes his fingers from his mouth. he pulls you in with a wet hand and kisses your lips. you feel the same tongue that just tasted you graze over your teeth. it is nasty but feels so good, especially when he pulls you in closer. 

“have you ever let anyone inside of you before?” wonbin asked.

you shake your head. he takes your head in his hands, not letting you look away.

“the job of a church keeper is a lifelong dedication.” you whisper.

“i bet men and women alike have attempted to court you.” wonbin whispers, looking at your lips. 

you don’t respond to him, only lean in so he gets the hint to keep kissing you. you let your hips move towards his manhood and he grabs himself in his hand. his other hand moves you slightly and you become putty in his hand. he pulled your hips closer.

you looked at him as he lined himself up at your entrance. you looked down the row of pews in this sacred place. you would never forget this moment for all the future services to come. when your time comes to confront god you will fall to your knees and beg him for forgiveness. that you were a weak girl who fell into temptations trap. but right here, right now, all that mattered was feeling his tip prod your entrance. your gaze from where you two are almost meeting lifts up to look wonbin. he looks at you with a smirk on his lips.

“isn’t it tempting?” he says, sliding his dick up and down your slit. 

the sound is wet and sinful. you nod your head, anything to get him to fuck you.

wonbin slides into you without resistance. you swallow him up whole, both of you moaning with your foreheads touching. you look down at him inside of you. he slowly pulls out and goes right back into you. your squeaks are high pitched and whiny as he takes his time with you.

“so sinful,” wonbin said. he pushed your thighs further apart to hit deeper. “my savior, tempted so easily. are you really a woman of god?” 

“y-yes.” you stuttered out in between thrusts.

“it’s okay. i’ll give you what you want. what you need.” wonbin said, picking up his thrusts. 

the podium started shaking from the force, your boobs jerking up and down. the wicker lamp on the podium quaked, you were sure it was going to fall down. if the kerosine from the lamp ignited the building it wouldn’t raged half as much as the fire in the pit of your belly. it was like molten lava, spreading from head to toe.

“i’ve never felt like this before.” you said. each word was accentuated with a hard thrust against the podium.

“god doesn’t fill you with this same feeling?” wonbin tutts at you.

“no,” you moan. “please go faster. i need it.”

you are crying when wonbin speeds up, you can hear the lamp surrounded the wicker break as it hits the floor. you mindlessly reach for the becket of collected rain water and let it spill when you think the lamp has fallen. as soon as you do that, the problem is solved. you get tunnel vision, locked in on the feeling of wonbin’s hand on your thighs and the feeling of him inside of you.

you’re sure wonbin knows how to describe what you’re feeling right now. that’s why his thrusts get harder and you convulse around him a little faster. you don’t know what you’re doing but you hitch a leg to rest on his shoulder. wonbin kisses your calf, pulls back hit the spot that has you yelling his name.

“let my gratitude fill you up.”

his pace quickened and you felt the whole church close in on you. his stutters faltered and you felt him finish inside of you. his hold on you tightened and you used the time he slowed down to catch your breath. it didn’t last long until wonbin got his second wind, fucking you with a vigor he didn’t have before. the podium was the only thing keeping you upright. your head lulled over to the side of the podium, leaning back and wonbin fucked you. you saw the statue of christ upside down, looking at you.

“wanna go to heaven?” wonbin said in between each thrust.

“yes.” you moaned looking at the statue as he looked down at you.

“let me take you there.” wonbin said before he attached his lips to your neck.

you listened to him. as wonbin fucked you into the holy furniture you were transported to a place filled with the color white and and make you feel warm. you convulsed around him, bringing him in an embrace as you rode your high out. wonbin still fucked you, and sobs wracked through your body. when he pulled out you still held him in your touch. he was hot and sweaty, sticking to your skin. the more you pulled him in the more the feeling was fleeting. one moment you felt his arms wrap around you the next you felt nothing in your grasp.

you wake up from pain in your neck. just for a moment you see the sun coming through the window next to wear you sleep. your eyes adjust to the light, feeling a little bit of pain as you cover your eyes. when you wake up, a second later the memories of the night flood your mind. you shoot up from your sleeping position on the bed, looking around you. the wicker lamp next to your bed is right where you left it, you don’t remember ever finding your way back to this room. your nightgown is on you, only ruffled from your hectic sleep position. you nearly launch yourself out of bed, hastily putting on your slippers as you open the door to go into the sanctuary. 

you scour the every room for your visitor. you look over each pew, under each pew and in every room. the church is so small, there is no way he would be able to hide from you here. the bolt on the front door is locked, something that can only be done from the inside or with the large rusted key that is at your home. you don’t know where he could be, you yell his name and it echoes off the walls. evidence of him is gone, like he disappeared without a trace. the clothes he borrowed are still in the crate, hidden deep inside where you found them the first time. his wet boots didn’t leave marks on the carpet. you feel yourself going crazy, wondering around the oratory for a man that seems like he didn’t exist. 

it isn’t until you walk down to the podium and kneel before the statue of god that you see the spilled rainwater behind the podium. you crawl from your knees to the crime scene, tapping the puddle to make sure it’s real. the bucket stands upright and is nearly empty. you remember it being knocked down, and you try to remember seeing the soft hands that made you sin try and clean up the mess. 

you look to the statue again, looking into its eyes like you are expecting it to speak and tell you what happened. whatever perspired between these four walls is between you, god, and the man that may not have been of flesh and blood.

sacrilegious masterlist

[fayes-fics]

Anthony + regency + newlyweds, reader and anthony absolutely hate each other with a passion any kink tbh

Kinktober 2023: Anthony + Hate Sex

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Anthony Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, arranged marriage, newlyweds, loss of female virginity, hate sex, smidge of innocence/corruption kink, dose of breeding kink, vaginal sex, creampie.

Author’s note: hi nonny 🫶 So I went with hate sex and threw in a little touch of breeding kink as well, cos I got another ask for it, and damn, it seems to be popular. So there tumblr you get two Anthony breeding kinks in a row - one modern, one Regency. This is not a drabble lol. Enjoy! 😁🧡

His wedding ring is cold against your face as he holds your jaw, inspecting your appearance up close. 

“Pleasing countenance,” he opines casually; you feel vaguely like livestock being inspected before purchase at market.

How you can hate and desire someone so much and in equal measure is confounding. Married to Viscount Bridgerton in a business deal brokered by your opportunistic father, you only set eyes upon him as you walked up the church aisle earlier today. And god in heaven if your body didn't want to melt on the spot instantly. So very handsome with depthless brown eyes. Well, until he opened his braggard mouth. Then, you wanted to scream as much as you wanted to throw yourself at him. 

Now, here you are. Your wedding night. Your marital bedroom. Your new husband. He perfunctorily ordered you to strip naked as he did the same. Your eyes bulge at the sight of him without clothing. Particularly an angry, large protuberance he referred to as his cock, which right now is branding your belly, leaving a sticky streak that, for some strange reason, you yearn to taste.

He steps away and rounds behind you, spanking a hand across your bottom cheek that makes you squeak, startled. 

“Appealing shape. Good child-bearing hips,” Anthony assesses cooly.

You have to tamp down an urge to swing back and clock him in the jaw. The only reason you don't is the flood of pleasure in your limbic system as your bum tingles with his handprint, inner thighs now damp.

He circles back in front of you as you square your jaw and meet his scrutinising eye fiercely. You gasp loudly as a finger quests unexpectedly between your legs, into your damp curls and prods your body somewhere you have never been touched. 

“A maiden, indeed, as promised.”

As he withdraws, you are as much afire as you are indignant.

“If I pass your grade…,” you sneer behind gritted teeth, “…I do suppose there is the matter of the marital act to get over and done with.”

“You know of it?” he looks surprised, but not unpleasantly so, a gravelly hitch in his voice.

“Somewhat,” you bluster, defensive. “I know it is my duty; it is necessary to create children, and I may not enjoy it.”

“True, true and not true,” he argues back. A warm hand shoots out suddenly to cup your breast, making you inhale sharply. “You will love it,” he swaggers. 

And again, even as you press into the thumb swiping your nipple, your hatred for his conceit flares hot in your throat, indignation he can be so… just so… HIM.  

But then he leans in and kisses you. An all-consuming invasion of your mouth and senses that leaves you breathless, plundered, besmirched, forever changed. And practically begging for more, having to bite the tongue he teased to stop yourself from voicing it. 

As he pulls away, you see a brief maelstrom in his eyes, a flash of vulnerability, as if he is also taken aback, before he turns his expression flinty.

“Get on the bed and open your legs wide,” he orders curtly. “We shall indeed get this done. As much as you may hate me, and I dislike the circumstances.”

“Why dislike?” you ask, genuinely intrigued, even as you do as you are told, taking your place, lying with your legs out wide flat on the bedding.

“Not like that,” he sighs impatiently, tapping your feet upwards so your knees are bent. “And to answer your question, while I did not marry for love, I do wish for at least a degree of cordiality with my Viscountess,” he adds with a regret-filled sigh, clambering onto the bed.

“I can be cordial,” you counter as he climbs over you, that large cock bobbing as he does so, a lump in your throat at the sight. 

He stills, and a smirk takes over his entire face.

“Prove it,” he challenges huskily, raising an eyebrow, your body ripening at his unanticipatedly playful tone.

“You are handsome,” you concede, trying your best not to show how flustered you are as he slowly presses his naked body into yours, bearing you down into the plush mattress. So much heat and warm skin, the soft dark hair on his chest teasing your puffy nipples.

“Go on…” he rumbles, a vibration in your ribcage as he does.

“I'm sure our children would be intelligent as well as beautiful,” you offer, giving your honest assessment.

“Would they now…” his voice is like dark velvet as his lips delicately trace your neck, then suck insistently on a spot that makes you stumble, a ripple of pleasure running down your limbs.

“A… And… And when you are not speaking, I actually think I could tolerate you,” you admit as his hot throat kisses cause a warmth spreading inside like a conflagration.

“I won't speak then,” he chuckles richly. “I will however…” there is a pause as he passes his cock over the apex of your thighs, and your mouth falls open in shock at a sharp, thrilling stab, “...make you scream my name.”

You stare up at the man hovering over you, completely enthralled by him—his power, his beauty, his mischief, and yes, his arrogance. A loop of desire and dislike as never-ending and strong as the shiny bands you both now wear on your fingers.

“Prove it,” your cutting, parroted response tumbles from your lips unbidden. 

The passion and shock painted across his face make you melt inside like toffee—viscous and sweet.

“Oh, Viscountess, yesss,” he purrs sibilant. “That’s the spirit.”

He kisses you again, all breathtaking tongue and teeth, and this time, you push up into him, canting your body off the bed. He growls as you do, his touch turning edgier and rougher. Hands loop around your thighs and drag you down the bed.

“Any ache will be fleeting,” he assures, as butterfly wings beat under your ribs.

You gasp at a blunt pressure, followed by a twinge of pain. You are speechless as his cock slides into your body, your toes curling, your fingers wrapping around his flexing biceps as your insides stretch so wide to accommodate him. He stills, allowing you time to process the rush of stimuli, bussing a light kiss on your temple as you grapple with the fullness, entirely novel but not at all unpleasant. Then he begins to move slowly within you, a gentle rock of his hips as you whimper and grasp his arms tighter, needing an anchor.

“This is what you will enjoy every night,” he declares as he surges into you with a force that makes you pant and stare at him wide-eyed.

“Every night?! N-Not just one?!” you fight out, words garbled, overwhelmed, almost incapable of speech.

“No, no. We shall do this every night until you are with child,” his tone prideful and possessive; he leans down and bites your earlobe, his speech gusting humid over your cheek. “And even then, I dare say I shall not stop. You will be all the more irresistible when heavy with my child.”

He has flipped a secret switch buried deep in your belly, a magnetic pull calling for him like a siren song, wanting nothing more, as if it is your most significant purpose in life to bear his progeny.

“I… I want your children,”  you stutter truthfully.

Your confession does something primal to him, hunching over you and taking you harsher now, hands grabbing your flesh hungrily as his cock ploughs into you. He moves quicker, the drag against that swollen nub between your legs making your lungs feel tight and your brain fuzzy. All the hatred draining from you, the scales tipping wholly towards the other side—total carnal lust. A craving for him and his body and to continue the Bridgerton name you now also bear.

Your hands tentatively explore his contours as you grow bolder, and he fucks you harder. His expression as he pulls up to look over you veering close to ragging affection.

“Do you like it?” he murmurs, a beautiful boyish smile claiming his face as you nod. “Do you want to do it more?” Again, you silently affirm. “Do you still hate me?” he whispers. You shake your head as he kisses your forehead. “Shame. You are so very beguiling when you fight me,” he confesses as if exposing a chink in his armour.

“I also did not say I liked you…” you quip, feeling emboldened, your cadence rising with each deep stroke he takes.

His inky pupils glitter down at you. “Indeed you did not,”  

And with that, he sinfully sucks on two fingers, staring you down, worming them between your bodies. You cry out as he nudges your burning nub—so much wetness and heat. All the while, his pace never wavers.

“Pleasure is key to conception,” he explains, even as your brain turns off.

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, climbing higher and higher, nails scratching his back.

“I’m never stopping,” he rasps, his tone sincere. 

He snaps his hips harshly, and all you can do is cling to him as your body flings you over a breathtaking peak, vision whiting out as your body shudders and your pussy flutters hard around his invading cock, which feels shatteringly huge with each convulsion. He groans, and as you feel yourself floating, he grabs your face and holds his directly over yours. His body stills, his face contorted in ecstasy as he also seems to reach a climax, a warm bloom deep inside you that can only be from him, from his cock. He slumps over you, both of you panting, winded.

“Now you have my seed, darling girl,” he slurs after a moment, the term of affection catching you slightly off-guard.

“Is that what I can feel?” You stumble, still dazed.

“Yes, you shall dutifully grow me a baby Bridgerton with it, will you not?” he looks at you expectantly.

“Yes, my lord,” you nod solemnly. 

And you mean it.

No taglist as these drabbles are short

[qingxin-dream]

“Just One Good Thing”

summary | it’s hard to love someone who is broken, and even harder when two broken people love so deeply it hurts. (art credits: @/pastahands on twitter).

warnings | not proofread/vent writing, scaramouche lore spoilers, brief graphic depiction of death, illness, loss, profanity, TW heavy mental health topics, self-hatred, dissociation, depression, suicidal thoughts/ideation, graphic description of self-harm wounds, fear of abandonment, guilt, reader is hospitalized

genre | angst, hurt, comfort

word count | 2.5k

pairing | wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

This was not the first time the puppet experienced betrayal.

How could you have known? It was long before you came into existence, hundreds of years of anguish buried in layers upon layers beneath his artificial constitution. He had once been but an innocent, naive babe with the world sparkling in the reflection of his violet eyes, meant for something greater. He had once fulfilled a purpose.

To be brought into the world against your will, crafted from the divine hand of a grieving Archon, only to have every semblance of your being ripped from you and cast aside in the name of so-called mercy—is a fate akin to death itself.

You never knew his past.

How he was once an eccentric named Kabukimono who wandered from Shakkei Pavilion and made friends with the blade smiths of Tatarasuna. His first taste of human life was amid a blazing furnace and the clamoring of a hammer onto hot metal, learning what it meant to labor and create. He had grown to love the little village as his own, playing with the children and sipping on the bitter taste of tea leaves with his comrades.

The puppet who had called himself Kabukimono was painfully ignorant to the cruelty of fate.

He could have never fathomed the day he would hold the future of his village in his trembling, pale hands as the toxic Tatarigami fumes envelope him in chemicals. There he climbed deep inside the Mikage Furnace, the unique resilience of his artificial body left unharmed by the inhospitable temperatures glowing hot against his divine skin. Any normal human would’ve perished a thousand times over.

Inside the foreign device that promised to save his home lay the bloody, withering heart cut fresh from his closest companion’s chest.

“You are a human, Kabukimono,” Niwa had insisted with a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, a comforting hand resting on the eccentric’s shoulder. “You just don’t have a heart.”

Yet there the puppet stood, his voice robbed from his aching throat, cradling the very essence of his friend’s humanity in his palm.

It was his fault. What a foolish creature he was to ever involve himself with humans, whom he could only bring suffering. His tears were evaporated instantly as the grotesque realization dawned on the distraught young Kabukimono. He would later discover that he had been betrayed by a man who introduced himself as Escher but was known among the Fatui as The Doctor.

The dirty pads of his bare feet had thumped through the rocky village path and down the dirt roads leading to the outskirts of the rural Inazuman wilderness. Crows rustled in the trees and flapped their feathers into the sky, jeering at the desolate and abandoned settlement.

The village should have been evacuated. All who could have been saved were rushed as far away as possible from the poisonous Tatarigami. Rows upon rows of homes and businesses were eerily vacant. Kabukimono, in his watery hysterics, had not paid any mind to his surroundings, leaving behind the only home he ever had for good.

That is, until he stumbled across a young boy who lived under an old sakura tree. Kabukimono immediately felt the void in his chest wrench with visceral guilt upon learning that the child’s parents were crafts-people. The house was utterly empty except for the lonely little boy.

For as much as the puppet wanted nothing more than to rid himself of human companionship, he felt responsible for the loss of the boy’s parents. He had an obligation to see that he was taken care of and safe from the Tatarigami. If he could not have saved his friends, perhaps he could atone for his sins in raising the orphaned child—who reminded him too much of himself.

“Promise me,” Kabukimono spoke up with a bit of a hoarse tone, his voice cracking with emotion, extending a shaky hand to the young boy. “That we can be family. I will watch over you.”

“Like a big brother?” asked the innocent boy with a hopeful smile. He wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, taking the eccentric’s hand in his own. “I’ve always wanted one… I promise, we will be family.”

For a short while, the puppet had learned to push the turmoil plaguing his conscience to the back of his mind. His focus had shifted entirely to ensuring the boy’s safety and happiness, trying to scavenge food for him and exchanging stories under the moonlight. Although, Kabukimono flinched with each cough from the boy that shattered the silence between them as they went to sleep.

He hated that he recognized the symptoms. The residue of the Tatarigami had somehow infected the child, no doubt. A dreadful thought occurred to him—perhaps he had given the sickness to the orphaned child after what happened at the Mikage Furnace. The idea was enough to eat him alive with worry. Kabukimono had secretly prayed that the boy would endure the illness.

The puppet had worked tirelessly to give him the best he possibly could. If his coughs were dry, he would fetch him water. If his stomach rumbled, he would prepare some Lavender Melons. If he needed a friend, Kabukimono would be there to hold his hand as he slept like a guardian angel.

The day the elderly sakura tree shed its pretty pink blossoms was the day the boy was found unresponsive.

Kabukimono, too, found himself hollow and devoid. What did it mean to be family? What did it mean to love? What was the point of having such worthless emotions?

A blazing inferno consumed the darkness of the night sky. Crackling embers swirled and smoke bellowed in the rural countryside as a rickety house succumbed to a hellish fate. No one was there to witness the flaming spectacle. No one to help, or save the vacant violet eyes of a nameless puppet who clutched a small doll in his lap.

It was laughable, truly, how sick and twisted the world could be. The puppet couldn’t fulfill his creator’s wishes, nor could he befriend humanity, or have a heart of his own. Oh, to perish in a fiery death would be far too simple for Celestia’s liking, wouldn’t it?

For five hundred years, Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche—no matter who he became—the feeling of inadequacy remained.

His divinely-created body was an immortal prison, shackling him to his sins. As a Fatui Harbinger, no needle, blade, or poison of the Doctor could kill him. No enemy or magic of the Abyss could ultimately break him. The puppet was built to withstand the likes of the Cataclysm that had taken his creator’s sister, yet the scars of these experiments litter his fair skin are a reminder that he is indeed alive.

Wanderer vividly remembers his dark fascination with testing his limits in the depths of his dissociation. Anything to serve as penance for the irreversible destruction he had inflicted upon his friends, his family, and his home. If he was lucky, perhaps the Doctor would find a way to end his misery or the maddening darkness of the Abyss would swallow him whole once and for all.

Even forsaking his autonomy and identity as Scaramouche to ascend to godhood would be a fitting death for the puppet. After all, the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom would never bow to his emotions like a weakling. Losing himself to infinite knowledge and truth would be a good ending, despite the insanity that would befall him.

All that mattered is he would cease to exist.

But it was you who defeated him, in all his might and glory as a fake Archon pumped full of divine wisdom and the sludgy remains of dead gods. It was you who found him after he tried to erase every part of his worthless being from Irminsul, and helped him pick up the pieces of himself in the aftermath.

The reality that lies within Irminsul had given him a new perspective as the Wanderer. Though he retained the poignant memories of his sins, Wanderer made sure to carve a special space in the void of his artificial body just for you. His savior.

Not a single one of those instances—absolutely fucking none of them—could ever compare to the morbid and desperate pit of despair that ravages Wanderer at the sight of your fragile body curled up in a white hospital gown. You are hooked up to a myriad of monitors and machines, wires and tubes tangling your frame like chains. The distant beep of the electrocardiogram is burned into Wanderer’s mind.

It’s your heartbeat, and the very reason for his continued existence. You had been reduced to small blip on a computer screen.

The hospital room was otherwise silent. The windows had the blinds slightly drawn, a cool ray of moonlight washing over Wanderer’s disheveled indigo hair from behind. Even if you were unconscious, Wanderer had wanted to tuck you in for the night, but he was terrified of hurting you. The fluorescent white light above your bed was off, bathing you both in warm darkness.

In the late hours, all Wanderer could do was stare at you with eyes reddened from crying, his crimson eyeliner smudged at the edge of lashes. He would occasionally lick his dry lips, which were chapped and peeling. The sting of the dead skin on his lips being tugged between his teeth was a momentary release from the overwhelming anxiety dwelling within.

His thin fingers are intertwined with yours on the hospital bed, one of the few ways the puppet can keep himself grounded in this moment. Every once in awhile, he’ll give your hand a gentle squeeze followed by a few broken wishes for you to open your eyes again. To see the life in you and hear your sweet voice again.

Sometimes it would get to be too much. Wanderer would raise your hand and kiss your knuckles with hot, salty tears pricking at his eyes. The stinging sensation would force his eyelids closed, sorrow streaming down his stained cheeks. He was sure that this was a result of his own shortcomings.

Your arms are wrapped in bandages with a few stitches here and there lying underneath. A deathly pale color flushed your beautiful face. And oh, Archons, those eyes of yours he had always adored endlessly were sunken darkly into your face, hidden in your slumber. His gaze drifted to your lips, still full and pink, perhaps his last vestige of hope as they parted for your sacred breaths.

To imagine you’re suffering as much as he had in his past is utterly unthinkable to Wanderer.

The only difference is your fragile mortality. He knows your pain now, he can see it carved onto your wrists in what must have been a frenzied meltdown.

Some cuts are lighter and faded, meaning this certainly isn’t the first time you hurt yourself. Other gashes in your arm are deeper and swollen, each one weighs on the puppet’s heart greater than the last. He couldn’t count how many times you must have taken that razor to your wrist. Wanderer silently curses himself for letting this happen to you.

“How stupid could I be? Letting her away from me,” he quietly lamented with his head in hands, fingers curling around his indigo locks tightly. “I had just one good thing.”

Rocking himself gently in the chair next to you, Wanderer continuously tugs at his hair to an almost extreme degree, unable to handle the anger, betrayal, and sadness overcoming him. He was practically attached to you at the hip, he should’ve noticed when your voice faltered or when your eyes betrayed your words. He should’ve seen the signs of you slipping through his fingers.

Even if every day wasn’t perfect, even if sometimes you both said hurtful things to each other, neither of you never truly meant it. Wanderer couldn’t bear to imagine not waking up next to you, the morning sunlight kissing your silhouette like an angel. He never thought that he’d find his purpose in you, in the most mundane moments that he cherished so deeply.

He knew you had a history of mental health struggles. So did he. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give you his everything—fingers entwined and sweat glistening on your bodies as he made you his for the umpteenth time.

The echo of the puppet’s soft sobs dissipates into the emptiness of the hospital room. His whole body is shaking with emotional agony. It’s the first time in centuries that he has allowed himself to feel vulnerable like this. How could he not when the love of his life—the meaning of his existence—had tried to take themselves out of it?

Wanderer finally releases his hair, taking your left hand again and passionately pressing his lips to your bare ring finger as an unspoken promise. You both had worked so hard to love better and be better. He wasn’t about to give you up.

There would never be another you in eternity.

He couldn’t bear the heavy burden on his heart anymore. Carefully, he pulled the thin blanket back and climbed into the hospital bed next to you. His fingers trembled at the contact, feeling your faint warmth. Wanderer gently pulled you close so that your head was safely tucked into his chest and he could rest his chin on your soft hair. He sighed, covering you both in the blanket once more.

Sobs tugged at his chest and his grip on you momentarily tightened. Though tears glistened at the corner of his broken violet eyes, Wanderer blinked them back with a shaky breath. You were in his arms and his world was made whole again.

“I love you, (Y/N),” his voice is gravely and barely audible. “I love you so fucking much… don’t you dare think otherwise.”

The puppet nuzzles his nose into your scalp, breathing in your familiarity like it’s home. He begins to play with your hair gently, combing and caressing your soft strands with his fingertips painted in black.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know…” Wanderer kisses your hair, closing his eyelids for a long moment to memorialize the feeling of your skin on his lips. “But I’m gonna get you out of here, baby. I’m gonna get you help, okay?”

His toned arms keep your body pressed to his, wanting to feel every part of your being entangled with him as it should be. The tickling sensation of your little breaths on his neck brought a small smile to his face because it meant you were sleeping comfortably and most importantly, alive. You were the missing piece in his puzzle, fitting perfectly into place with him.

“It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” the puppet whispers to you, hoping you could hear and feel his love in every way, shape, and form possible. His words also served as an assurance to himself because in this moment he felt so helpless, seeing the wounds on your precious skin.

“I won’t let anything hurt you anymore,” Wanderer solemnly vows, his voice slowly but surely trailing off as he succumbs to his exhaustion with you held close to his heart.

“Goodnight, my love.”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

[topguncortez]

Are You With Me? - Ch. 5

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synopsis: Jake and Y/N take their kids to say goodbye to a friend, but it goes as well as one can expect. The Seresins also learn what the next course of action is for Ella's treatment.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: medical inaccuracies, childhood cancer, death, funerals, cursing, traumatic events, fighting, slut shaming, mentions of cheating.

Jake could remember the first funeral he ever went to. He was six, not much older than Ella is now, and it was for his grandfather. His mother had dressed him up in a small black suit with a burnt orange tie, a nod towards his grandfather’s beloved Texas longhorns. His mother was dressed in a black dress and had a simple strand of pearls around her neck, the same as two of his sisters. His father was dressed similarly to Jake; black suit, orange tie. 

Jake could remember walking into the church, a place he had been to a thousand times over, but now it was covered in memorial flowers and people all dressed in black. Some of the ladies wore elegant hats with lace veils over their faces. The men all seemed to have cleaned their watches and dug out their alumni rings for the occasion. Jake’s father was stopped several times in the foyer by people giving him their condolences. Jake wasn’t sure why everyone was stopping in front of a long wooden box, the women walking away with tears in their eyes. 

“Come on,” Jolene said to her children, “Let’s go say goodbye to grandpa.” 

All Jake could do was nod as Jolene led them over to the wooden box at the front of the sanctuary. Jake froze about three feet from the box, his heart beating fast in his chest at the sight in front of him. He felt his hands grow clammy as Jolene turned around to look at her son, who looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Jake?” Jolene asked, “What’s wrong?” 

“That’s not grandpa.” Jake shook his head, pointing towards the box, “That’s not him!” 

Jolene gave Jake a said smile, crouching down in front of him, “It is grandpa, Jake. It’s grandpa’s earth body. His spirit is up in heaven with Jesus.” 

“They messed him up,” Jake whispered, “That’s not him!” 

“How about we take a look?” Jolene pleaded with her son. Jake reluctantly nodded as Jolene stood to her full height and took his hand. Slowly they walked together to stand in front of the casket. 

Jake took one look in and turned his head. The body laying in the casket looked nothing like the man he remembered. His skin was pale, almost blue and waxy. His hair looked fake and as if they used way too much hairspray to get the combover to lay flat. It all just looked wrong to Jake. It was all just wrong. 

“That’s not him,” Jake shook his head as he sat down in the front row with his mother and waited for the service to begin. The whole time Jake kept repeating in his head that the man in the box was not his grandfather. 

Ever since that moment at six years old, Jake dreaded funerals. It was horrible, but Jake did all he could to avoid going to them. Y/N practically had to drag him to Tom Kazansky’s funeral, and even then, Jake took Alex to the nursery about half way through the service. It wasn’t that Jake was scared to bare his emotions and mourn the loss of a life. It was that he hated seeing the body lying all alone in the pinewood box. He hated knowing that their body was going to stay there for the rest of eternity until they rotted away into nothing. He hated knowing that the last glimpse of your loved one was going to be when the funeral director closed the lid. 

“Dad,” Alex’s soft voice filled the room. Jake was sitting on the bed, trying to come up with an excuse to not go to this funeral, “Can you help me with my tie?” 

“Sure,” Jake nodded, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of Alex. Y/N had gotten them both matching forest green ties, “You look good.” 

“Thank you,” Alex nodded, scrunching his nose up to push his glasses up farther. Jake couldn’t help but smile at the small movement. No one was quite sure when Alex started doing that, but it was cute, “I asked Mommy to help me but Ella is sick.” 

Jake’s smile turned into a small frown, “I know. . . how are you feeling about this?” 

It wasn’t very often that Jake got to stop and have a conversation with Alex about everything that has gone on. Sure the boy was only seven, but he still had some idea of what was going on with his sister. Y/N and Jake’s worst fear was Alex and Eli feeling ignored during all of this. They made sure at least once a week they were taking the boys out to do something fun whether that was the arcade or the park. Eli was still too little to understand anything but Alex wasn’t. 

“I’m sad that Ella is sick,” Alex shrugged, “When will she be better?” 

“I don’t know, bud,” Jake sighed, “But what about not having mommy and daddy both here?” 

“Oh,” Alex looked down at the ground, “Well, I guess I’m kind of sad about it. I wish you could both be here, but someone has to stay with Ella.” 

Jake smiled at his son. He was as selfless as his mother, always thinking of others instead of himself, “You’re a good kid, you know that,” Alex nodded his head. Jake placed a kiss on his forehead, before standing to his full height. The two of them walked down the stairs together, finding Y/N and Ella waiting for them. They both wore black dresses and pearl necklaces, only Ella had a black hat on her head to keep her warm. 

“We gotta get going,” Y/N said, standing up from the couch. The two of them loaded the kids up in the car, but Jake hesitated once he shut the car door, “What is it?” 

“Do we both need to go?” Jake looked over at Y/N, “I can stay and watch-” 

“Eli is with Rooster, and yes,” Y/N nodded, “We both need to go. Miranda and Dominick became our friends and we need to support them. . . this could’ve been us.” 

Jake clenched his jaw and nodded. Y/N climbed into the truck without another word, and Jake followed. When they arrived at the church, Jake helped Y/N out of the truck, trying to put on a show of solidarity in front of the other couples from the hospital. Rumors had flown since their spat in the hallway, and most of the parents were ‘Team Y/N’. Y/N didn’t bother saying anything to Jake as she opened the door for the kids and took each of their hands in hers, forcing Jake to walk behind them. 

The vestibule of the church was exactly like Jake could remember the one his grandfather’s funeral was in. People dressed in black, flowers all over, pictures and videos of the deceased being played but no one paid any attention to. Y/N signed the guest book for all four of them, taking a bulletin before making her way into the sanctuary. 

“Remember what we talked about?” Y/N turned towards her kids, “We’re going to walk past Sammy’s body and-“ 

“No!” Ella cried, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

“Ella,” Y/N said quietly, “You don’t have to see Sammy, but we have to walk-” 

“No!” Ella shook her head, Jake placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her, “I don’t wanna!” 

 Y/N could feel all eyes being turned towards them and it made her skin heat up, “Baby, we have to walk by-“ 

“No!” Ella’s lip quivered as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Sobs racked her body as she hid her face in her hands, “I don’t wanna see him!” 

Jake picked her up, setting her on his hip, “It’s okay. You don’t have to.” 

“That’s not him!” Ella turned and hid her face into her father’s neck. Y/N felt out of options as Jake gave her a pleading look. She glanced around, noticing the stares and the looks they were gaining. 

“Okay,” She sighed in defeat, “We’ll go.” Jake nodded his head, and turned on his heel, taking his sobbing child out of the church. Y/N looked over to where Miranda and Dominick stood, giving them an apologetic look before following her family. She sighed as she climbed into the truck, leaning back into her seat. She glanced at her children through the rearview mirror; Alex staring at the raindrops sliding down the window and Ella with tears running down her cheeks. 

— — — 

Six weeks. 

It had been six weeks to the day since Y/N made the dumb mistake of falling into bed with her ex-husband. She had never been the one for casual hookups. Jake was her first everything and the most she ever let Miles do to her was go down on her. She had promised herself that she wasn’t going to be a woman who hooks up with her ex-husband out of convenience, but here she was, hooking up with her ex-husband out of convenience and currently watching him as he blatantly flirted with Becky, one of the mom’s in the therapy group. 

The styrofoam cup in Y/N’s hand was hot as she stared daggers at the blonde man, who was turning on his charm as he talked to Becky. The smile. The chuckle. The head tilt. The gentle hand on her arm when he walked away. It all angered Y/N. 

Hell, what didn’t anger Y/N these days. 

“Hey,” Jake said as he sauntered up to you, grabbing one of the glazed donuts on the table. 

‘Fuck you for eating that donut’ Y/N thought. She had always been amazed at Jake’s body and how he was able to eat nearly anything and everything he wanted. But now, it annoyed her. The stress from taking care of her sick child, her poorly timed eating schedule and not being able to go to the gym had their effects on Y/N and she had gained some weight. She hated looking at herself in the mirror and hated even more when Jake would sit and make sure she ate something substantial. 

“Hello?” Jake swiped his hand in front of his wife, earning him a glare. 

“Don’t wave your hand in my face,” She snapped. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake apologized, “What’s going on? You seem out of it.” 

Y/N pursed her lips, debating on saying something or biting her tongue, “Becky got a boob job last summer with her divorce settlement.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her, “You like natural so I thought I’d give you a heads up.” She simply shrugged and walked away to find a chair in the center circle. 

Another thing Y/N didn’t want to say out loud was how much therapy had actually been helping her. She hadn’t said anything more than the bare minimum; who she was, what her child was diagnosed with, what the prognosis is, and a weekly update on how her child is doing. It was nothing more and nothing less than that every meeting. But Y/N did enjoy the adult interaction for an hour twice a week. She didn’t realize how much she missed being around people her own age, even if she couldn’t remember half the names of the people in the group. Jake had attended every meeting with her, sitting next to her and silently supporting her when she gave her opening statement. 

Jake sat down in his usual chair, in the middle of Y/N and Marjorie, the elderly lady who ran the therapy group. She reminded him of his grandmother, permed gray hair, bright pink lipstick on her lips, and she smelled like cherries and vanilla. She also had the slightest southern twang which Jake appreciated from time to time. Marjorie always had a large, leatherbound journal with her at every meeting which confused Jake. He never saw her take any notes, never saw her turn any pages. But the book was in her lap, open to some page at every meeting. 

“Good morning my beautiful caretakers,” Marjorie said, gathering the attention of the group. Y/N fought hard to not roll her eyes at the usual greeting, “Let us start with our daily openings. Jacob, how about you start?” 

“Oh, I’d love to, Marjorie,” Jake smiled at her and Y/N did, in fact, roll her eyes this time. 

Therapy droned on for another hour, as Y/N pretty much blocked out everything that anyone was saying. It was all the same, week after week. But what wasn’t the same, was the two open chairs next to her. It pained her as she glanced over to where Miranda and Dominick had sat just a few weeks ago. No one knew that Sammy had gotten so sick and was circling the drain. Miranda had sat there and told the group that Sammy was still fighting hard, that he was still continuing his treatment with a smile on his face. No one knew that in a few short days, Sammy would pass away in front of his parents. 

Y/N picked up her head and looked at the group of parents and guardians in front of her. She wondered how many of them were saying that their children were still strong and fighting when in reality, the grim reaper was knocking on their door. A sick feeling rose in her belly. The same sick feeling she had been feeling for the past week. 

“I know he’s going to keep-“ 

Y/N stood up quickly, cutting off Becky, who glared at her, “I’m sorry.” She muttered, turning for the door of the meeting room. She tried her best not to break out into a run, but she moved as quick as she possibly could. 

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched her retreating form scamper out of the room like a fire was lit under her ass. He turned his head back towards Becky, watching as the crocodile tears streamed down her face. Sure, Jake felt bad her son had cancer, but he’s also been in remission for six weeks now and yet, Becky still comes in to hit on the dads. 

Yes, Jake is well aware that Becky flirts with him at any given chance. And yes, he knows that Y/N is jealous of that. Y/N has always been the type to wear her emotions on her face, and Jake can feel the daggers that she glares into his spine whenever he talks to Becky. He should tell her that there’s nothing to be jealous of, that she’s the only one he wants. But Jake is a guy. And sometimes those male like tendencies take over, especially when it comes to one Y/N Seresin. He never knew she could be so possessive and kinky until about six weeks ago. He swore that they’ve been having the best sex they’ve ever had. 

Y/N had returned by the time the meeting had concluded. Her eyes and nose were red, as if she had been crying. Jake’s green eyes tracked her as she moved around the room, going straight for the coffee pot. All the alarm bells were going off in his head, and his body moved without second thought. She had barely set the coffee pot down when Jake grabbed her elbow, dragging her away. 

“Hey! Let me go!” Y/N protested, pulling her arm free, “You heathen. I can walk on my own-“ 

“Are you pregnant?” 

It took Y/N a moment, as the words that left Jake’s mouth registered in her mind, “No. I’m not pregnant, you twat,” Jake felt the tension in his body relax for a moment, “I know I have gained weight, but I don’t need you pointing that out.” 

“Wait, no,” Jake shook his head, “I wasn’t pointing out that you gained weight, which, you look fantastic,” She scoffed, “It’s just that you’re drinking coffee and you never do unless you’re-” He gestured towards her stomach. 

“I’m not pregnant,” Y/N stated again, shoving the cup in his hand, “I’m going to check on Ella.” 

Y/N tried her best to keep her face neutral until she got into the elevator, her body nearly collapsing against the metal wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she reached into her pocket, pulling her phone out and looking at her calendar. The bright red circle around the date was almost mocking her as she breath caught in her throat. 

“No way,” She shook her head, “No fucking way.”

— — — 

“Take a deep breath. You’re okay,” The nurse spoke calmly as she ran her hand over Ella’s back, holding the oxygen mask to her face. It was the third time in the past week that Ella has had these attacks where she can’t breathe. 

“I can’t- I can’t,” Ella gasped, her big green eyes frantically looking around the room.

Y/N quickly moved towards her, sitting on the edge of the bed, “You can. Take a deep breath, Ella.” Ella sucked in as deep of a breath as her little lungs could, which resulted in her coughing. Y/N closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears as her daughter coughed and gasped for air. 

“Y/N,” the nurse said to her, “Why don’t you go get some air. I got this.” 

Every fiber of her being was telling her to stay by Ella’s side, but she couldn’t watch for any longer. Ella looked up at her mom, giving her hand a light squeeze as if to tell her it was alright. The familiar burn of tears clogged her throat as she stood up from the bed. 

“Thank you,” Her voice was barely a whisper as she quickly made her exit out of the room. 

Y/N let out a sigh as she walked down the hallway, clenching and unclenching her shaky fists. The familiar grip of anxiety held her heart as stopped at the nurses’ station, placing her elbows on the counter and running her hands through her hair. Y/N couldn’t decide what was worse, watching her child get so violently ill that the blood vessels in her face broke or watching her gasp for precious air. She determined that both of them sucked. 

“Y/N,” Miles' voice sounded out. She looked up at him, expecting to see that warm, comforting smile, but instead was met with a grim look, “Doctor Thomas and I need to talk to you. . . both of you.” 

Jake had started to hate this office. He hated the bright posters on the wall and the stuffed animals on the couch behind him. As much as this office was trying to be a bright, cheerful place, it brought nothing but heartache and pain. The tension was thick as the two of them were trying to wrap their heads around what Doctor Thomas had just said. Jake’s eyes flitted over to Y/N who was staring at something on the desk in front of her. He so badly wanted to reach out and grab her hand. 

“The transplant list?” Her voice sounded out, sounding weak and farther away than the seat next to him, “She. . . you’re putting her on the transplant list?” 

Miles licked his lips before answering, “We think it’s the best course of action.” 

“What about the lobectomy?”

“The cancer will just come back,” Doctor Thomas said, “The only guaranteed way that the cancer will go away and stay away is if we do this transplant.” 

Y/N shook her head, trying to grasp what was really going on. She had called Jake almost as soon as Miles said he needed to talk to them both. Jake had left base like a bat out of hell, getting to the hospital in an amount of time that could only be done by speeding. They knew that one of the treatment options would have to be removing a portion of Ella’s lung. Y/N hated the idea of her child going under the knife to remove a portion of herself. 

“How long?” Y/N looked up at Miles, “How long do you think she’ll have to wait?” 

Both Miles and Doctor Thomas shifted in their seats. 

“Pediatric lungs are hard to come by,” Doctor Thomas spoke softly, “Finding a match can be even harder. It could be six weeks, could be six months. We don’t-” 

“Oh god,” Y/N closed her eyes, a sick feeling sinking her stomach, “We have to wait for another child to-” 

“Donor,” Doctor Thomas said, “We have to wait for a donor.” 

“A child,” Y/N snapped her eyes open and glared at the blonde woman in front of her, “We have to wait for another child to die to save our child.” 

“Well, if you think about it that-” 

“There is no other way to think about it!” Y/N’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of the chair, “The only way our child can live is if another child dies!” 

Doctor Thomas looked over towards Jake, “I think it’s best if we-” 

“Don’t look at him,” Y/N sneered, “You are talking to me. There has to be another way. There has to be. . . Miles,” Y/N gave him a pleading look. 

“I’m sorry,” Miles said sincerely, “We have discussed this at length, getting second opinions from our pulmonary specialists and transplant specialists, we think this is the best course of action.” 

The office was quiet, as the words seemed to settle over Jake and Y/N. His heart was still pounding in his ears and he wasn’t one hundred percent certain he understood what Miles and Doctor Thomas were saying. He got that Ella was sicker than they thought, and the original plan was no longer going to work. But still, Jake couldn’t really wrap his head around what was going on. 

“I know that this is hard to understand,” Doctor Thomas said, “And you’re having an emotional-” 

“Fuck you,” Y/N spat. Jake snapped his head towards his wife, “Fuck you,” She leaned forward, her eyes burning into Doctor Thomas, “You have no idea what kind of response I am having to hearing my child is dying and the only way to save her is to let another child die. You have no idea ‘cause you aren’t a mother. No,” She chuckled, “You’re just a slut who goes after married men.” 

“Y/N,” Jake finally spoke up. 

Doctor Thomas stood up from her chair. If she was insulted by Y/N’s words, she did a great job at hiding them as she rolled her shoulders back, “I think that is all for today. Miles will keep you updated on Ella’s status on the transplant list. Jake, Y/N,” Doctor Thomas nodded to them both, before she left the room. 

“I’ll let you guys have the room,” Miles said, following after Doctor Thomas. 

Silence reigned over the two of them, as Jake shifted in his chair to face his wife, “I know you’re upset, but that was uncalled for. Calling her a slut?” 

“She is,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Jake groaned, running a hand down his face, “We were split up.” 

“We weren’t divorced yet,” She glared at him, “I atleast had the respect to wait until the ink had dried on the papers to go out and find someone. You. . . you were already chasing tail the moment I kicked you out. Hell, before I kicked you out.” 

“Okay,” Jake shook his head, “What is your fucking deal? Hm? This isn’t like you. I thought the group therapy was helping.” 

Y/N sighed, “It is.” And that was true. The group therapy was helping her mood for the most part. 

“Then what is going on?” Jake grabbed her hand, “I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me.” 

His eyes were full of sincerity and longing as he searched hers for a sign of what could be going on. Y/N used to be such an open book, but now it was getting harder and harder to read her, unless the emotion was anger. He missed the days where she would talk to him about anything and everything. It could be about something that pissed her off or something that made her smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes, as Y/N looked away from her ex. She felt stupid. She felt so incredibly stupid that this happened to her. Of all the times they had tried and tried and failed, this happened when they didn’t even want it to. 

Y/N sucked in a deep breath, “I’m late.” 

“Late?” Jake asked, confused. All she did was look at him and he realized what she was talking about, “You’re late.” He sat back in his chair, still holding her hand, “You’re late.”

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[softandsourcream]

Stop, you’re losing me~ - one

————————•。・. ゜・。_________________

Summary: The last time you saw Yoongi wasn't one of your fondest memories. And actually, you thought that after ten years you no longer had any more tears to shed for that memory, for that situation, for him.

What was the problem with meeting him again at his brother's wedding, right?

Right?

pairing: idol! yoongi x vet!f reader.

Words: 9k

genre(s): angst, hurt- comfort, slow burn, fluff, smut (+18) (not this one tho)

au(s): childhood friends - to lovers, idol yoongi, normal vet reader, entertainment industry, denial and resentment.

warnings: curse words, family drama, grief, loss of loved ones, panic/anxiety attacks, damaged mental health, a LOT of struggling. Yoongi is here to help tho♡.

author’s note: just wanna let you all now that I’m so exited that this is out now! Hope you enjoy it and if you have any suggestion just let me know! I don’t bite 🐇. Also, English it’s not my fist language, so please be patient with this dumbass

~

IMPORTANT: this fic contains a lot of sensitive topics touched upon explicitly. Please, if any of the tags trigger something in you, stop reading. You’re more important, and there is much more content you can consume here. Take care please! ♡

enjoy!

—————————•。・゜ one゜・__________________

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“Where are you?”

“Outside.” In fact, he had gotten out of the car a second ago, and he wasn't going to answer, but he didn't know where they were either; the place was exaggeratedly large.

“Get in here then, you're late.”

“I’m at the entrance... where are you?” His voice breathless, he ran a lot in less than 20 minutes.

“Your brother is about to faint, so you’re going to see us easily. The first row.”

Yoongi hung up the phone, and sure enough, it wasn't difficult for him to find his family right at the end of the place. His brother looked around restlessly, probably looking for him or his fiancée, because he knew he was late, but he didn't seem to have started yet either.

His father, on the other hand, observed his brother's concern with the empty gaze he had always had from his seat, blinking slowly without saying much. He smiled a little at the scene (also a little relieved to finally be there) and started walking quickly, straight there, without looking at anyone else.

He greeted some of his aunts from afar, bowed to others he didn't know but greeted him, and ended up meeting his brother's eyes, almost finishing his journey. The concern on his face changed to one of anger, and he approached him as if suddenly he wasn't about to get married and be responsible for a family. His posture was the same as when they played as children, and his mother had to separate them for a toy.

It gave him chills.

“Hel-“

“Where the fuck were you.”

Yoongi frowned exaggeratedly at the bad word, looking at his father, who was watching everything in the same exact spot with the exact same cold and calm eyes.

“You’re not going to say anything to him?”

He didn’t respond, and Yoongi chuckled when his brother insulted him again.

“Calm down, if mom hears you, she-“

“You’re half an hour late, Min.” Finally, his father, mad. He can tell just by his voice. Yoongi shrank from the scolding and grimaced, looking at his brother.

“I’m sorry.” One. Sooner than he expected “They didn’t let me go sooner.” Greum-Jae didn't even seem interested in hearing an excuse; Yoongi had never seen him so angry before. But he still dared to continue speaking. “I get you’re mad, and I’m sorry, but don’t be mad with me right now. This is your day, we can fight later, and I’m here. I’m really sorry, for real, it wasn't my intention to ruin this for you.”

“Now it’s my job to be calm?” Jae fled from his touch. “To ignore your mistakes? You literally have one job.”

“I know I- I don’t have any other excuse, okay? I’m really sorry.”

Two.

It was subtle, but after a moment, his gaze softened, and so did his body, which was the most noticeable. Jae hugged him, and Yoongi smiled sadly, because he did feel bad, but, of course, it wasn’t the time to show it.

“You’re lucky she’s late too, and that I’m in a good mood right now.” He knows. “Missed you…”

“Me too.” His smell, his hugs, his voice. His home. He missed. “You are in a good mood, though? You look like you're about to throw up.”

He hit his shoulder, breaking the hug and getting closer to his father. Yoongi says hi to him without receiving a response, of course. He looked older and tired, which made him think about how long he had not set foot in that city. He squeezed his fist, unsettled. “I’m nervous; of course I look like that.”

Yoongi was going to ask why, genuinely interested, because he didn't understand why he should be nervous. He wasn't supposed to do anything more than 'yes, I do' and be with the person he loves most for the rest of his life. He also understood that, from the context, Yoongi would never understand it, and he didn't feel like doing it either. Also, he shouldn't be that direct, so he swallowed his question and leaned with both hands on the empty chair next to his father, placing all his weight on his arms.

He wanted to ignore the fact that he felt watched. There were a lot of people there. He hadn't taken a look to see how much he knew and how much he didn't, that was an activity he would leave for when they were dancing and there was less light. Right now he knew that everyone was looking at him, and he didn't like it because, although it was a family and private event, he couldn't completely ignore it. Photos of him would still come to light. It was, in fact, one of the discussions he had with the company days before.

“Your brother doesn't want to hear you, but I do. What is more important than your brother’s wedding now?”

Shit.

Jae was now talking to someone who came to tell him news about Eun, and he had walked away. He could only hear the echo of people talking, laughing, and happiness. Yoongi didn't want to have that conversation right now.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“You’re being unfair right now.”

The man sighed.

“I’m just asking, Yoongi." And his voice sounds different too, so Yoongi didn’t like it. “If I’m not right, why don’t you tell me? You know I know when you're right, and I'm not. I'm not stubborn, you're locking yourself in."

Yoongi wrinkled his nose because he was right in a way, and he hated that it was like that. It was true; he didn't know why he felt so cornered all of a sudden. Stretching his arms and looking at the ground, he became a little dizzy. His whole body suddenly hurt; maybe all the fatigue of those months came upon him.

“Working.” He was honest even so, knowing what was coming. His father didn’t move in any sense. “I was working, but it wasn't'more important than this’. They wouldn't let me go, for real.”

“You didn’t take a day off?”

“I can’t. I’m on tour right now, and I asked permission, but you know that they’re not flexible with the times.

“Just like your mother's birthday. Or every Christmas.” He sounds sad now, almost disappointed. Mad, but really sad. “We invite you, but you never come. Your brother was shaking yesterday. He really wanted to see you.”

There was silence. A big one, where you could still hear the murmurs of the people, the echo of the grandeur of the place, the clicking of heels, and the shy laughter. He gave them both time to realize where they were, that they were in suits, and that, after all, he hadn't seen that man in a long, long time.

Yoongi's apology stuck in his throat—another genuine apology.

 

A third.

 

“I'm sorry, son.” His father says instead. Yoongi had heard it a few times in his 30s. “I understand. We understand, but... we always do. Me, your mother, and your brother today. He has all the right to be mad; we all are, but you’re doing your best, and we’re getting old too.” This time he looked at him, smiling a little. Yoongi does too, but his was a sad one. “Just don’t forget about your family. I just hope I make it to your wedding too.”

“Pff.” They laughed, and the son nodded, his nose still wrinkled just thinking about it. “I can only do the first one, sorry. That’s why Jae did it first. Maybe I don't invite you to a wedding, but you have been sitting more than once watching me in a stadium with more people than here.” He looked at his brother with his eyes. He continued talking to that woman, nodding, biting his lip, having an awful time, and if it wasn't bad, then something questionable. Yoongi could swear his palms were sweating. “I honestly don't feel like... being that worried.”

His father looked nothing in the front, with a smirk on his face. Yoongi realized how old he turned again.

“You just haven't found the right person to be like this for.”

That doesn’t sound like his father. At all.

He looked at him again and couldn't say anything when his brother was already in front of them, smiling and wiping the sweat from his hands.

He knew it.

“She’s about to arrive, take your seat.”

Yoongi left the back of the chair where there was supposed to be another person there who wasn't there, and frowning, he looked around the room without really doing it, realizing that he was missing someone to greet.

“Where’s mom?”

And as if he hadn't been listening to laughter, murmurs, and voices of people for ten minutes that filled his ears non-stop, right after that question, a specific laugh seemed to answer his doubt, reversing his pressure and causing a strong shiver to run down the back of his neck.

He turned quickly, perhaps even a little disbelievingly, and then, he saw you.

Not his mother, though. Or yes, her too, but his eyes fell on you first because it was always like that, because that was your laugh, and because it was impossible not to.

Far away. The possibility of having heard your laughter was quite unlikely, even impossible. Seven or eight rows back. Of course, you were wearing baby blue, delicate, and tight. The fabric didn’t shine like your gloves do, and you had your long hair loose, tied up from the top just a little. You laughed heartily, teeth on display, his mother being the cause of your smile and your bright eyes. Such honest and grateful happiness, because why not, you both looked exaggeratedly happy to be in front of each other again. Her mother held your hands tightly, moving them up and down in time with her words, and you just nodded and responded briefly.

His heart stopped. He could swear he had even forgotten to breathe.

Yoongi didn't enjoy eye contact.

He usually runs away from it. He feels stupid, and he gets embarrassed quickly. It's a tense situation for him, but he was wishing with all his might that you two had it at that moment. That his eyes were heavy enough for you to turn to look at him and take a good look at you because your eyes had always been big and expressive, and he needed to confirm that he wasn't hallucinating.

At least that's what they were like the last time he saw them, so many years ago that he couldn't count them, and from what he saw from there, many things had changed.

You look breathtaking. You've always looked this pretty, but right now… 

He didn't know if it was because he hadn't seen you in person for many years, up close, but unpleasant things were happening to him. His legs trembled when you finally looked back. Big eyes, make-up on, pretty color, and they opened, your moves frozen, and somehow, you two had an extremely uncomfortable visual conversation, as if you were face to face, and you didn't know what to say.

To his surprise, your gaze quickly changes to a more confident, almost cold look, and you bow with extreme lightness to say hello without intending to break contact. However, his mother did, hugging goodbye to you as soon as everyone started tidying up, music started playing, and Yoongi was forced to sit down, trembling, sweating, and unfocused, remembering how you looked.

He was there again, in real life, in Daegu, where he was born and grew up, where it was hot and dangerous to go out at night, where they used to live, and where he used to get lost when he could.

He had arrived that morning, but his brother, his parents, and you brought him back home.

“Shit.”

Not in a comfy, lullaby way. More like a cold water falling from the sky directly on the ground/ type of way.

He was there. You were there, feeling better than him, of course, but you don’t know. You had the whole month to mentally prepare for that reunion. Obviously you had a better handle on it, but you were also shaking, and you had to take a couple of breaths before you were ready for the wedding.

“Good?”

 

Seun was next to Greum when everything happened, in a way waiting as a spectator. Both in silence, from afar. Now he was waiting for you to respond, so he could start the recording in case you said something compromising. Both of you were in your assigned seats, with Jae at the altar.

“If it’s better than him, then yes, I’m great.” He laughed and checked at the entrance in case Eun was peeking out. He wanted to see her dress. You shake your shoulders, trying not to look in his direction again, releasing tension.

“Well, I don’t judge him. Jae didn’t tell him you were here.”

You scoff, “He didn’t? We're some show to you two or something?” putting your brother's arm away (with more force than necessary. It bothers you that he didn't take seriously how you felt. More now that you were especially sensitive) so you can record properly. The music began to overwhelm you a bit.

Now. Suddenly they were all in order, therefore quieter, so you two had to continue the conversation in whispers. Jae was waiting for his future wife; the doors of the place were open, but nothing was happening yet.

“He told me months ago that he wasn’t sure if he would arrive. The invitation was made, but he hasn't seen him for almost a year. When-“ he stops, unlocking his phone that had turned off for not pressing record yet, making you smile. Your older brother reminded you a lot of your father sometimes, and you rarely saw him so excited and well groomed at the same time. Your dress color and his suit matched too. His idea. “When Yoongi confirmed he was coming, Jae didn’t have the time to tell him. So yeah,” you looked at him when he did, blinking. “I know he’s feeling a lot of things right now.”

Well, that was weird.

That doesn’t sound like Yoongi, Yoongi loves his brother, his family, at least the one you know.

The type of relationship you had now (null) didn't allow you to say that out loud, and, strictly speaking, you didn't understand his reaction either. He looked genuinely surprised; it shouldn't affect him if he was the one who broke everything in the first place. You assumed it had just been the surprise, and it would take you a good stretch of the night to be able to let go of the fact that they were there, so close but so far, to let go of the possibilities of talking, hugging him, and telling him how much you had missed him, know about him, how he handled things. Just as before. Because it didn't help you to think like that, and because how pretty and beautiful your best friend looked right now, happy, in white, and excited, couldn't be placed on anything else.

You hoped you could breathe in peace for the rest of the night. Although at some point you thought you could do it without problems, because once you wiped away the tears that came out of you when you saw Eun enter and the ceremony took place, between your brother talking to you, you were laughing at him because he had also cried halfway through. On the way, the rest of your family arrived, and an inexplicable happiness that ran through you as you were surrounded by so many people that you knew and hadn't seen in years consumed you, your head stayed busy. A lot, and you still had it in mind, but you were not alone, and that made you feel good, safe, and a little calmer.

It was easy for you not to give him your night. At least the first part of it.

Apparently, after the ceremony, the party, and celebration would take place in the same place. You weren't really surprised, in fact, it moved you even more because the place was gigantic, very tall, and beautiful, almost like a theater, and there were many, many people, enough to fill the place. Not in a suffocating way, but enough to get lost. It was mostly of age, older people, maybe grandparents you hadn't managed to meet before, and then there were people directly younger, but you knew those, Seun was a people butterfly. Friends of theirs, you assumed. Actually, Seun stopped explaining who the boy was sitting next to one of her good friends when a man, tall and good-looking, started to talk on a microphone.

“Now, now, and congratulating the bride and groom once again, we would like to call the loved ones of both to say a few words before the fun part starts.

Everyone laughed, and Seun looked at you. You forgot about that part.

“Let’s start with the parents…”

“I can go for you instead.”

“It’s okay.” You smile. You knew that he was doing his best to be able to contain you, and give you the best company, despite the fact that it was not easy for him. “I’m not made of glass.” You joke, listening to Eun’s mother speak already.

And well, for him, you were. At least right now, but he didn’t say it, scoffing to hide his thoughts. “I’m trying to be good. Dad it’s watching now, I have to be an example.”

“For what.”

“Shut up, don’t be disrespectful.”

You try not to laugh. He was nervous now. You never understood why it was so difficult for him to admit that he cared for others. Not even with Jae he dared to do it, or at least that's what you thought. You didn't know how he would tell the truth in his speech.

You were the last one. You knew this because when you arrived, Jae told you. Eun wasn't supposed to know you were there. Of course, she had invited you, but she didn't know if you would finally attend because you hadn't been able to communicate with anyone these last few months. You met once, when she came to see you at your house, but you couldn't talk about much. You were on another planet, it was like your head was disconnected from your body most of the time, and she assumed you wouldn't go. 

You wanted to think that she hadn't seen you when she passed, but you doubted it. With the amount of people there, and with how focused she was on Jae, it was impossible.

Still, you were nervous. When you accepted, you didn't think you would be in front of so many people. Your heart was beating.

“Is that Yoongi?” Nara, your sister, asked your mother just behind you when he got position and greeted everyone.

“Yeah. Why he wouldn't?” Your mom responded a bit confused. You could hear her smile.

“I think you all were joking when you told me he was on BTS, for real. It doesn’t look at all like the Yoongi I knew.” You hear a laugh, a gentile one, and then your other brother making fun of her behind. Your dad scolds them.

Now, you take advantage of the moment to take a better look at him.

You wanted to blame it on the fact that your sister was only nine when she met Yoongi, and every time he appeared on TV or in videos she was told it was him, she just couldn't believe it. You just hoped those were her blurry memories of him, because you couldn't see him too differently from how you remembered it.

Maybe his hair was longer, he was paler, taller, his back had grown considerably, and he had that special glow that any celebrity would have. He looked like an entire adult now, too. He wore expensive clothes and good shoes, although he didn't seem to have put any effort into his hair, or his appearance in general, he looked incredibly unreal, so much that it makes you angry.

If you thought about it enough, and if you didn't know it was him, you would’ve struggled to recognize him too. You often saw him in magazines, posters, on buildings in Busan, on train pamphlets, on your cell phone and even in medicine, but seeing him in person was overwhelming. It was like seeing a stranger you already knew, but better yet, he was there, but at the same time he wasn't.

You take a deep breath when you realize that, despite all those things, his features were still just as soft and delicate, just like his mother's.

His knuckles still turned red without much effort, and he smiled the same way, making that slight pout with his lips before crying, trying to contain it, and he wiped the tears carelessly. You found your Yoongi in the one you were looking at right now, with little things, with gestures, with details that you used to admire more than necessary, they were still there.

and it made you feel nauseous.

You blinked a few times, snapping out of your trance as everyone applauded, and realized you hadn't heard a single word. He had even cried, and you didn't know why. You saw Jae stand up as he was called to take position on the small stage, and a much louder round of applause made you jump lightly. They came from behind, just that young section that assumed they were friends of both. There were a lot of people, and it didn't surprise you that Seun was already fooling around on his way to the small stage there.

“How are you feeling, blossom?"

Your father asked, taking advantage of the fact that you turned around to look at the crowd and that your brother was not there. They were both looking at you, and the rest of your brothers were talking among themselves.

“I'm okay.” It wasn't necessarily a lie. You felt just as bad as you do every day. Besides, you knew that they were referring to something more specific (Min Yoongi) than to your general emotional state, so you smiled slightly, closed, and placed your hand on your mother's, who was on your arm. “I’m good; don’t worry.”

As you predicted, Seun's speech was so unserious and absurd that it's not worth dwelling on. For some reason, everyone was laughing with him, he had livened up the atmosphere and unintentionally infected everyone with joy.

He soon returned to his seat and sat still with applause in the background. You couldn't believe it.

“I don’t get why he’s still your friend.”

“We’re in love, sister.” He asure. “This wedding is for three people. They will never get rid of me.”

“Shut up.”

“Now.” The good-looking man says “Briefly before eating and doing fun things, we have one more person who wants to wish you both the best, of course.”

You can see Eun’s confused look at her husband now, and he quickly grabs her hand. Your heart was ricing, you felt your mother's hand on your shoulder.

“Park ___, please."

Eun almost jumped from her seat, looking around, looking for you. You also saw someone else look for you in the crowd when you were getting up a little stiff because of your dress. You say sorry to an old woman right in front of you, who you accidentally hit softly because Seun didn’t move at the right moment.

“Oh my god.”

You didn't have time to get halfway down the hall to the front when a large white dress ran towards you to hug you. You smiled at the impact because you were a little taken aback by how strong it came and how big her dress was. You smiled when you already had her in your arms.

“You have been here all this time?”

“Of carouse.”

“Oh my god, thank you…” she softly says, hugging you even harder.

“I wouldn’t miss the happiest moment of your life.”

Because it had cost you, but you had arrived. Was she crying? Thank goodness people were still clapping because of the moving nature of the situation, and they couldn't hear you. You were trying so hard not to cry too.

If you did it, you wouldn't stop.

“I know you-“

“It’s okay.” You stopped her. “I’m okay.”

You squeezed her waist as a signal for you to start moving, and she moved away from you to caress your face lovingly and look at you like... most people have looked at you lately with pity and kissed your forehead.

Pity.

 

She took your hand, and the entire way, you could feel Yoongi's gaze on you. From the moment she hugged you until she kissed you and started leading you forward, like an exhibition, heavy, right next to you. He made you feel small, it was silly.

“Now stop crying; I haven't said anything yet.” You start, with the microphone in your hands, making everybody laugh, the couple too, Jae helping her with the tears. The place was in silence, the lights, the eyes, and the attention were just on you. So you take a deep breath and unfold the paper you’ve got prepared. “I- uh~” a sigh. “I don’t know how people do this without crying, I- okay.” You were nervous, but the place laughed again, so it gave you time to breathe.

“I still remember you both being taller than me, smarter than me, and older than me. I know that deep down all of you were so done of me, right behind there too,” all those people scream from behind, and you laugh. “because I used to talk a lot, and I carry my toys everywhere, so I can show it to all of you, and I made too many questions for people who are starting to be teenagers and want to look cool, but I wasn’t. I didn’t even care, I remember that. I was the pain in the ass that comes with Seun. Just a plus because Seun it’s a bother himself.” The aforementioned rolled his eyes, and you waited for there to be silence so you could continue. “I understand that now, and I just came here to apologize.” 

The atmosphere after the laughter was now a little solemn, and in contrast to your brother, you were capable of poisoning the things you touched, and those who knew you knew that. You could see the newlyweds were a little worried, but you kept smiling, giving them confidence that nothing bad was going to happen. At least that wasn't your intention.

“Sorry for being the impediment for you to go out late at night or for having to return early from wherever we were... I- was with you.” Uh. You try to keep the smile. Shit, “sorry for being so annoying, and sorry for the fact that I didn't care. Because as much as I didn't like being with you sometimes, the best part of my day was watching you eat at my table, or Mrs. Min organizing my birthdays, and everyone coming with gifts that I genuinely liked because you all heard what I was saying even if I was giving you a headache.”

Unintentionally, you met those eyes again from afar, just when you were trying to control that lump in your throat because the worst part was coming, and you didn't know if you were ready. You said the following while still looking at Yoongi, not at you, surprisingly. “I miss it. I really do, and I’m so grateful that I carry all that with me.”

You look at the paper, change the page, and breathe. So you try once “I-“ and twice. “I- um…” a shaking breath sounds everywhere, reading the words, but you just can’t. “Sorry~” you're softly trying to laugh as you cry start, and you feel so stupid for breaking in front of a lot of people. No because it was bad, everybody there cried before you, but not because of the same thing.

“I love you!” You didn’t know who it was, but you smiled and responded with a really quiet and shaking'me too', giving you time to breathe as everybody laughed, and the atmosphere eased.

“Okay.” You say more to yourself, but you have a mic on your mouth, of course. “I didn’t write this part alone. Kija he… he is my twin, so of course he was with me in all of this story, but when he got sick and we were writing this months ago, he told me that I didn’t mention him in all this because it was going to be about me, not him… he’s kinda dumb.” 

You laugh, trying not to tear up. You were holding the next tears, but like, fighting demons and everything to not cry. You, for real, didn’t want to cry in front of all those people. Your voice was obviously trapped in your chest, and it was shaking, but you couldn't do anything but breathe. You just have to be quick. 

“But he told me that he wanted to tell you both that he and I were very proud to have seen you grow together, hate each other together, and deny that you liked each other together and today, for me, seeing you two married means a lot. I adore you two with all my heart. Congratulations, and I know you’re going to do a great job. I'm sure Kija would have done a better job telling him in person, but I'm here for him, so you know. He would- have loved to come, I have no doubt. Be happy, please, and no babies yet; I’m not ready.”

You didn’t remember anything after that, which means two things:

One, you need to calm down because two, you weren’t fine.

You remember the hug, and a few words both of them told you, and all the looks people gave you just after that, full of sadness and compassion (which was the first thing that made you want to run away). And at the party, you dance because you enjoy it, and you feel a little better, but people stop you all the time to give you their condolences because “they didn’t know”.

The cake was cut, the presentation was done, and you could only come back to the moment when you had your first drink of whiskey, and your body told you that it wasn’t a good idea. Your heart was fast in your chest, that would only make it worse with alcohol.

You need to breathe.

 

“Sorry, what?!”

 

You scream behind the music. Some girl named Hwan stopped you. (It came right at the beginning, when Seun was next to you, and you were pretending to listen to how she had recently graduated. Poor girl, honestly, she looks kind and lovely.) with two glasses of tequila and some salt in her hand. 

“My friend!” She said. “I lost him, so take this!”

 And then:

“Hurry! I have to go for more before they run out!” You were too agitated for this. This is a bad idea ___. “c’mon c’mon honey!”

Your hands were tingling, your breathing was short, and you were afraid. You had tried to go to the bathroom, but it was full, and it was even more claustrophobic than all those people. Right next to it, there were some stairs that you assumed went up to the balconies that surrounded the place. You were very grateful that it was high, enough to encapsulate the music on the floor below, and you heard it as if you were listening from a glass.

Or was it you? 

You leaned on the railing and began to sweat. You closed your eyes, trying to calm down little by little, to look for things to think about, to feel something other than fear and anguish at the same time, but it was impossible, completely, and that made you even more desperate. You were breathing as if you had just run for two hours non-stop, and there came a point where your legs couldn't support your body. You couldn't feel your hands, cried a lot, trying to catch air, moaned in terror.

“please please please… stop just-“

You were trying not to faint, you were on the edge of a high place, and it was now dark for those below. It was when you felt like you really couldn't do anything. That you tried to stand back in case your body gave way forward, and it wasn't more dangerous when you felt hands on your stomach directly and the warmth of a body behind you.

A warm feeling that felt like burning on a straight fire

“Easy~ here,” you heard, far away from you, just like the music in a glass. The only thing that told you that he was literally glued to you was his touch. “Can you feel my hand?” You didn't respond, trying to run away. You didn’t want to be touched. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. If you want to feel better, you have to answer me, okay?”

“Hmm” a moan full of pain, was not even an answer.

“Okay?” They asked again. This time you nodded and felt the hand move on your stomach, the fingers more than anything, like playing a piano. Soft, but rough at the same time. “Can you feel it?” Your two hands were placed on his in an attempt to find support; you couldn't feel your legs, and after giving him an affirmative answer with your head, you complained again, your head was about to explode. “Move my hand with your stomach as you breathe.” And you did. Erratic and desperate “That’s good, but try it slower. Focus on moving it, not on breathing.”

“I- I ca-“

"Yes, you can. You do it every day; come on.”

You know, you just didn’t want to be there.

You try your best to move his hand. It was hard because you were sobbing, and trying your best to not think too much. So you closed your eyes, exhausted, and concentrated on the warmth that the stranger was giving you and the hold that, while at first it felt overwhelming and suffocating, now it helped. You felt stronger, even though you were about to faint.

So you moved the hand, and it worked.

“Good~ breathe.”

The air filled your lungs little by little, your head began to quiet, and the music entered your ears at a decent volume considering how far you were from the ground. Your hands were cold, they were shaking, but you could move them, and you still couldn't feel your legs, but you could hear the trembling of your breathing and how your nervous system was trying to regulate itself, blocking your crying in your chest.

You were exhausted, god, you would sleep there if you could.

“Better?”

And then you realize.

 

You know that voice.

 

It was soft, deep, and in your ear. So close that if you turned to see him, both of you would collide. His hands were bigger than they used to be and softer to the touch, pale on your baby blue dress, no scrapes like you used to heal, he’s no longer biting his nails.

‘Shit’

“Don’t touch me.” You said. He tense.

“If I let you go, you will fall. You're not even holding yourself up.”

He was right. And you hate it.

“What are you doing here.”

Your voice sounded agitated, almost like a whisper. You still didn't dare open your eyes; your eyelids were heavy, and the fear of facing him so close made you delirious. Even though you had your back turned to him, you felt him snort.

“God. You’re welcome?” You clung tighter to his hand. It's just that you got dizzy, and he held you when he felt you give way to the left. “I should ask that. You almost passed out on the railing, idiot, that's… fucked up.”

He calls you an idiot? You were too weak to call him something worse.

So you only say "sorry." Instead, letting him go finally, and you tried to stand up by yourself, but you wobbled

“Okay, okay, please don’t. I’m gonna…” His hands took place on your hips to guide you to some chairs in the corner, which you didn't see at first, of course. You weren't sure if his touch hurt more now that you were more conscious or before, when you were overstimulated. Felt the same, honestly. “Be careful, they look old.” You walked as he commanded, and once you sat down, you heard him say something you couldn't decipher. You finally opened your eyes to ask, but there was no sign of anyone.

Sighing, you rested your head in your hands and closed your eyes again. You didn't know if you were still dizzy and weak or if you felt that way because you were already drunk. They both make sense to you.

You heard noise after a few seconds and looked up. Finally, Yoongi's silhouette appeared in the hallway, he had things in his hands, and he was looking at the glass of water, concentrating so that nothing would fall on the floor.

“I’m definitely too drunk for this.”

This can't be happening to you. Could not.

“I put ice on it, so you can chew. It will help.”

His voice sounded unfriendly to what he was saying. Not angry or indifferent, but rather nervous and tense, as if he were speaking by opening his mouth a little, trying to make you believe that it was no a big deal, as always, but his nervousness didn't allow him to fool you. You raised your eyes to look at his, and he turned them away once you brought them together. You tried to hide a smile as you received the glass. Of course, he couldn't look you in the eyes. He cleared his throat, finally watching you receive the water, trembling in your hold. He tries to hold it from below in case you drop it.

You took a sip.

“Your makeup is smudged.”

Of course. You must have been looking stupid.

“What is that?"

He was offering you something, like toilet paper, but softer on a package. You couldn't see very well, it was just white.

“I’m not really sure.” He confesses. “I take them from the bathroom. They’re damp.”

You touch it with two of your fingers, just to not be rude, honestly.

“Thanks, but I can’t really see myself here.” There was no mirror, and if there was, it was dark. The only lights there were those on the dance floor, which were colored and did not shine directly on the place you two were having this... moment. “I don’t really care though, I’m living soon anyway”

He didn't insist, putting the package in his pocket. You maintained a silence that would have been more awkward if the music downstairs wasn't on, and if you didn't have anything to chew at that moment. Neither of you dared to look at each other, or start a conversation because it wasn't even enough for something cordial. You didn't have the strength to get up and run away, but just when you were going to tell him that you were okay, and he could leave, he took something out of his pocket.

Now you are invested.

“You mind if I smoke?”

You looked at him from there, taking time to process the information. You shook your head slightly, maybe even confused, but there was no point in being.

“Can you even smoke here?”

The place was big but closed, you didn't know if it was allowed.

“I doubt it.”

“Since when do you smoke?” You dared to ask.

“I don’t.”

No, because he hates the smell. His mother has smoked since ever. Yoongi hates that the smell gets stuck in everything and everywhere. No matter how much his mother smoked outside the house, he always ended up with his school clothes smelling like cigarettes. It was inevitable. He always complained.

There you were watching him right now, right in profile, blowing smoke from his cigarette as if he did it every day, even though he said he doesn't. Arms resting on the railing, well-dressed, looking anywhere but at you.

You wanted to stop assuming that this Yoongi was the same one who had left years ago. Because you didn't know, you were both two completely new people, total strangers who knew nothing about each other, yet, you wanted to think that, if that were the case, he would have already left. He usually walks away from what he doesn't care about or doesn't like, that's what he did with you when he left, because that's how you felt. It was nice to believe that he was now there himself because he wanted to be, but it didn't help you to think about it, not now. Just because he was there didn't mean he was back in your life, and as silly as it sounded, your brain didn't understand that. It was your job to stop him from believing something like that.

You chew ice.

“I don’t want to ruin the party for you. Go ahead.” Your voice is still dumb. He was watching the people dancing from there, now he was looking at you, smoking the cigarette between his fingers without understanding what you meant. “I’m feeling better, you can go.”

“Okay.” He directed his body directly towards you. Unintentionally intimidating. “Do you want me to go?”

His presence made you anxious.

“Yes. But if I’m honest, I don’t really want to be alone right now.” He hums. “But I have seven siblings, and all of them are downstairs right now. I can call any of them.”

“They will scold you for not saying anything and me for not seeking help.”

“I know.” He looked at you, quietly. “I just don’t want to... keep you here. Have some fun.”

He shook his head, looking away.

“It’s okay. I was here first, drinking. Then you came. You scared me.”

You blink a few times. “You’ve spent all the night in here?”

“Most of it.” You followed his eyes down on the first floor, full of people. You could see everything from there. If you focused on one person, you could easily track them. “Enough to watch you dance and get drunk.”

“Creep.” He smiles a little.

“That’s why I wasn’t sure it was you. I went to get my whiskey, and I swear I saw you two minutes before taking a shot of tequila. I thought you were just drunk.”

You frowned, settling into the couch. You felt genuinely bad.

“Now I’m scared. For real.”

“Not intentional. I can literally watch my brother kiss Eun from here every five minutes, even if I don’t want to.” Yoongi plays with his ice, then drinks the rest in one go.

You gulped.

Thinking about it more was counterproductive for your mental health, you knew it, you understood it, it was practically self-sabotage, but right now, you gave yourself perhaps ten seconds to admire the beauty that Min Yoongi carried all by himself.

He looked so different, and everything that had changed elevated his beauty to places... god. You had met at a very young age too, in years, you could also say that you had changed enough to be mentioned at some point by a family member who hadn't seen you in a while, for example. You are an adult now, but it was impressive.

To think that you stopped seeing Yoongi right when he was being built into an idol says a lot. Everything about him looked expensive and well cared for, his soft hair, smooth skin, long eyelashes, immaculate hands, as if they were not obliged to do anything that would harm them. How his throat moved as the drink passed into his system, the lack of reaction of his features despite being strong, and having drunk almost half of the short glass.

The feeling that rose to your stomach made you come back, and from well-being, it turned into discomfort in your chest. He was there, he looked so attractive, and you couldn't do anything.

You couldn’t hug him, tell him how much you missed him and hit him nonstop because even when you’re still so into him, you were hurt too, and this situation was so out of your hands.

“I’d liked your speech. It was good.”

You wanted to tell him that you hadn't done it alone, but why would you do that? You didn't answer.

“You’re still writing?”

This time, you denied it almost instinctively. The truth is, you didn't want to give additional information to, in a way, a stranger, but you had already screwed up. “No. A long time ago I-“ stopped when you left, but of course you kept quiet.

When it was about Yoongi and whether you thought about the young you who loved that person in front of you so much and how dependent you were on someone who didn't care how you felt, it made you feel so stupid. And it didn't really make sense because you were young and inexperienced, and you had an important bond, so of course you will be hurt, you had more compassion than resentment. But still,

“-just don’t do it anymore.”

You didn't want to feel that weak again. He nodded.

“Why haven't you left if you don't want to be here?” You changed the topic. You weren't looking at him, but you felt his attention return to you, and he responded with his silence, then you looked up, and he avoided you again. “You're still not a party guy?” He didn't respond again, knowing that you knew the answer, so you smiled. “Yeah, you weren't either back then.” You say that just for yourself.

“I want to, though. Hyung it’s happy, and I haven't seen my family in a long time. My dad told me he was waiting for my wedding too. I stayed so maybe the event convinced me.”

“Your dad?” He nodded in disbelief as well. “That doesn’t sound like your dad. And also, the event?” A snort left your mouth as he looked at you, nodding. “ I don’t think it’s just about the event, you know?”

“Yeah. He told me that too.”

You laughed this time. You like that men.

“That doesn’t sound like him either.”

“I know.”

You missed Yoongi’s parents. They were so different from yours.

“You were, I remember.”

“What.”

“A party person. I always went with you and watched you dance because I didn't like it. Then we would leave late and buy ice cream at the convenience store downtown because you always craved some.” You nodded, trying to manage the pain that the memory caused you. “I've never seen you cry in one before.”

You played with the ice that was left, because the question was not directly a question, it was more of a mention, perhaps so as not to ignore what just happened. He knew you wouldn't answer and that you shouldn't either. You wrinkled your nose, uncomfortable.

“Where do you learn all of it?”

 

Containment, you meant.

 

“Hm.” He took a second. “These ten years have been interesting.” A laugh, and you try your best again. “I saw a member of our staff do it to Jungkook once, the first time. We were very young, but I’ve never forgotten it in case it happened again. It happened a couple of times after that, so I… know.”

And it's as if the anguish you had come back to you once you touched where his hands were for the first time in 10 years, and you had to close your eyes just because you felt upset. You didn't want to be there, you remembered. Not only because you didn't want to see him, but because you didn't feel well, and you put him over your emotions again.

Fucking hell.

“Your brother it’s looking for you.” You nodded, opening your eyes slightly.

“Of course he is…” you murmured, overwhelmed, trying to stand up. But you were feeling bad again, so you waited a little.

“Do you want me to-“

“No.”

You didn't know why you were so angry all of a sudden. Your heart was beating again, you started to feel warm even though the place was quite cold because of how big it was, and you were actually grateful that they cared about you, but you had spent all those months feeling like a burden to others.

You tried not to cause too many problems, you didn't want that kind of attention, especially after having been living alone, away from your family for so long, to live with them again. You went from making your own food to your mother having to sit next to you so you could eat something. From leaving early to work to not even knowing what time it was. From calling them to tell them good things, to having to pretend to sleep so as not to receive questions you didn't want to answer. You couldn't take care of yourself, it was something that you were having a hard time facing, because you wanted to do it, to be well so as not to be the burden of your family, but the pain you had was still just as big, and heavy, and it enveloped your entire chest. Squeezing. It didn't let you swallow, speak, cry, or breathe.

You were crying again. This time in silence, you didn't care that Yoongi was watching you in silence too, not knowing what to do.

"Where's the… dump thing you bought.”

He reacted a little slowly but quickly, searching for it, taking it out of his jacket pocket. You nodded.

“Can you clean my face, please? I don’t want to look like this when he finds me, and he will if I go to the bathroom right now.”

That one seemed to get him out of somewhere, because it did take him longer to process the information. He was standing with the towels in his hand and blinking, almost like a cat, a confused one. He didn't say anything, and you didn't think you had said anything wrong, so you got scared, and you wondered if maybe you, in fact, said something wrong.

“I can try, though. You don’t-“

“I’ll do it.”

He sits on the coffee table in front of you. You can smell his strong and manly cologne, and if you raised your eyes to his face enough, you could see him up close, closer than you had for many years again. Older, smelling that way, his marked features but you didn't. Of course not.

You close your eyes.

The two of you were silent, and it took you a few minutes to begin to feel the softness with which he ran over your face, the left side of your cheek, extremely light, almost afraid to touch you. You opened your eyes, and he wasn't looking where he was supposed to clean.

He looked at your face, carefully, perhaps making sure it was really you who was in front of him. He stopped his hand when your eyes connected, and it lasted only a few seconds, but you felt so much tension that you even doubted if it was wrong for you to pretend as if you didn't have things to talk about, before having any kind of contact. Whatever it was.

After that, he looked at you with pity.

The last one that night, you decide.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You were stronger than him when it came to holding a gaze. He has always been the first to escape, which is why your gaze was very intense, heavy, and powerful. You could do it because you felt it was the most honest way to know if someone could handle you.

“Sorry.”

Yoongi had never been able to look at you for more than five seconds.

He resumed his work with the same smoothness. The music returned to your ears, and you returned to your place, to your life, to the now and to how your body was screaming to get out of there. You closed your eyes, chest tight and hands tense, trying to control their shaking.

You have bigger things to cry about right now than this. You had done it for a long time now; you had no more tears to cry for Min Yoongi, no reason to be nervous anymore, and no reason why you couldn't live in peace anymore.

“I’m sorry about Kija.” His voice was smooth, almost lullaby. He sounds nervous too, and just because of that, your response was also automatic. If it had been genuine, you would have had another panic attack right there.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

‘You are grieving. Don't expect anything better. Let us help you’

 

They were all grieving too.

 

“And I’m sorry I wasn’t- I didn’t know.”

There. Was there when you wanted to scream and punch him so hard enough to make him feel guilty.

“What do you mean.” To be honest, it doesn't even surprise you. You sensed it, but you had the small hope that he saw it… at least. “I texted you. Jae- he give me your number. I was waiting for you at his funeral.”

“Y/N…”

“It’s okay.”

 

You said instead. Yoongi looked terrified.

 

“I-“ he cut himself. “…was-“

You take his hand softly, stopping him. “It’s okay, Yoongi.”

“Wait.” One of his hands is on your wrist, preventing you from getting up. You didn't feel good, but you would do anything to get out of there. Still, you sat back down because you didn’t expect it.

“I’m sorry.”

 

Three.

 

The only thing you could hear was your heart beating; everything went quiet, and the words went away, an echo.

“It’s” You were far enough away to miss his scent or to see his new appearance. It was as if he disappeared into the darkness. “okay.”

And it was okay, not because that was exactly how it was, but because it didn't matter. It was okay because it didn't matter if he responded or not, he didn't have to. You were the one who was doing wrong by continuing to trust someone who had already failed you many times, and now you were choosing not to fall for anything sure.

It was okay, because there was no important bond that bonded you two, and allowed you to do bad things where there was nothing good to destroy.

And it was okay, because you simply didn't want to continue having him in front of you, talking about one of the most important people in your life, and seeing how he looked at you with pity. So it was okay.

 

But Yoongi had said sorry three times that day, and he hadn't been able to genuinely fix any of them.

—————————•。・. ゜・。_______________

teaser masterlist two

—————————•。・. ゜・。_______________

[afewfantasies]

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Prologue

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Misc references & details

Summary:  Set after the events of the war Gale and Lorena are recovering from what they thought life would be and their new realities. Gale and Lorena were deeply in love with their respective significant others before the war, they had big dreams and grand plans for their futures together. Only it was not to be. Gale turns into a bit of a recluse and takes to a Lakeside retreat in the mountains away from city life when things with Marge don’t go as planned. After a hard breakup and subsequent divorce from her husband Lorena ends up at Gale’s retreat looking for work and a place to stay. This is an angsty fic that follows the themes of love, loss and recovering from trauma. 

Pairing: Gale Cleven (MOTA Austin Butler) x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings:  Race is a factor but there will be no overwhelmingly racist outbursts. It is more so a discovery element and explorations, different worlds, a little forbidden love element.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love, angst

--------------------------------Prologue----------------------------------

It had happened so fast, the war that had changed everything. The war that broke men, women and children. That forced people so far away from lives of relative peace into lives of rations, scarcity and pain. Lorena had been married then before the call for men had happened. Happily married. Reggie was the reason she drew breath and she the reason he existed.  They’d been a loving couple, they were young beautiful, happy, full of life with the brightest of futures. They were on everybody’s list of dinner party guests. They shared hearty laughs and passionate nights and if anyone could have bet on a couple that would have made it, it would have been them.

Only it wasn’t to be.

Wars change even the best of men, after the first year Lorena’s dedication to writing daily never wained. She held everything inside, pouring her heart over the pages and keeping him informed. In month nine Reggie’s letters became less frequent, she felt the distance in the passages, in the reduced length of each reply and the heat fading from every I love you.

The news reports only confirmed that the boys were enduring a shellacking unlike anything known to men. Meetings with the other wives lessened as time passed as well. Some of their husbands had returned home broken. Missing limbs, too far gone to continue the good fight.  With each influx of broken men it seemed the women around her only broke more and more. Sadness became a close friend and like many of the others Lorena picked up the habit of a cigarette and some whisky to lull her her sleep at night. Her home also became a refuge for those wives whose husbands returned as violent strangers, trained and efficient at killing.

Year two Reggies letters slowed to a few times a month. Still Lorena maintained her frequency as a good wife should. Her proclamations of love more and more sincere as she recalled their fondest times together in her memories and she yearned for him to return safely. His safety was paramount. She was ready for the war to be over, for her love to return and for a fresh start. The two years had withered her, her hands had become warn from the loss of their housekeeper. Her dresses worn in from their repeated use and the lack of funds and seamstresses. It also felt frivolous to spend on dresses without the person she wanted to admire her in them.

Her journals pages filled with her inner thoughts and the feelings too desperate to be shares, her hopes, fears and suspicions. Carmen Kloss’ husband had called her another woman’s name in the throes of passion. When he came back to reality and saw his wife he left their marital bed to cry outside.  After an awful row Carmen discovered that there was another woman, a laundress stationed near him while he was recovering from wounds. There was an affair and a child on the way until she was killed by a bombardment. Now they lived in the same house with a Great Wall of distance between them no better than strangers. Long gone were the two people who cared for each other tremendously.

Heartbreak was all around. Still Lorena put it away and when the ships arrived after victory had returned she was hysterical to have her man return whole and of sound mind. Reggie had held her so tight, he stared all day and night like she was this elusive creature, like she would disappear and he’d wake up to find himself in a dream if he dared looking away. It was good for the first month until a letter came in the post. A perfumed letter. That night he’d come to bed and fell asleep without holding her. He began smoking more, all of a sudden he was full of stress and exhaustion. The ruse was gone the more people came to look for him. It was clear to Lorena that there was a tremendous amount of life that she would never become privy to. Conversation became far and few until the flame was all but extinguished. Somehow the pain of him present but so far way hurt more then his time away at war. Her heart knew it was another woman when he finally seemed to breathe at the arrival of her letters.

“I won’t hold an affair against you if it was what you needed to survive the war and feel comfort” she said finally breaking the silence between them. His head fell with shame immediately confirming her every suspicion.

“Lo” he said.

“You don’t have to explain, I just need you to be here. To want to be here and to love me” she whispered.

“I do want you Lorena” he’d responded voice cracking. 

Therein lied the conflict. His heart was split but not as hers was.

“I love you Lorena, I’ll always love you” he said with commitment. He had, it was true. At least it had been once, she was sure of it. It was in the way he walked, talked and looked at her but now that warmth was reserved for when he was penning replies to his wartime lover’s letters.

His words said one things and his actions another. The other husbands looked at her differently as she entered dinner parties, the wives looked at her with empathy instead of longing jealousy. It was clear and when the younger version of her walked through the doors of the banquet hall and his eyes lit up it was all the heartbreak she would take. She walked seven miles back to the house in her heels and dress. She had asked god to bring him back whole and sane and the lord had answered the prayers. The man she loved with everything in her was alive and well and she could be thankful for that. As much as her heart and feet ached that night she could not hate him or the other woman for being the reason they’d survived the war. All the killing, bloodshed and loss was something she could never imagine. He was still all she needed but the distance was too much and Lorena could no longer stomach it. Stomach knowing what a night of passion was like with her husband who could only now drape an arm around her sparing a few chaste kisses a week. The man who’d been adamant about trying for a child as soon as he returned but couldn’t get the deed done anymore.

It wasn’t lack of kindness of affection, his tone was still loving and his touches gentle, he was still a considerate husband. He was still far better than most but there was an absence of that unmistakable spark that existed between them that had once burned bright. He’d arrived home to her cleaning her bloody feet riddled with concern. Lorena refused all his questions on what happened. He’d cleaned the scars diligently. He was attentive to her every breath. That night he’d held her close concerned for her well being. She spent an hour in the bathroom crying in the shower.

“Reggie, I know you love me but I know you’re in love with her and I cannot in good conscience stay here when you’ve been through enough anguish and deserve to be truly happy.” Her words broke him. The tears that flow were only confirmation she’d never seen him cry, she couldn’t shed a tear or he’d never leave and remained committed to his vows. It would be a tragedy she could never survive. Lorena was strong but she could never be that strong. She refused the house and all of its valuables taking two cases of tattered dresses and garments and a sac of other keepsakes dear to her. In the matter of hours she’d gone from a well kept wife who’d never done a day of labour in her 25 years to a homeless divorcee. 

Her plan was simple, drive as far as the car could take her on her savings, find a place to stay and respectable work. The rest would have to follow. Her parents would only cause scandal and exasperate the situation between her and Reggie. The last thing she wanted was chatter surrounding her failed marriage while her heart was on the mend.

Author's Note: Very different from Feyd's Blade, ik ik, but the hopelessness in the soldiers eyes during the prison camp scenes of masters of the air pulled at my heart strings and so I needed to write about that return to normal. Gale is in the next part.

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Trevor Zegras Edition (Nine)

23-34 Season Masterlist

previous: eight

this might be the shortest one yet i’m so sorry

NOVEMBER 5, 2023

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, and 19,639 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: THE COMEBACK QUACKS STRIKE AGAIN edition!

my duckies gave the golden whores their first regulation loss of the season!!! THAT'S MY BOYS!! LEAVE THEM IN RUINS! the first two periods were agonizing, but the boys came through in the third, as they do! WE HAVE WON SIX GAMES IN A ROW! WE MAY NEVER LOSE AGAIN!

you know what else made a comeback? trevor's streak since his last penalty! he was the default criminal again for the too many men penalty, but legally my baby daddy is at one whole game since his last penalty! good job, sweet boy!

i’d like to make a special shoutout to minty! he got his first ever nhl penalty tonight for hooking! we were all confused though because... it did not look like a hook... minty's confusion was captured in the ninth pic! whatever the case, congratulations! so proud! i hope you loved your trophy!

trevor, you look cute as fuck in the second picture. i’m literally so in love with you and obsessed with you and i can't wait to cling on to you tonight because good GOD i love to see you in those purple jerseys! i love you, always, sweet boy💜

tagged trevorzegras and mintyukov_10

view all 144 comments

jackhughes i love you, forever, soulmate❤️

yourusername i love you, too, soulmate but WOULD YOU STOP DOING THIS?!

jackhughes no <3

trevorzegras @/jackhughes i miss you

jackhughes @/trevorzegras i miss you more

colecaufield @/trevorzegras i miss you the most

trevorzegras @/colecaufield i miss YOU the most

jackhughes @/trevorzegras you cheating scumbag!

colecaufield @/jackhughes stay mad

yourusername @/trevorzegras stop flirting with your boy toys and come love ME

trevorzegras @/yourusername one second, dear

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras do i mean nothing to you?

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale you mean everything to me

yourusername @/taryntkachuk i will pay for your plane ticket to come hang out with me since trevor has THREE BOYFRIENDS

taryntkachuk @/yourusername after my season ends i’m all yours, babe ;)

trevorzegras @/yourusername well played

trevorzegras I LOVE YOU, FOREVER💜

yourusername too little too late, trevor!

trevorzegras so no head?

_quinnhughes why? just why?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i saw my opportunity and i took it

yourusername @/trevorzegras beautifully done. 11/10. you can have head

jamie.drysdale THERE COULD BE CHILDREN PRESENT

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale that is not on me

user7 sissy and trevor: ceos of grossing their best friends out

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras do you vacation in the penalty box?

trevorzegras why? are you looking for a time share?

jackhughes HA

yourusername POINT TREVOR

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras that was good, i have to admit

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes thank you, thank you, i’m here all your life

_quinnhughes unfortunately

jackhughes point quinn!

user16 penalty box? more like trevor's box

jamie.drysdale dibs on cuddling z first

yourusername i will hold you a nerf gun point

jamie.drysdale you have a tendency of losing our nerf gun wars, little miss

yourusername i will bite you

jamie.drysdale that's not new

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale she's feral right now i wouldn't test her

jamie.drysdale @/trevorzegras her pregnancy hormones are tearing our love apart😭

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale you're making a terrible case for being a god father with that comment, drysdale

colecaufield @/yourusername YOU'RE ONLY HAVING TWO BABIES! WHO IS UP FOR GOD FATHER DEBATE?!

_alexturcotte @/yourusername you mean to tell me that your two best friends aren't automatically god fathers?

trevorzegras @/colecaufield @_alexturcotte there's more to this than just who have we known the longest!

yourusername @/colecaufield @_alexturcotte whoever doesn't get a baby can have luke

jackhughes @/yourusername @/trevorzegras i still get to be an uncle, right?

yourusername @/jackhughes unfortunately

trevorzegras point y/n!

user39 return of the slut in the seventh pic! we love to see it

mintyukov_10 thank you, y/n! i love you, too! and i love my first penalty trophy almost as much as my first goal trophy

yourusername you are ever so welcome my little peppermint!

trevorzegras you caught on quick to my girl's nonsense, minty!! atta boy!

leocarlssoon @/trevorzegras i gave my fellow rookies the run down

yourusername @/leocarlssoon this is why you're my favorite son! i love you🧡

leocarlssoon @/yourusername i love you, too, mom!

lhughes_06 @/yourusername this blatant favoritism is just cruel at this point

edwards.73 @/yourusername we deserve love, too, mom!

yourusername @/lhughes_06 @/edwards.73 i love the rest of my sons equally! i didn't raise you to be whiny! get over it!

trevorzegras @/yourusername what if we have a boy? or two?

yourusername @/trevorzegras then the rest of my sons will be dead to me

mintyukov_10 that seems reasonable

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user11 HE'S SO BABYGIRL AH

colecaufield ceo of trying his best!

yourusername stop bullying my mans!

trevorzegras i’ll pop off just you wait

yourusername yeah you will!! give em the old razzle dazzle!!

colecaufield @/trevorzegras i believe in you!

trevorzegras @/colecaufield ceo of making me blush!

yourusername @/taryntkachuk is your season over yet?

taryntkachuk @/yourusername after the championships! i’ll save you soon, i promise <3

[writing-house-of-m]

Connect... 4?

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You spend a fun day in, with Wanda, Billy and Tommy

A/N: I found this request really difficult to find inspiration for, lucky for me @nameforthemain came to my rescue (thank you mate!) The request can be found here. Comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

Prompt: “I can’t believe you said that, you take that back.”

It is summer break for Billy and Tommy so you and Wanda booked time off from avenging to spend it with your kids.

Petting zoos, amusement parks, museums, you have done it all. Because it has been an action packed few weeks it was decided you would spend a few relaxing days at home.

If you could call it that.

For a while all of you played with different toys then various board games together, four player games which then switched to two vs two games, changing partners every so often.

That was until you and Wanda got to the game you were currently playing. The children have been long forgotten as you concentrate on the puzzle sitting between the two of you.

You have spent long minutes staring at the different combinations in front of you while your fingers play with a red counter piece.

"It's not rocket science honey, just put in your piece and get ready to lose," Wanda lets out a cocky remark.

You look up at her with an unimpressed look.

Wanda, the mother of your children, your wife, the light of your life, is going down. There is no way you are going to lose this.

Looking back at the rows before you, you go back to your planning. Finally you drop a piece into an empty column.

Wanda chuckles and immediately plays her turn blocking your planned potential four-in-a-row.

You squint your eyes and raise a brow at her. A smirk is playing on her lips which you don't understand because she has never been good at this game, where is this confidence coming from?

Something is definitely not right.

The game continues and the board slowly fills up, it isn't looking good for you. If Wanda doesn't make a mistake then she will win when you inevitably have to play a piece into a column that will give her the win.

And that is exactly what happens.

You sigh, a sour look on your face when you slide in that final counter, then turn away like that will stop your loss.

Before the red plastic you drop in even hits the empty frame below it Wanda is already placing her yellow piece in the same line. "I win!" She cheers with her arms in the air, hands stretched out.

"There's no way, you definitely cheated," you accuse.

"I can’t believe you said that, you take that back!" Wanda exclaims.

"No," you mock in a murmur crossing your arms over your chest side eying her..

Billy hears the commotion and moves away from his lego to ask, "What are you two arguing about?"

"Just about how your mom is a cheater," you say.

Wanda lets out a gasp, "No I am not!" She exasperates and throws a counter at you which you catch.

"Are you allowed to use your powers, mom? Because I saw your eyes turn red when you were waiting for your turn," he says easily.

With wide eyes you turn to Wanda, "I knew it!"

Wanda sighs and tries not to smile at getting caught out.

"Thank you son!" You exclaim, standing from sitting on the floor. Billy goggles when you lift him in the air excitedly, "A witness to corroborate my suspicions!"

When Tommy sees this he runs over with his arms up saying he wants a turn at being thrown in the air.

"Billy, I can't believe you. I thought we were friends," Wanda pouts.

"But mom you're the one who tells us to do the right thing," Billy says while you and Tommy, who is resting on your hip in your arm, nod your heads agreeing.

With no leg to stand on Wanda shakes her head in shame and confirms he is right. She can't go against that logic.

"Because mom cheated and therefore lost," you say smugly, putting Tommy down onto the ground. "I think she should bake us some cookies. Right, boys?"

"Yes!" "Alright!" They agree in unison.

"I have a better idea, how about we make them together," Wanda suggests.

"You're right, that is a better idea. This is why you're the boss," you agree and place a chaste kiss to Wanda's lips. "First one down gets to eat the chocolate chips!" You shout and immediately run to the kitchen leaving the rest of your family in the dust.

Bill and Tommy run off shortly after claiming you always do this and it is unfair while Wanda is left, laughing at your escapades.

With Wanda alone in the room, she rubs at her stomach and speaks down to it, "I think it's time to tell them this family is going to get a little bigger, don't you?" There is a little flutter in her stomach which she takes as a response to her question when really it is probably her own excitement.

She smiles as she strolls to the noise she can hear in the kitchen, most likely disagreements over the chocolate chips you are probably holding out of the boys' reach.

Wanda thinks it is time for her to step in and ban anyone else from eating any more chocolate then make some 'cheat free' cookies for her family.

[absurdthirst]

Religious Corruption: No Sweeter Innocence

Professor!Dave York x Virgin!F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 27.8k

Warnings: Religion kink, corruption kink, innocence kink, age gap, unbalanced power dynamic, grooming (?), professor/student relationship, blasphemy, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), panty kink, exhibitionist kink(?), oral sex (make receiving), filthiness with rosary beads, desecration of Holy spaces, daddy kink, baby/little girl pet names, spanking, orgasm denial, loss of virginity, explicit photo without consent, vaginal sex, cum swallowing, mentions of analingus, face sitting, pussy spanking, unprotected sex, angst, heartbreak, controlling parents, arranged marriage, children, mentions of pregnancy.

Comments: Incoming freshmen are innocent, especially at St. Brennans Catholic College. Religious Studies with a handsome professor proves distracting. A man who enjoys your innocence and has every intention of corrupting you.

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

!!Additional Warning!! - There are themes in this fic that might be disturbing to some. Religion/Power Dynamics/Age Gap - consume at your own risk.

|| MasterList || Religious Corruption MasterList ||

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You brush the front of your blazer and fix the hemline of your skirt. Fighting the temptation to check with a ruler that it’s at least two inches before the knees as required.

It had been a long summer, and you were ready to start your first year at college and dive into your classes.

And whilst St. Brennans Catholic College wasn’t your first choice, you knew your parents were making the right one by insisting you went there. Following in their footsteps and hopefully meeting your future husband in bible study as your parents did many years before.

A new year. Fresh minds to educate, to mould. Dave watches with an amused eye as nervous students file into his lecture hall, skittish and unused to the freedoms that they are now experiencing. Some of them are away from home and hearth for the first time. Narrowing his gaze on a few as he predicts who will be the troublemakers and who will ultimately drop the class before midterms.

You shuffle into the hall with your head buried in the textbook you had been instructed to buy for this class.

Religious Studies with Professor D. York. 

You take the first seat you can find and settle down as comfortably as you can, before reaching into your bag and pulling out your notebook and pencil case. The sound of shoes scuffing against the polished hardwood floor makes you shudder, before the sound of a throat being cleared echoes throughout the hall. And that’s when you look up and see him.

The first day of class is always daunting for some, exciting for others. It's always interesting to see who falls into which category. The ones that are already prepared make him smirk slightly, twisting to point back at the large whiteboard the department had insisted on replacing his chalk board with. "This is Religious Studies and I am Dave York." He announces in a clear voice, wanting those on the back row to hear him. "If you are not supposed to be here, leave now." Silence amplifies the shuffling of papers and the creaking of chairs as they all try to get comfortable. 

"Good." He huffs, clicking on the projector so that the introduction slide comes up. "My office hours are Monday through-"

You listen as he starts to talk and you feel a flood of guilt course through your veins as you find yourself focusing less on what he’s saying and more on the way his broad shoulders strain the material of his shirt.

You feel your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you force your eyes away from his frame,  and that’s when he catches your line of sight. You’re not sure if you imagined it or not but you swore he was looking deep into your soul and you could feel the moment your heart stuttered in your chest. And then he simply cleared his throat, looked away and continued on…

Leaving you sitting there flustered and unaware of if you imagined the whole thing. Your eyes flicker around the room as you try to gauge if anyone was looking at you or seemed just as taken back as you currently were.

But everyone was either staring directly at him or desperately scrambling to note down every world that was spilling out of his mouth.

Dave smirks slightly, watching her squirm in her seat, sensing immediately that she's innocent. Perfect and untouched. Her flustered expression amuses him and he can imagine those eyes wide and glassy as she looks up at him, leaning into his hand at her jaw. 

"Everyone fill out your survey that is at your seat. It's that you remember to put your school email not whatever gmail - 'pimp4life' account you use." There is a nervous round of chuckling and he lifts a brow. "I'm serious. That was one student's email that he wanted to use. Needless to say, he transferred out."

You write down your assigned email address as neatly as you can. Focusing on anything and everything but the man stood in front of you and the other 50 people in your class. 

‘Shoot’ you think to yourself as you realise that you’re going to be spending 2 hours a day 5 times a week in this room staring at him.

Dave drones on, talking about the course material and the syllabus, watching as some students frantically scribble and others are lost to the haze of realising ‘how much work’ is involved with college. Still, his eyes come back to her. Watching, assessing.

Every time he looks in your direction, you swear you can feel him everywhere. The intense gaze of his eyes seems to burrow under your skin and spread throughout your body.

You try to ignore the way you feel a pulse down there, but the more he looks your way the stronger it grows.

You gently clutch at the cross draped around your neck and silently chide yourself and will yourself to be a good girl.

She’s the one. Dave hums to himself when he sees her flutter her lashes and look down at the paper in front of her. Close enough that he can see the way her thighs squeeze together. “We’re going to start out with the seven deadly sins.” He announces with a grin. “Starting with everyone’s favourite. Lust.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the word lingers in the air ‘lust,’ that's exactly what this is you tell yourself.

Just a silly school girl crush. You’re in a new town filled with people you don’t know and this is just a silly little crush that you’ll be over by next period.

The rest of the time goes smoothly, his eyes flickering back to her several more times as he lectures. He checks his watch and sighs. “For tonight. Your homework -“ he holds up his hand as a collective groan rolls through the room. “Your assignment is to write about what you think lust is. Give an example of it. A book, a movie - not 50 Shades of Grey. Give me good examples of displays of lust.” He raises his voice higher to be heard as people start to shuffle.

You feel heat rise in your chest as he announces the assignment. ‘An example of a display of lust’… “Shit,” you mutter under your breath before internally scolding yourself for cursing. How could you possibly turn in this assignment when you’ve never in your life seen a movie that wasn’t ‘G’ or ‘PG’ rated. 

Every reading material you’ve ever read has been approved of by your parents and the parental controls on your cell phone have prevented you from ever accidentally stumbling across something you shouldn’t.

“If you have any questions or concerns, stop by my office in Eaton Hall.” Dave reminds them as the bell rings and he watches the mass of bodies swell towards the door.

You quickly gather up your things but not before jotting down the location of his office in your diary.

He hadn’t shared his school email address with the class yet, so you’d have to swing by and ask him for it. You allow yourself one last glance in his direction before heading to the door, by the end of next period you’ll be laughing at yourself for being so affected by him.

Your next class goes by a lot smoother, you really like your English literature professor and you even consider going down and asking for her suggestions on some material that could help for Professor York’s assignment before deciding otherwise. 

And ultimately you decide to skip swinging by his office as well.  Instead you make your way to the school library. You’re more than capable of finding something with a good example of ‘lust’ in the library.  You don’t need your parents approval, you can simply go in and find something appropriate with a steamy kiss.

*

You find yourself pulling at your blazer as you stand outside his office, ‘what was I thinking?’ you think to yourself after your failed visit to the library.

A book with a ‘good example of lust’ in a library of a privately owned catholic college? You take a deep breath before finally knocking on the large wooden door in front of you, the plaque bearing his name right in your eye line as you do so.

“Come in.” Dave calls, reading through the scriptures that he had pulled for the lecture. Looking up, there’s an immense sense of satisfaction in seeing you poke your head through the door. “Come in.” He waves his hand to motion you inside.

“Hello, Professor York,” you manage to stutter out. You purposely avoid making eye contact with him and instead find yourself focusing on the large wooden globe situated at the end of his desk, “I was hoping to get your email address, I have a few things that I need to discuss with you in regards to the assignment you set earlier.”

You continue to tug on the sleeve of your blazer, the feeling of his dark eyes burn into you sending a shiver down your spine.

“Sit down.” His nostrils flare slightly but he looks welcoming and he leans towards you over his desk. “What are your concerns?” He asks, reaching for a card with his email address and phone numbers on it to push across the grain of the wood.

“Oh, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” you shrug before giving him a shy smile, “I can just email you.”

“Sit.” His voice deepens slightly, taking on a sterner tone. The smile makes his cock twitch but he ignores it for now.

You nod your head and take a seat, making sure to cross your legs as tightly as you can as you do so. “I am just… unsure of what material to use for your assignment,” you say, your voice thick with innocence as you attempt to keep your composure. 

You stare down at your hands that are resting in your lap, “I-uh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything and I’ve never read anything that would be suitable… and we didn’t have cable growing up so I can’t think of a TV show either.”

Dave’s eyes widen slightly and he hums as he leans back in his chair. Perfect. “Sheltered, hmm?” He asks, tilting his head. “You never read or watched anything when you slept over at someone’s house?”

“I wasn’t allowed to have or go to slumber parties,” you admit with a shrug, “My parents had me lead bible study at weekends.”

His eye twitches and his hand flexes slightly. “Nothing at all.” He muses to himself and his eyes drag up and down your frame as he watches you.

You feel yourself growing more and more embarrassed as he stares down at you. “Maybe you could suggest something? I have two free periods after lunch so I could go to the bookstore or rent a movie?”

His lips curl up slightly and he lifts a brow at your brashness. Not what he expected from the daughter of the cloth. “I can lend you something.” He decides, pushing his chair back from the desk and standing to move past you to the bookshelf that lines the northern wall of his office.

“Thank you,” you mumble as you watch him approach the bookshelf, he’s quiet and he picks up a few books, studies them before putting them back down. Slowly he turns around and looks you up and down with a smirk spreading across his face.

Rubbing the cover of the book, he walks over to you to lean on the edge of his desk and hands it to you. “This should be familiar to you.” He offers, watching as you take the book and read the cover.

You read the title out loud and shake your head, “I’m sorry, sir, I’ve never read this one,” you say innocently.

He chuckles before reaching out and turning the book in your hands and you whisper the title out loud “The Art of Masturbation.”

“The concept. Not the book itself.” Dave huffs, amused at how you are pressing your knees together and your fingers fidget around the spine of the book.

“I-uh, I…” you stammer before shaking your head and thrusting the book back towards him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I don’t know about any of that.”

“Well I’ll be…” Dave breaks off the curse, his entire body lighting up and he pushes the book back towards you. “Take it back to your room and read it.” He insists, his voice low as he rumbles out the words.

Your fingers linger in mid air for a few seconds as you contemplate rejecting his offer and asking for something different, but the way he looks at you, stirs something up inside of you that makes you want to please him. So you reach out and you take it, giving him a soft smile and an appreciative ‘thank you’.

Dave watches you for another moment and nods. “Do you have any more questions?” He asks you softly.

“No thank you,” you say before putting the book and his business card in your backpack, “Thank you again. I’ll read it tonight.”

You stand up and walk to the door, reaching for the handle before he calls your name. You turn around and blink innocently at him. “Bring the book back tomorrow during office hours.” He tells you, pinning you with another stare.

“Yes, sir,” you reply with a nod, giving him another polite smile before slinking out of the door.

The second the door closes behind you, you let out the inhale you didn’t realize you were holding in. You slowly pull on the straps of your backpack, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that everyone somehow knows what’s nestled in there. 

You walk as fast as you can back to your dorm, deciding that you’ll just make a sandwich once you’re home and feeling grateful that you have no more classes until tomorrow.

Dave watches the door long after you’ve gone. He had pulled your introduction paper as soon as you had dropped it on his desk after the lecture and looked at your file. Learning that you were the daughter of clergy. Not Catholic of course, but you had been raised in the church. So it makes sense that you are as innocent as you appear. Which makes you exactly what he’s looking for.

The moment you get back into your dorm, you free yourself of your backpack and go straight towards your mini fridge. Pulling out a water and the ingredients to fix yourself a sandwich. 

Armed with your water and your sandwich you make your way towards your bed, your eyes immediately landing on your backpack.

You make yourself comfortable and pull open your bag, reaching in and pulling out the book Professor York had just loaned you and you slowly open the cover. Taking a deep breath before reading the first page.

*

Dave waits for you to come into the classroom, sensing when someone opens the door and files inside. Eyes flickering over to see if it’s you before looking back down at his lesson notes. He wants to see your reaction, to see how you had absorbed the book he had given you.

You watch every step you take as you enter the room, making your way towards the same seat you had been sitting in 24 hours before. 

Reaching down you pull out your notebook and pencil case from your backpack, your fingertips grazing the book he’d loaned you as you do so and you find yourself whipping your head around to make sure no one could see into you bag and see the material that had made you drip your arousal into your panties.

The book that has made you push your fingers into your plain white cotton panties and press them against that spot that you know you shouldn’t touch, lingering there for a few seconds before you came to your senses and pulled it away. Hearing the sound of your mother telling you that ‘the lord is always watching’ ring out continuously in your ears as you attempt to push away the guilt.

There’s a sense of extreme satisfaction in your demure, flustered appearance today. His cock is half hard as he imagines you touching yourself while reading. Or maybe you had put the book away and huddled under your covers while you had your hand in your panties. Wondering if they are wet right now. Clearing his throat, he gathers the class’s attention. “What is lust?” He asks, looking around expectantly.

“What is lust?” His words feel like a punch to the throat. 

You find yourself sinking into your seat, desperate to shrink yourself and finding yourself praying to the lord he doesn’t call on you.

It's your second day of college and you feel as though you’ve committed more sin in the past 24 hours than you have in your whole life.

‘What is lust?’ you think again to yourself. Lust is staring at the wide expanse of your professors shoulders and wanting nothing more than to feel the warm skin that covers them. Lust is wanting to put the same lips you use dutifully in prayer on his and taste his mouth. Lust is wanting to put the same hands that you use to recite the rosary on the beads you carry everywhere with you on his body. Lust is sitting in a room full of people and feeling the small damp patch on your panties grow larger and wetter as the seconds tick by.

No one answers the question so Dave continues. “The dictionary defines lust as a ‘very strong sexual desire’.” He lectures. “But what does religion tell us about lust?”

“It’s a sin,” someone calls out from behind you and you fight the urge to chuckle.

“In most western religions, yes.” Dave answers, chuckling slightly. “But why Is it a sin? Can anyone answer that? According to the Bible?”

“It’s immoral,” you answer, surprising yourself as the sound of your own voice fills the room, “It defiles you. Leads you towards the temptations that strip you of your virtue, the ones that can make you impure.”

“Virtue, purity, defilement.” Dave hums looking around the hall and waiting for anyone else to pitch their theories. “Lust is a sin because it is selfish. It is greedy.” He lectures. “To lust is to solely focus on the desires of you alone.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat as you start to scribble down his words. You desperately avoid looking directly at him and you find yourself squeezing your thighs  together so tightly that it hurts. ‘Why would he start with this?’ you think. It feels like a form of torture.

“Sexual desire is natural, so what is the difference between lust and attraction?” Dave poses, watching you bend over your notebook and write furiously. “Because if attraction is the same as lust, we are all damned.”

You look up from your notepad and find your eyes immediately burning into his. A heat floods your body as you feel your breath hitch.

It’s only the second day, and you’re so screwed.

The lecture goes on, Dave posing questions, encouraging the class to engage. To talk and debate. Still he watches you, enjoying the way that your breathing hitches and your eyes widen every time he looks at you. He continues on until the bell rings. “Turn in the papers on my desk!” He calls out.

You steady your breath as you walk down the stairs towards his desk, placing the paper upside on the already large stack on his desk. You sneak a glance at him engaging in conversation with another student before following the rest of your peers out of the room.

Your next class is only a few minutes from the lecture hall he teaches in so you make a beeline towards the bathrooms, hastily slamming the door behind you and heading into the first empty stall.

You cringe as you see your slick coating your thighs, and hastily clean yourself up the best you can before heading over to the sink and splashing cold water on your face.

“Pull yourself together,” you murmur into the mirror before heading out to your next class. In just over an hour you’ll need to swing by his office and return his book and you’re determined to not let him show how much he affects you.

Dave sits in his office, waiting. He’s read through the papers and some of them are laughable, making him wonder what kind of education these kids receive. He’s always argued against sheltering, because they are unprepared when they step out into the world. An oxymoron when he stops to think about it. 

Dave likes innocence. Loves it.  Craves corrupting it like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Enjoys the moulding of someone pure and innocent and exposing them to pleasure. It was a sin, yes, but he wasn’t a priest. 

Your paper was saved for last. Savouring it as he reads your innocent words. Imagining you writing them while your panties are getting wet. You had shifted today and he had seen a flash of white. The symbol of purity and chastity. Making him imagine them covered in your sweet arousal as you rub your thighs together in class. 

Reaching down, he adjusts his cock, pushing his erection under his waistband. Looking at the clock, he smirks when there is a timid knock. “Enter.”

You push away the anxiety rising in your chest as you reach down to touch the brass doorknob and slowly begin to turn it.

You don’t make eye contact with him, instead you immediately pull your backpack off your shoulders and start to rummage through it and pull out the book he had loaned you. 

You take a few tentative steps towards his large oak desk and place the book down and slide it towards him, “Thank you, Sir,” you say before looking up at him, “I hope the essay was up to your standard.”

Dave looks at the book and then he slides his eyes up your body to look into yours. Embarrassment and shame shine in them, like a beacon to anyone who knows what to look for. His brow lifts and he taps the cover. “Did you find anything useful in there?” He asks huskily.

You take a small step backwards and give him a slight nod, “Yes, Professor York,” you say quietly before thanking him for loaning you the book.

He huffs, shaking his head and leans back in his chair, rocking it slightly. “Call me Dave.” He orders. “You can talk to me about anything here. You had said you are…sheltered.”

“I-uh, grew up in the church,” you say before pulling on your sleeve, “My father is a clergyman and my Mom met him through bible study here at St Brennans.”

You sit down on the seat next to you and continue pulling at your sleeves, “Hard not to be sheltered when your parents don’t let you think for yourself.”

“Hmmmm.” Dave nods, aware of your background and he tilts his head down so that he looks at you from under his lids. “And after reading the book last night, did you touch yourself?”

You feel heat rising in your cheeks at his question, the urge to run for the door and back to your dorm flooded through you before you finally gave a noncommittal shrug.

With your eyes focusing solely on your hands in your lap and your voice barely higher than a whisper you reply, “I… I tried.”

“You….tried…” Dave huffs and shakes his head, enjoying your frustration. He waits a beat and lets you stew. “Spread your legs. Right now.” He orders you. “Show me your panties.”

A shocked giggle falls from your lips, “Sorry?” you ask, convinced you must have misheard what he said… there is no way.

Dave huffs again, leaning forward and bracing his arm on his desk. “Show. Me. Your. Panties.” He orders slowly. “Now.” He can tell you heard him the first time, but he’s enjoying the way your eyes widen with shock. No one has ever told you to spread your legs before and he likes that.

You know he heard it, the way your breath hitched before you swallowed hard. You don’t know why but you can’t bring yourself to say no to this man, all you want to do is please him. 

So you slowly reach down and wrap your fingertips down on your hemline, slowly pulling up your regulated uniform skirt, inch by inch.

His eyes darken, pupils expanding as you slip your skirt up over your skin. Revealing the innocent white of the plain cotton panties. “Spread your legs.” He orders, voice deeper - almost growling.

You immediately comply, your hands coming down and resting on your thighs as you pray he can’t see the damp patch on your panties.

You feel yourself squirm against the seat as your professor silently stares at you from across his desk.

His cock presses against his trousers and he breathes out slowly, feeling the tension mounting in the room as you wait for him to react. “You’re wet, aren’t you, little girl?”

The word gets lodged in your throat and you can only just bring yourself to nod. Heat courses through your veins as you get more and more flustered under his stare.

“Mmmhmmm.” Dave lets the silence settle, listening to you breathe. Letting you watch him stare at your panties, imagining the sweet, untouched cunt underneath. He wonders if you shave or trim. Probably think it’s sinful to do so. His eyes flicker back up to your wide ones. “Come here.”

A shaky breath fills the room as you slowly stand up, the material of your skirt falling back down beneath your knees as you take a very slow step towards him. Each step feels heavy with anticipation as you round his desk and make your way in front of him.

“Good girl.” He can see the way that your skin is raised in goosebumps and he turns in his chair to face you, to let you see the bulge in his slacks where he is straining against them. “Since you couldn’t finish yourself-“ Dave smirks and glances down at your now covered panties. “Do you want me to show you how? To touch yourself, how you should be touched?” He asks softly. “To see how you should be creaming those panties of yours?”

Your thighs press tightly against each other as you squeeze your eyes shut. Each word dripping from his mouth seems to go straight to that bundle of nerves that you briefly touched last night.

His words replay over in your head, as a whole bunch more from other people crash into the forefront of your brain, ‘satan's doorbell… god is ALWAYS watching… it’s a test from the lord himself, one he gave us all to see if we could resist temptation and remain on the path with the righteous…’

You were a good girl, you knew what path your parents expected you to take and you knew that you were at this specific college for a specific reason but you couldn’t help it, the word drifted from your lips so effortlessly, it put up no resistance and it bounced off the walls so perfectly, “yes.”

Exhaling slowly, a grin of triumph crosses his face, reaching out slowly and taking hold of your side to pull you towards him. Spreading his legs wide to let you step between them, he savours the moment. Right now you are still innocent. Never having felt the touch of a man and it will be him that touches you. “Good girl.” He groans. “I’m going to teach you to enjoy it. It’s going to feel so good, baby girl. Show me your panties again.”

You begin to inch up your skirt again, quicker this time, your hands trembling with nerves as you bunch the plaid material up just above the little pink bow on the front of your panties.

Dave hums, his fingers sliding over your waist to grip it and he leans forward, pressing his aquiline nose against your untouched cunt and inhales, drinking in the scent of your arousal.

You gasp as you feel the heat of his breath coat your panties, your hands grip the edge of his desk as you attempt to hold yourself still. 

You look down at him and see his eyes burning up into yours as a devilish smirk engulfs his face, without another word he takes a deep inhale.

“Innocent.” He murmurs to himself. “You should always wear white panties.” He says louder, sliding his finger along the edge. “Only white.”

“I would do anything you say,” you reply, lost in the haze and the spell he has you under.

For the first time in your life, you are letting the want that you had become an expert in repressing free. Your mouth wasn’t echoing the words that had been placed there by other people, it was freeing the ‘yeses’ and the soft sweet noises that always threatened to choke you as you swallowed them down dry.

Dave is pleased, turning you around and pulling you down onto his lap. Letting the hardness of his cock press against your ass. “Good girl.” He coos into your ear, hands sliding up your thighs. “Open for me, little girl. Let daddy rub your clit for you.”

You’re so pliant for him, and you let him mould your body onto his. You feel yourself flush when you feel the hardness of his cock against your ass, you wonder what it looks like… whether he’ll show you or tell you to touch it.

You spread your legs and bury your teeth into your bottom lip as his fingers brush against the waistband of your panties.

“Hmmm so warm.” He teases, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He knows you’ve stared at his hands, he watched you today in class. So you are visualising it as your eyes close. “Ah, ah, ah.” He chides. “Eyes open for daddy, little girl. You enjoy me touching your little pussy.”

You open your eyes and look down at his fingers pushing into your panties, your legs widening as he pushes lower. Arousal is dripping out of your slit and down your legs and part of you is nervous about how he’ll react to just how wet you already are.

Dave groans into your ear, fingers sliding through your shorter curls and he cups your cunt possessively, feeling how you soak his palm. Your little mewl of bewilderment and pleasure spurs him on. “You should have called me last night.” He whispers into your ear, circling your folds with his finger. “I would have shown you then so you didn’t have to go to bed so worked up. Poor, innocent thing. Daddy would have taken care of you.”

Words continue to fail you as soft moans slip out through your pretty mouth, you can’t put into words how good it feels but you know you never want him to stop. 

You never knew it could feel this good, you had allowed yourself to gently press your fingers across your clit a few times but it never felt this good.

Dave moans in your ear when he finally touches your clit. That responsive little button that makes you jump in his arms and a soft moan pour out of your lips. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He hums, his hand moving your panties as he starts rubbing your clit.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper as he lights the most delicious flame in your core, his thick digits getting to know your body better than you do, better than you ever have.

“I’m not going to.” He chuckles in your ear. “Not until this pussy is spasming for me. Cumming all over these panties.”

Your hips start rocking as his fingers rub perfect circles into your clit, your neck rolls back as pleasure pumps throughout your whole body. You feel your nipples harden and your pelvic muscles clench as he continues his delicious assault on your body. 

“Please,” you start to murmur over and over again, not quite surely what you’re begging for but finding yourself unable to stop.

“Shhhhhhh shhhhhh.” Dave shushes you, knowing that the school wouldn’t be happy if he was found with his hand in a student’s panties. Although that was some of the thrill. “Just let daddy take care of you. You’re gonna cum, sweet girl. All over my hand, aren’t you? Your pussy’s gonna feel so good.”

His finger presses harder, makes tighter circles and he wants to cup your tits but there’s time for that later. He’ll show you how to play with your tits and soak your panties from playing with your nipples alone. He has so many plans for you.

You feel something glorious build inside of you, it’s almost overwhelming but at the same time you want more. The metallic taste of blood floods your tastebuds and you dig your teeth so hard into your lower lip that it draws blood.

He plays your body so effortlessly, ripping pleasure from you like it was what he was made to do. Soft whimpers escape you and the sound of his fingers rubbing against yours soaking wet pussy fills the room. 

“Do you hear that?” he grunts in your ear and you just moan his name in response, “Daaave.”

His pace on your clit becomes faster and faster as your moans become breathier and breathier, “Oh my G—” you start to gasp, but he grabs you by the jaw and silences you, gritting in your ear that the only person's name you’re allowed to moan is his.

Dave watches you, keeping his fingers moving over your clit. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks harshly.

You whimper a small moan in response, feeling the band you didn’t know that existed inside of you grow more and more taunt; the band ready to snap inside of you.

And then he stops… “Use. Your. Words.” He punches out in short sharp breaths.

“Yes sir,” You moan out, ready to beg him to move his fingers again.

Dave waits a few beats, letting you calm down to the point where he will have to wind you up again. You whimper and he chuckles, starting to rub your clit again slowly.

Your thighs start to shake, and you start to tremble as you chant his name. “I’m gon- I think- I” you stutter out before your body begins to convulse, his words become incoherent as white explodes behind your eyes and pleasure rips throughout your body.

His fingers keep rubbing those perfect circles into you as you come down from your high, the overstimulation makes you wince and you place your hand over the top of his, “Dave,” you murmur, unsure what you’re trying to say.

His cock is throbbing against your ass and he hums, finally taking mercy on you and pulling his fingers out of your panties. His finger is coated in your slick and he smirks, knowing you will be scandalized when he tastes you.

You watch with wide eyes as he sinks his fingers that are dripping with your arousal in his mouth. ‘Oh’ you mumble as he closes his eyes as he sucks every last drop of your arousal clean from his fingers.

“How do I taste?” you whisper as he opens his eyes and slowly removes his fingers with a loud pop.

“Sweet.” Dave smirks, sliding his hand back into your panties to gather more. “Like honey. Do you want to taste, little girl? Taste your own pussy?”

You shake your head, “I-uh- I should go.”

Frowning, Dave pulls back slightly and pins you with a searching stare. “You don’t have to go.” He is annoyed that you want to leave and his hand cups your cunt again. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, looking away from and trying to keep the shame that’s threatening to consume you at bay, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Dave huffs, pulling his hand out of your panties and he drops his other from your waist. “Fine.” His tone drops flat, no emotion in it.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur as you scramble to your feet.

Dave calls your name sharply. Watching as you slowly turn around and face him. Mortification is written on your face and he lifts a brow. “Leave your panties.”

“What?” you choke out, “What do you mean?” you feel yourself getting flustered under his stare, “I have my first bible study in a half hour… I don’t have time to go back to my dorm and get another pair.” 

“Then go without.” Dave tells you, smirking slightly.

“You want me to… to give you my panties?” you ask again.

“Yes.” He frowns at you. “Are you having a hard time understanding me? Take off your panties and put them in my hand.”

You nod your head a few times before hiking up your skirt and gripping on the waistband of your panties, your fingers linger against the elastic for a few seconds before you begin to roll them down past your thighs and push them down until they pool at your feet. You step out of them and quickly bend down to collect them, your fingers brushing against the damp patch as you begin walking back over to Dave and placing them in his outstretched hand.

“Good girl.” Dave coos, rubbing his thumb over the wet spot and looking down to see the cream you’ve smeared over the liner. “Now you can go.”

“Oh-okay,” you stutter as you stumble towards the door, “Goodbye Mr Yo— Dave.”

You close the door behind you, and you swallow hard. Trying not to draw any attention to yourself as you make your way through the busy hall and onto your bible study session.

The urge to keep walking past the door as you approach the library that your study is being held in boils in your tummy, but you figure that it’s best not to miss your first session. So you brush down your uniform and plaster your kindest smile across your face as you make your way over to the table that has your study group number on it.

A few students are already sitting on the table, engaging in small talk as you approach. You wait until they’ve finished chatting before telling them your name and taking a seat. Pressing your legs together as tightly as you can as you pull your chair under the table. 

The session goes by pretty quickly. One of the girls insisted that everyone share their favourite passages and then quizzed them as to why. You fight the urge to roll your eyes at her, you recognize her as the overeager girl from Professor York's class.

You say your goodbyes as the session nears an end but not before scribbling down the proposed date of your next meeting.

Just as you start to head out you hear her call your name and this time you do roll your eyes.

“You’re in Professor York's class right?” she asks whilst looking you up and down, “He’s a little… intense, right? I heard that as the weeks go on the amount of people that survive his teaching method gets smaller and smaller.”

“Oh,” you reply, attempting to sound interested, “Good to know I guess.” 

“Yeah,” she says with a smirk, “I just think sometimes it’s best for certain people to drop out before it becomes clear when a professor is clearly too… blunt for what they can handle. Just some friendly advice. See you Friday.”

You scoff at her as she pushes on ahead of you and you shake your head thankful the day is over and feeling ready to get back to your dorm, eat dinner and have an early night. 

It has been an interesting day to say the least.

*

Dave picks up his phone, reaching up to take his reading glasses off and give his eyes a break as he sees the notification from a number already programmed into his phone. Your number. 

Opening the text, he smirks. It’s a picture. One that was obviously taken by someone who isn’t used to shoving a phone between their thighs. A skirt is rolled up, showing off the wet and glistening lips of a sweet pussy, clit engorged. Groaning, Dave reaches down and palms his cock, knowing he will jerk off to it later. 

Fingers hovering over the keyboard to text back, he pauses. You had disappointed him today. So there will be no reply to the pretty little picture he got.

*

You wake with a groan, you had spent half the night tossing and turning and checking your phone to see if you had a response to the phone you made the rash decision to send. 

You didn’t get one last night and the only notification on your display was a text from Mom with some random bible quote on a sunset background.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to wallow in the guilt that kept attempting to rear its ugly head and you knew that by responding to her message that you wouldn’t be able to repress those feelings, so you elected to ignore it and get ready for a shower.

The breakfast hall was bustling, you were running late after having an extra long shower and made the decision to swing by and grab a to go coffee and muffin to fuel you until lunch.

For the second time in your life you were fighting the urge to skip, yesterday bible study and today Dave's lecture.

It was clear he wasn’t happy with you after leaving yesterday, and the lack of response to the photograph makes you think that he wasn’t impressed with that either.

Dave wonders what you are thinking, what you are doing, as he gathers his papers from his office to make his way across campus to his lecture hall. Stepping out into the hall and pulling the door closed, he has his key in the lock. “Professor York!” He groans to himself as the sound of the perky and high pitched voice of the blonde in the same class as you. “Professor York, so glad I caught you!”

Turning, Dave plasters a smile on his face. Trying to place a name to her and blanking for a few moments before it comes to him. “Deandra Hall, right?” Her giggle makes him nearly roll his eyes but he lets himself seem happy in her response. “What can I do for you?”

“I have a few questions that I was hoping to get answers for before your lecture today.” The laughably coy attempt to flutter her lashes at him is almost insulting but Dave is struck by inspiration. 

“Walk with me to class and we can talk.” He suggests, finishing locking the door to his office and slipping the key into his pocket. If this goes well, he should be in for an entertaining class today.

*

You sip your coffee as you round the corner on your way to class, keeping the pace with your fellow peers and trying to remain cool about seeing Dave for the first time since the… incident.

And then you spot them. 

Dave and little miss ‘friendly advice’ walking together, clearly engaged in conversation and it makes you feel sick. She makes no effort to conceal the way she’s batting her eyelashes at him, her hand resting on his arm as they walk into the room together.

You linger for a few moments before deciding to enter the lecture hall, hoping that the room was already filling up with your classmates and he’d be addressing everyone and not still engaging in chat with… her.

Dave knows the moment you walk in, but he doesn’t look up. Making it appear like he is engaged in a very involved conversation. Even though he is barely able to keep himself from asking her to go to her seat. 

She’s flirting. He realised that about five seconds after they had started walking to the lecture hall. She has a crush on him and is trying to figure out how to get close. 

He’s not interested. At all. The only reason he was still talking to her is because it would be rude to cut her off when she’s asking questions about class. That and to see how you react.

Jealousy is not a feeling that you’re used to. You’d grown accustomed to the fact that some things were just not meant for you. At a young age you’d learned that there was no point crying over not receiving the barbie doll that you’d been eyeing up in the store on Christmas day because that’s how life worked. Sure it stung when you were the only girl in your class not able to join in with the games they played but you learned to keep envy locked away in a box. 

But you could feel the way it burned on your face, the green eyed monster that you were sure you had locked up in a box with the key nowhere to ever be found; had not only made an appearance but had twisted itself around you and made itself well known from the expression on your face alone.

So you made the decision to sit in a different spot than you had in the past few days and hoped the cover of darkness would mean that Professor York wouldn’t be able to see how irritated you were.

Throughout the lesson you sat and stewed, wondering if you really had any right to be jealous at all, as he’d never offered you anything other than an orgasm. One he gave to you in the most spectacular fashion, but you don’t know what this is, you weren’t even sure if this was something at all.

Dave smiles after he suggests that Deandra takes her seat, finally getting her to shut up for a moment and looks around the hall. 

At first he doesn’t spot you, the seat you had chosen empty and he rocks his jaw before he looks up towards the back. Finding you huddled into a corner and staring down at your notebook like it was the focus of your ire. Good.

“Envy.” He announces loudly, making your head pop up. “Tell me about it.”

You groan and sink down into your seat, ‘Of course,’ you think to yourself as you start scribbling in your notebook.

The room starts to fill with the sounds of multiple students offering up their answers and examples.

Dave is amused looking around the room and noticing how you will not look up. Someone is jealous. 

“Envy comes in many forms. Coveting or greatly desiring someone’s possession. Even their time.” He lectures. “Being jealous of your friend or boyfriend spending time with others is envy.” He smirks as he looks at the shocked faces around the lecture hall as they absorb that information.

You refuse to look up, you refuse to give him a prime example of envy by the expression etched across your face alone. ‘Is it too late to transfer to another class?’ you think to yourself as he engages in a back and forth with a student about why they’re convincing envy with something else.

“Deandra, you have something to add?” Dave barely keeps from rolling his eyes at the insistent girl waving her arm to be recognized like she is still in grade-school, but he acknowledges her.

“Yes, Professor,” she remarks and you can hear the smugness in her voice, “Envy can manifest itself in many ways. Jealousy being most common… like someone maybe noticing an obvious attraction between two peo—” he cuts her off with a shake of his head and asks the class for an example that hasn’t already been shared.

He looks around, eyes settling on you and he calls your name. You have barely looked up but now every head in the hall turns towards you. “You had some good insight with lust.” He says mildly. “What are your thoughts on envy?”

He knows you know what he is doing and there is a challenge in his eyes as he waits.

“I-uh, well.. it’s a sin… obviously,” you say after staring at him silently for a few seconds, “But it’s also an emotion. Something we are all capable of expressing and in my personal opinion the hardest of the sins to not commit. We are not always in charge of how we are feeling and how others make us feel.” You put an emphasis behind the word and end the sentence by slightly raising your eyebrow.

After a few seconds of silence, you decide to add a final thought… “But my personal honest thoughts on envy? I don’t believe something we are unable to control, like an emotion, should be considered a sin.”

“Interesting.” Dave praises, nodding in agreement as he holds eye contact with you for another moment before looking around the hall. “Everyone agree? Envy is an emotion that is uncontrollable?”

“No,” comes out of the shrillest voice in the room, “I disagree, Professor York. If we all exhibit the restraint the Lord has blessed us with, we can control anything.”

You scoff loudly, and feel every eye in the room find its way on you, “Really, Deandra? You think that you can pray away emotional responses?”

Dave tsks, shaking his head. “Even thinking about it would be considered a sin by the scriptures, wouldn’t you agree? So involuntarily the sin is committed.”

“We all sin.” Deandra intones piously. “The point is that we should strive to realise that none of us belong to this place. We are of God.”

You roll your eyes at her righteousness and take a little bit too much enjoyment in Dave’s obvious lack of patience with her.

“Except no one can be God.” Dave reminds her. “To suggest that is blasphemy and sin itself. We are discussing these things now to have a better understanding later on in the semester. Not to start tallying ‘Hail Marys’ in confession.”

‘No one can be God’… his words repeat in your head over and over as your mind drifts back to what he did to you less than 24 hours ago.

You suppress a chuckle as you look down at the man in front of you. He’s right. ‘No one can be a God’, but he’s taught you that people are capable of making you feel godly things. 

During the remainder of the lesson and the way you hear him discuss sin with such nonchalance, you realise that he’s definitely not a God fearing man.

And this realisation makes you fear that he’s capable of things that’ll make you test your faith in the man himself. And with all the discussion of sin going on around you, you think that might be the biggest sin you could ever commit.

The lecture winds down and Dave grins when he notices the range of emotions on the faces of his students. Making them think beyond Bible verses or catechisms is what he is paid to do, although he pushes the boundaries of what the college had in mind when they created his department. “Tonight, your assignment is to write about envy. Personal experience and what you did about it.”

You scribble down the assignment, you weren’t sure what you were going to write, but you had a feeling that you could cook something up without going to him for help this time.

Still you linger for a few moments after your classmates start to exit the hall. Hoping that he’ll call you down for a talk, maybe discuss the photo from last night… or touch you again. But he doesn’t, you watch as he doesn’t throw a second glance in your direction and simply walks out.

Dave can feel your eyes on his back as he walks out. Wondering if he will get a visit from you during office hours but he doubts it. He’s sure you will be stubborn  and he hums to himself as he swings his keys in his hand. He would rather have you in his lap again, making another mess of your panties while he makes you cum.

*

The rest of the day goes by in a bit of a blur, you had two double periods and you made the effort to eat at the cafeteria rather than alone before popping out to buy some essentials and a few bits to make your dorm feel a little more homely. 

You finally make it back to your room and immediately get to work on a few assignments, purposely leaving the one for Professor York's class until last.

With a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hand you open up your diary to the page with Dave’s assignment scribbled down. 

‘A personal experience with envy’ - you had many but it was the next part that you struggled with ‘and what you did about it.’

‘Mhmm,’ you sigh out loud as you recount a few times where you felt envious for a moment before you put it in that box and moved on. But that’s not what he’d want to hear. You know he’d find that boring, you know that he wouldn’t be impressed or he’d make you rewrite it. So you thought for a little longer, going as far to jot down a few ideas… maybe you could write about something you’d wanted to do? Before you stored it away. No. He’d see right through that. 

Your mind drifts back to him and how good he looked today, wearing a light grey suit; light enough that if you were to have been touched again by him that your arousal would have left an obvious wet patch on his pants.

'Ugh’, you grumble again. You think of the way your heart stopped when you saw him round that corner… and saw her obviously trying to gain his attention in more ways than just one… by batting her lashes and running her fingers up one of his arms as they walked together. 

You wonder if he’d touch her like he touched you yesterday, you wonder if he touched her instead of you today and you feel sick at the thought of it. You feel jealousy bubble up in your stomach and consume your entire body. 

‘Fuck,’ you curse as you slam the lid of your laptop down, ‘I wonder if she’d still be giving me friendly advice to drop out of his class if she knew…’

And that’s when it hits you. The little button of pleasure roaring to life with a pulse that you couldn’t ignore. 

You hitch your skirt up over your waist and start pulling your panties down without a second's hesitation, before you start desperately trying to mimic the movements he made on the day previous. It feels good, you can’t deny it, but it doesn’t feel as good as he made you feel.

‘Dave,’ you mumble as you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining it’s his thick digits playing that part of you so effortlessly and having you whimper and gasp for air as he pulls something glorious from you. And then you imagine her, stone faced and furious, sitting across his desk as he takes you to a whole new level of pleasure as she desperately tries to steal his attention from you.

“Good girl,” he’d whisper over and over in your ear, drowning out her incessant pleas for him to notice her with every drip of praise he covered you in. She’d only shut her mouth and get up and leave after realising you’re all that he can see, and after watching him clean his fingers with his tongue as you attempt to regain your composure after he makes you cum with a loud scream of his name.

…And that’s when a burst of hot white pleasure explodes behind your eyes, and for the first time ever, you’d reached completion with your own sinful hands.

You lay there for a few minutes listening to your own shaky breaths, before sitting up and pulling your laptop open; before you have time to change your mind you start to type out ‘a personal experience with envy’, one that would end up with your fingers dripping in arousal.

*

In his own home, Dave taps his pen against the stack of papers as he looks at his phone. Like he had predicted, you hadn’t shown up for office hours. Leaving him to look at the panties you had soiled yesterday and open his phone to look at the picture of your sweet little pussy again. 

His cock twitches as he imagines if you had come. Making you sit on his desk and spread your legs so he could taste you. Watch your eyes flutter while you have your pussy licked for the first time.  Pulling his aching cock out of his pants and watching your eyes widen in curiosity and fear. You would want to touch him but be resistant. 

Blowing out a breath, he snatches up the phone and starts typing. ‘No visual aids tonight?’

*

The sound of your phone buzzing on your nightstand makes you jump, you pick it up and your jaw drops at the notification on your homepage. 

You open the message and read it back a few times, contemplating what to say or whether to send him another picture. 

‘Didn’t think they were your thing.’ You punch back before hitting send.

Dave smirks, admiring the sass you seem to have with the impersonality of a phone between you. Chuckling, he types out a response. ‘Why would you think that?’

'Lack of response? You acting like it never happened? You flirting with Little Miss Southern Belle. Thought maybe she had stolen your attention... Should I keep going?’ You type back with a grin on your face.

Shaking his head, Dave feels the thrill of victory flooding his veins, making his cock even harder. ‘There’s jealousy in those words, little girl. And here I thought you would have come to me for help since you are a good girl.’

You scoff at his audacity. ‘For help? Do you mean for the essay that I have already completed?’

Part of you is tempted to take a photo of your glistening pussy, your cum has made your pussy lips and the tops of thighs shine. 

Just as you get ready to start spreading your legs to snap a shot for his eyes only, you see the text bubble appear on your screen.

‘Send it to me now.’

Dave sits back and unbuckles his belt, needing relief. His cock is throbbing and he’s got your panties laying on his desk, taunting him.

‘Dave, I haven’t edited it yet…’ you reply, a white lie but you’re not 100% sure you were actually ever going to hand this one in.

‘I don’t give a shit about grammar and spelling.’ Dave immediately sends back, eager to see your envy.

‘Oh,’ you groan before immediately attaching the file and sending it to him.

You’re unsure whether to switch off your phone and run from what you’ve done or be brave and wait out a reply… if one comes.

Dave smirks when his email pings and he sets his phone down to pick up his glasses. Wondering if you will squirm as you wait for his response.

Starting to read it his cock throbs, aching for relief as he visualises your words. Bringing the scene to life.

He gives in, pushing back from his desk just enough so he can pull his cock out and spits in his hand. Needing to find some relief since you will not come over and let him touch you like he wants.

‘What is taking so long?’ you think to yourself as the seconds stretch into minutes and time seemingly comes to a standstill.

Dave smirks as he sends the message to you. Wondering what you will think when you get the picture he had just taken, he stands up to go wash his hands.

‘Oh my,’ you mumble as you look at the picture on your screen.  The same thick digits that were pressed against you yesterday, covered in a pearly white liquid. ‘Is that your seed?’ you text back feeling slightly flushed. With a weird feeling in your stomach making want to taste the shiny liquid.,

Seed. He snorts when he reads the word and imagines how flustered you look right now. ‘Yes. It’s my cum. Or ‘seed’ as you call it. Had to jerk off thinking about your paper and looking at the picture of your pretty pussy.’

You feel heat flush in your face, ‘Can I see a photo of you? Your…?’ You type back quickly and wonder how he’ll react or if he’ll even reply.

He considers it. He really does. Even soft now that he’s cum, he’s still impressive as far as most men go. He can imagine you would gasp and wonder how he would look when he’s hard, but then he wants to see that. Wants to witness the curiosity being fulfilled. Instead of snapping a picture, Dave sends you a message back. ‘I’ll show you in person tomorrow. My office.’

‘Before or after class?’ you reply quickly, a little anxious that you sound overeager.

Smirking, Dave hesitates as he thinks about what would be best. ‘After. More time to….explore.’

‘See you then, Sir.’ You reply before plugging your phone into your charger and settling down to sleep.

*

The next morning, Dave dresses with care, shaving his face smooth and making sure that he had trimmed his pubic hair nearly. Knowing that you are going to see a man’s penis for the first time has him eager to get through the class and to his office hours. 

Humming to himself as he dresses and puts on his favourite cologne. He wonders if you slept last night or if you touched yourself again. He has no doubt that your paper was real. You had made yourself cum and he chuckles to himself. He will have to ask you which one you preferred. His fingers or yours.

*

The morning begins with a phone call from your Mom, guilt dripping from your face as you watch the phone ring out.

You promise yourself you’ll call your parents at the weekend before climbing out of bed and making your way to the showers. 

You make an extra effort this morning and whilst you may have been shielded from certain things, you know how to keep yourself tidy and fresh. You wonder if today he’ll touch you again, or if it’ll be your turn to touch him. 

You think about the pearly liquid from the photo he sent you and wonder how it feels… how it tastes before chiding yourself and throwing yourself into getting ready for the day. 

You remember what he said about the white panties and reach for a new pair, cotton with some frill around the edges.

*

Every morning Dave stops for coffee on his way to his lecture hall. The cart in the quad makes a roast that he enjoys and despite what people might think of him, he likes his coffee sweet. Three pumps vanilla, one pump salted caramel with sweet cream foam. He smirks to himself as he purchases another one for a lucky student and whistles as he walks through the hustling students.

The lecture hall is almost full when you arrive, you settle down in your original seat and get your things ready.

You glance around the room and notice that Professor York still hasn’t arrived.

You notice that a few seats near the front of the class are open and consider moving closer but don’t want to look too desperate, so you decide to stay where you are.

The room continues to fill as you wait for your professor to arrive, anticipation building up in your stomach as the seconds tick by.

Dave strolls into the lecture hall and sets the coffee cup directly in the middle of his desk and looks up at the students, making sure that he doesn’t make eye contact with you. 

“The first one who recites First Corinthians, Chapter 3 Verse 3 gets this coffee.” He tells the calls. “It’s exactly how I drink my coffee everyday and it’s delicious.”

About twelve hands including yours immediately shoot up, waiting for him to call on one of you. You watch as he scours the room, seemingly taking in everyone but you.

It’s tempting to call on Deandra, not because he actually wants to hear her voice but to watch you seethe in jealousy. In the end, he doesn’t and chooses a boy who looks like he’s probably never gotten laid before. “You- blue shirt, red hat. What’s your name?”

“Patrick,” he stutters before going ahead and attempting to recite the verse, Daves intense stare boring into him is enough to make him lose focus and fuck it up spectacularly.

You raise your hand again as Dave gives Patrick a small nod, and looks around for the next person to call on.

“You, third row.” He calls out to a pretty brunette. She’s not his type, but he’s pretty damn sure you don’t know what his type is. “Snoopy T-shirt.”

“Sarah,” she responds quickly, she perfectly recites the verse without so much as a stutter and you hate the way he immediately floods her with praise. Your stomach knotting at the way he calls her a good girl and inviting her out of her seat to collect her coffee. He says something so only she can hear and you feel blinded with jealousy.

“Does anyone understand what that means?” Dave asks, looking around the room and barely glancing at you before he’s on to another person.

You can’t help the way your mouth twists at him overlooking you for a second time, you’re certain he peered in your direction this time, so you’re unsure why he completely dismissed you.

“Anyone?” Dave looks disappointed in the class and tsks quietly. “Okay then, switching topics. Someone tell me their story of envy. We aren’t in confession, self reflection is good for the soul.”

You slowly lower your still raised hand as he looks around the room for people to offer up their stories and you know that there is no way you can share yours, so you sink down into your seat and start to second guess whether he wants to see you afterwards or not.

Dave calls on a boy who introduces himself as David, sounding proud of the fact that he has the same name as his professor. Boring Dave to death with a story about some action figure he had wanted as a boy that all of his friends got for Christmas but his own parents denied him and lectured him on Christmas Day for being disappointed or covetous. He had 'borrowed' the figure from a friend to play with after going back to school and it had caused him to be jealous and resentful. 

"Okay. Good story." This class is very sheltered and Dave reminds himself that he is supposed to be accepting of that fact. He moves into the other religious uses of envy throughout the Bible and other texts. The college doesn't like him teaching anything but Christianity at a Catholic college but it is used to reinforce the 'envy is bad' theory that he is teaching.

The rest of the class drags by unbelievably slowly, Dave seemingly boring himself as he recites and instructs people to read from the required textbooks now in front of you all.

You find yourself intensely watching the clock and rolling your eyes at how painfully slow it ticks by.

When you aren’t looking, Dave studies you. Watching as you try to concentrate but it’s clear that you are thinking about something else.

The butterflies in your tummy are getting harder and harder to ignore as the end of lesson approaches, he has gone out of his way to ignore you this whole lesson. ‘Maybe he’s changed his mind’ you think to yourself, maybe he wants someone more experienced.

The rest of the lesson is spent on a quick quiz and jotting down the texts Professor York expects us to memorise for tomorrow's lesson. He asks for the papers on envy to be turned in and seeing as you emailed yours, you didn’t have a physical copy to hand. You loiter for a few moments, noticing how he doesn’t even glance in the direction you’re in and you feel another stroke of unease flood through you.

Dave waits until you leave before he starts to gather up his papers, shoving them in the leather satchel he carries and quickly makes his way out of the lecture hall. Eager to get to his office and have you arrive.

You don’t know whether to make your way to his office, or just slip back to your room. You find yourself slowly making your way down the hallway, stopping at every cabinet or plaque. The temptation to run to your dorm room and hide under the safety of your blankets grows stronger, but the desperation to feel his fingers on your skin and his breath of neck beats it out.

You stand silently for a few moments, weighing up the options in your head and then you feel the vibrations of your phone in your skirt pocket.

Dave frowns down at his phone, he had halfway expected to have you waiting outside his office. ‘I don’t like to be kept waiting.’

‘Fuck’ you mouth, as you quickly punch out ‘I’m coming’ and make your way as quickly as you can to his office without actually running.

Your hand forms a fist the second his door is in sight and you as soon as you can reach it, you gently knock the door three times.

Dave takes a minute before he calls for you to enter. He knows it’s you. Watching you slip inside, he smirks. “Lock the door behind you.”

Your heart is in your stomach and somehow your stomach is in your throat. You can’t find the words to greet him, so instead you politely nod and turn back to lock the door.

With shaky fingers you fumble with the lock before slowly turning back around and straightening out the front of your uniform.

Something tells you to stay still and wait to be called over. Like an unspoken rule that as soon as the lock has clicked shut that he is in control.

“Show me your panties.” Dave smirks slightly, repeating the last time you were in this office. “Are they wet, or are you unaffected today?”

You stay rooted to the spot, reaching down to pull on your skirt, hoisting them up just over the elastic on your panties. You know he can see your thighs shiny with your arousal, so you don’t need to answer his question verbally.

“Interesting.” Dave tears his eyes away from your thighs to drag them up to your embarrassed orbs. He sees curiosity fighting to get through, under the layers of repressed religion. “Did you touch yourself thinking about my cum?” He asks, leaning back and watching you.

“No,” you admit honestly, “I almost did it in the shower this morning, but it doesn’t feel as good as when you did it.”

He chuckles at your admission, nodding as if he knew that would be the case. “I’ll make sure you feel good any time you want.” He promises. “There are so many other ways to feel even better. So many ways.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly, still waiting for him to give you permission to move closer or take a seat, “How so?”

“My fingers inside you.” He lifts his hand and curls two fingers slowly. “My tongue on your pretty pussy. My cock.”

You feel your cheeks burn at the gesture he makes, as well as the filth he so effortlessly speaks. Your thighs automatically squeeze together and your clit pulses at the thought of his tongue on you, you had heard about this before in a magazine you had once taken a glance in at the doctors office. Your mother had seen the title of the magazine in your hand a few minutes later and immediately ripped it from you.

“Can… Can I see it?” you whisper.

Dave drops one finger and crooks the remaining one towards you, motioning for you to come to him. “You want to see a man’s cock, little girl? My cock?” The cock in question twitches under his slacks when you nod shyly and he loves the way you shuffle forward as if you are pacing yourself. The innocence. “If you want to see it, you need to pull it out.” He challenges, just to see what you would do.

A little gasp breaks free of your lips as you realise what he’s asking you to do. You take a tentative step towards him and feel a mixture of guilt and excitement stir up in your tummy. 

A few seconds later you’re standing expectantly in front of him, you’re not sure if he wants you to do it with him sitting down or if he’ll stand. So you wait for instruction, your eyes flicking between the large bulge in his pants and his dark eyes.

“Nervous?” He rocks forward and stands, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Do you not want to? Should I show you this one time?”

“I want to,” you say innocently, “I just need some guidance.”

“I’ll make it easy on you.” Dave decides, dropping his hand from your cheek to his belt. There is the clinking of his buckle as he undoes it and flicks the button of his slacks open. “All you have to do is unzip.” He murmurs, having decided to not wear underwear today to shock your virgin sensibilities.

You try to hide the way your hand is trembling with nerves and anticipation, you slowly reach forward and let your fingers brush the material of his pants before you take one last look at him and gently reach for the zipper, slowly pulling it down.

You gasp loudly as his cock springs free, no underwear to contain it.

He’s hard, the head flushed to a deep red and there is just the beginnings of precum built up on the tip. It’s a silly thing to be proud of, but whatever doctor had done his circumcision at the hospital had done a good job. The head mushrooms perfectly and he bobs slightly under the weight now that he’s not confined.

A little moan escapes you as you look at it. The thickness makes your pussy clench as you wonder how something that thick could ever fit inside of you. The urge to reach out and touch it grows stronger the longer you look, but still you wait for instruction, unsure what he’s wanting you to do.

Dave wants to bite your bottom lip, take over nibbling on it. “You can touch it.” He urges, wanting to feel your hand around him. To be the first cock you touch.

Your eyes burn into his before you gently reach out and brush your fingertips over the length, before pulling away, embarrassment flooding you as you’re unsure exactly how to touch it.

Dave reaches out, grabbing your hand gently and opening your fingers so they wrap around him when he pulls it to his cock. Groaning when you curl your fingers around him and his cock pulses harshly in your grip. “That’s good, just like that.” He pants.

“Oh,” you gasp, “Show me how to make you feel good, Sir.”

His chuckle is dirty and he keeps his hand around yours as he starts to guide you. Helping you and watching your eyes widen as you feel the smooth skin move over the hardness beneath. “There you go.”

You keep your motions as steady as you can, flicking your wrist up and down and focusing on the way his breaths get slightly shakier as you keep going. You’re kneeling between his legs, crouched in a position that’s extremely familiar to you, but performing an act of depravity that you’d never imagined yourself doing less than a week after starting college.

“Stop.” Dave doesn’t want to cum from your hand, not just yet. You immediately stop and he flicks a bead of his precum off the tip and holds it up on his finger. “See what you do to me?”

The words leave your mouth before you have time to process you’re saying them, “I want to taste it.”

Dave smiles approvingly, like you just answered a question in class correctly. “Stick out your tongue, little girl.” He orders, wanting to stick his cock on your tongue, but his fluids will do for now.

You ignore the guilt rising in your stomach like bile for your role is the debauchery, and do as you’re commanded, shuffling forward and obediently sticking your tongue up, looking up at him through your lashes.

He hums, smearing his precum on your tongue and groaning when he pulls his finger away. Watching you as the taste expands on your tastebuds and he wants to give you more.

You let out a satisfied hum and squeeze your eyes shut as the taste of him explodes on your tongue, salty and a little bitter. You squeeze your thighs together as you feel your pussy start to drip with excitement.

“Sit on my desk.” Dave orders, wrapping his hand around his cock as he slowly starts to stroke himself again. “You want more, don’t you little girl?

“Yes, please,” you ask, with the same kind of politeness that falls from you as you’re standing in line for a sip of wine and a wafer at church. But this time desperately for something else to grace your lips.

He continues to stroke himself as you climb to your feet, turning around and pushing your butt onto the desk and pressing your knees together like a good girl. Standing, Dave lets go of his cock and uses his hand to spread your legs wide enough for him to stand between. “Close your eyes.” He orders, waiting until you’ve compiled to lean in, licking his lips before he presses them to yours.

The unexpected intrusion is not what you imagined, but you feel like you might cry if he pulls his lips from yours. He’s gentler than you’d expected, one hand resting on your thigh whilst the other gently grips the bottom of your jaw and guides your mouth.

Keeping it light for a long moment, he feels your surprise, then delight in the soft kiss. Feeling any resistance give way, Dave waits for the moment your lips part on a sigh to slowly slide his tongue into your mouth.

You breathe moans into his mouth as his lips envelope yours, his tongue dances across yours as his hold on your gets tighter. You follow his lead and gently press your tongue against his, before reaching up to touch his face as he continues to kiss and lick into your mouth.

He admits that he might have pushed it. Take the kiss too deep. Growling hungrily into your mouth and stroking your tongue with his harder makes you gasp and pull away. Leaving him breathing heavily and reminding himself that you are not used to this type of kissing.

“Sorry,” you murmur, worried you’d upset him by pulling back, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Dave shakes his head and his hand comes back to your cheek, cupping it and giving you another moment. “I’m sure no one has kissed you like that before.”

“No one has ever… kissed me before,” you admit shyly, convinced the revelation is going to have you sent out of his office.

“Oh you innocent little thing.” Dave breathes out, cock twitching against your thigh and he just stares at you in wonder. You are perfect. Completely innocent and unbroken. “Did you like it?”

“I really liked it,” you say, unable to suppress the smile that’s spreading across your face, “I never imagined… I’d ever be doing this, but I can’t stay away.”

“Do you want me to kiss your lips?” Dave asks, a small smirk on his face.

“Yes, please,” you reply instantaneously.

Dave chuckles, leaning in and pressing his lips against yours briefly before he pulls back. “But I didn’t say which lips, little girl.” He teases. “Should I kiss your pussy? Make you feel even better than before?”

“Yes,” you choke out, “Yes I want you to tas—” Heat flooding your cheeks as you cut yourself off.

You take a deep breath and look him in the eye, taking in the amused look etched across his face, “I want you to taste my uh… my pussy,” you say with as much confidence as you can muster.

“Good girl.” Dave praises, giving you another kiss before he slides his hands up your thighs. “Lift your hips for me.” He urges, eager to get your panties off so he can debauch you further.

You lift your hips and he wastes no time freeing you off your panties. “Dave,” you moan as you feel his hot breath on your exposed core.

Chuckling, he turns his head and presses his tongue to the inner band of your thigh, just shy of your pussy but it allows his shaved smooth cheek to graze your swollen clit.

The noise that leaves you is drenched in sin, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from begging for more.

The answering sound is one meant to soothe you, making you wait while he explores. His eyes drinking in the sight of your pussy lips, soaked and your hair is trimmed. “Someone freshened up.” He coos teasingly, using his fingers to spread your lips wide. “So pretty.”

“For you,” you gasp out, somehow feeling his touch everywhere.

“Let me thank you then, baby girl.” He looks up at your eyes, wide with wonder when he lowers his mouth to your pussy.

“Ohhhhh,” you moan at feeling of his mouth on you, he starts gentle, his tongue gently lapping at your clit as you bring your hands up to cover your face.

Dave tuts, pulling his tongue away from your clit and you whine. “Let me see your face while I lick your pussy, little girl.” He orders quietly.

You groan at the loss of his mouth on you, before removing your hands from your face and letting them rest on the desk, wanting to tangle them in his hair.

“Good girl.” He winks at you. “Good girls get to cum on daddy’s face.”

“Oh, god,” you gasp out at him, “Yes, yes, please.”

“Yes please what?” He teases, loving how sweet you sound when you beg.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you reply barely above a whisper.

Dave huffs, pleased with the mixture of innocence and demand in your whispered plea. You have no idea how good it can feel but you want it. “Pull on my hair, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” He promises, diving back into your folds.

You want to scream out with how good it feels, his tongue ravishing your folds as he goes between sucking and licking you. 

“Oh, Dave,” you moan out as your fingers tangle up in his hair, pulling his face closer to your dripping pussy as you feel something extraordinary start to build up inside of you.

Dave curls his tongue around your clit and pulls the little bud into his mouth to suck on it. Groaning into you like a starved animal as the passes of his tongue get faster and more frantic.

The mouth is one of the wonders of the world you decide, as with every lap of his tongue he coaxes you into the kind of paradise that you’d been told only existed for the purest of hearts.

He spends a few moments concentrating solely on your clit and you feel your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably, every muscle and nerve ending inside of you suddenly becomes enriched with pleasure and then he groans… his arms wrapping around your thighs either tighter and the sounds coming deep from within his throat making it 10x more intense, you think you might stop breathing, you think you might scream… and then he stops. Lowering his mouth to lap up every drop of the arousal dripping from you.

He can hear the frustration in your gasp, smirking to himself as he licks his lips and spreads your thighs wider to watch your pussy pulse while your orgasm slowly fades away. “Give it a second.” He murmurs, feeling that you are about to ask a question.

“Please,” you beg mindlessly, repeating the word over and over continues to edge you. Bringing you closer and closer everything before releasing your clit from from his lips, “I-I can’t,” you whimper as he slowly moves his tongue back down to your entrance, this time slowly pushing it in and out, his groan reverberating against your core as you start to ache your back off of his desk.

It’s deliberate, the in and out of his tongue mimicking what his cock will do to your little pussy. Except he cannot get as deep as he would want to. His nose is butting up against your clit and he breathes into you, absorbing every little flutter your cunt makes, groaning when your walls start to pulse around his tongue. “Cum for daddy, little girl.” He pulls away to order before he plunges his tongue back into your velvety softness.

Your fingers entwined in his hair are almost vice-like, gripping so hard that you’re certain it must hurt. But you can’t do anything but shake and whimper as the coil inside of you finally snaps. You whimper and moan his name in a breathless chant as your whole body is flooded with what you can only describe as something euphoric. Each one of your senses is heightened and your body knows nothing but pleasure in that moment. He continues eating you like a man starved throughout your high, refusing to let up or reduce his ministrations.

Your breathy whimpers feed into him, making him throb as he licks and sucks up every drop of arousal that weeps from your pussy. He knows he’s stained the trousers he’s wearing and he doesn’t care, enraptured with your taste. This is true heaven, and he’s taken you there for the first time.

You gently push away his face, the overstimulation being too much as you catch your breath. He peppers a few kisses on your trembling thighs before standing up and over you.

Dave kisses you again, giving you the taste of yourself from his lips as he moves between your thighs, wanting to feel your slickness against his cock. Maybe even jerk off right there. Splattering his cum against your still virgin pussy. He groans as the first touch of his length against your puffy lips feels exquisite.

You feel your body seize up as he drags his cock through your folds, oh no you think to yourself as you imagine losing your virginity on the desk of a man who you’ve barely spoken to. A man who clearly doesn’t value the promises you made to God… “Oh,” you mumble out loud, “I can’t… We can’t do this,” you say as you push him away.

He says something to you that you can’t quite make out, you find yourself apologising profusely as you pull your skirt back down, grab your backpack and run towards the door, unlocking it without looking back and practically running down the hall, keeping the same pace all the way back to your dorm.

Dave stares at the door for a long moment after you’ve left. In your panicked state, you’ve left behind another pair of panties and apparently didn’t hear him when he said he wasn’t going to take your virginity. Huffing to himself, he grabs your panties and wraps them around his fist, sitting down in his chair again to jerk off.

You kick off your shoes and set the chain on your door before throwing yourself under your covers. It hasn’t even been a week since you left home and you’re already unrecognisable to yourself.

You know your parents are mad at you after glancing through the family group chat and seeing that they’ve been informed that you’ve not gone to evening mass once since arriving at college. You should have figured they’d have been in contact with the local priest and checking up on you.

After spending an hour considering going to church and repenting or reading through your favourite passages for respite, you decide that what you really need is a nap. So you snuggle down, and get comfortable in bed.

Switching your phone off and letting yourself have a much needed cry before drifting off to sleep.

Dave works, checking his phone and he considers texting you, but he doesn’t. Sensing that it would be the wrong move, he wonders if he was mistaken. If you were too innocent. It didn’t seem like you were when you were flooding his tongue with your cum. 

Finally, around 7pm, he still hasn’t heard from you so he decides to send you a text. ‘Make sure you eat tonight.’

Your one hour nap turns into several. And you wake up and see that it’s already dark outside, you reach over and switch on your phone. It’s past 8pm and you have a text from Dave and a few missed calls from your parents.

You open his text and feel a bit of relief that he doesn’t seem too angry with you, you punch out a simple reply before snuggling back into your blankets.

‘I will. Thank you.’

Dave frowns at the message. Will? What the fuck do you mean by will? You should have already eaten by now. Tucked back into your dorm room safe and sound. The urge to get in his car and drive over to you is nearly overwhelming but he knows it will raise eyebrows. A professor coming to a student dorm hall is not usual. ‘Will? You haven’t eaten yet, little girl?’

How does everything he says to you go straight… there? You think to yourself. 

'I took a nap, and I've only just woken up. About to make a PB&J.'

‘You need something better than that.’ Dave immediately sends back. Before sending a  second text. ‘Scramble some eggs and have some toast. Breakfast for dinner is a college staple.’

‘You’re very bossy, did you know that professor York? I have bread, peanut butter, jelly, chips and oreos. I will survive.’

Dave growls at your answer, unhappy with your dietary choices. You can’t function on that. 

‘I AM bossy, but I want you to take care of yourself.’

You feel your chest get all warm at his admission, almost too soft for the way he’s bossing you around. ‘I promise I will have a super hearty breakfast in the morning… pancakes AND waffles. Dave… are you mad at me for leaving earlier?’

Dave stares at the message, frowning at the idea that you think he’s mad at you. ‘Do you want me to show you proof I’m not mad at you, sweetheart?’ You really are innocent, and he is enjoying the sweetness of your soul.

You take a bite into your hastily made sandwich before raising your eyebrow at his text? ‘Show me?’ you say out loud not sure what he means… ‘I’d like you to show me.’

He smirks at your admission. ‘I’m not mad at you. But I want you to know that I would never take what wasn’t offered.’ He promises before he sends the picture he had taken earlier.

You moan out loud at the photo that flashes up on your phone. It’s your new panties covered in his cum, a brief flashback of the salty tangy taste of him floods your tastebuds.

‘Seems like such a waste to have it somewhere I can’t taste it.’ You punch back.

‘I was going to coat your pretty pussy in it.’ Dave admits, chuckling to himself at your bravado over text. ‘But plans changed. It happens.’

‘I thought you were going to put it inside. I’m sorry for freaking out… I would have liked that. I would have liked to see you cum.’ You reply, your fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as you curse yourself for panicking.

‘I will NEVER do that without your permission.’ Dave knows he’s a lot of things. He’s definitely going to hell despite everyone believing there is salvation with prayer, but that is a line he would not cross. ‘Not until I hear the words come out of your mouth.’

You bite your lip and feel a little guilty for not telling him you weren’t ready and just running out, ‘I think that if anyone could make me say those words… it would be you.’

Dave decides that virginal hysterics are not that big of a deal and decides to reward you with a little something so you can go to sleep with him and only him on your mind. He selects a video and sends it to you. ‘Sweet dreams, little girl. Remember to eat.’

‘Holy shit,’ you say out loud as a video of him finishing flashes up on your screen, you watch it back a few times, moaning at the way your pussy clenches with need every time. 

‘I would like you to show me how to make you do that, if that’s ok? I ate. Goodnight, Dave.’

*

You wake with a jump, the sound of your phone vibrating incessantly on your nightstand makes you groan as you reach out to grab it. 

** INCOMING CALL: MOM**

You want to ignore it and let it ring out but you fear that at this point your parents might just turn up and hunt you down.

You groan one last time before clicking the green button to accept her call. 

‘Hi Mom,’ you say sheepishly knowing you’re in for a telling off, ‘I was going to phone you tonight.’

She doesn’t bother saying hello, instead she just scoffs, and begins her lecture. ‘We haven’t heard from you in days. Priest Vickers has informed us that he’s yet to meet you and The Pritchards have told us that their son has only seen you in ONE bible study… What exactly are you doing there?’ 

‘It’s been less than week, i’m just trying to find my foot—” 

“We put the Lord above else,’ she all but screams down the phone, ‘If everyone else can find time… so can you. Your father is livid, he’s so angry that he considered coming to your dorm last night and checking on you in person. You are to be calling us EVERYDAY.’ 

You shake your head and she continues ranting and raving at you down the phone before glancing at the time, you promised Dave that you’d get a decent breakfast today and you still hadn’t showered so you take a deep breath and interrupt her ranting.

“Mom, I have an early class, I need to shower and brush my teeth and eat. I’ll call you later. Goodbye.”

After ending the call you see her number flash up on your phone again and you roll your eyes, leaving your phone on the nightstand as you lock the door and make your way to the bathroom. You’ll deal with it all later.

After showering and getting ready for the day, you skip off towards the cafeteria. As you approach the large hall you have the urge to check you have your card on your person, and as you dig through your bag, you see something that makes you stop in your tracks.

The brand new rosary your father had gifted you the day you left for college. ‘Who are you?’ you think to yourself as your fingertips brush the rosary. This isn’t you. This isn’t who you’re supposed to be… You fill tears sting your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks as you stare into your bag at the rosary. 

You know what you have to do, you know where you have to go. You immediately spin on your heels and talk towards the exit.

*

The next morning has Dave up early. Ready and out the door to head to campus with the purpose of running into you on the way to the cafeteria and making sure that you eat properly. Completely coincidental, of course. Your last text had him burning, imagining you stroking his cock or even better, sucking his cock until he spills down your throat and you swallow every sticky drop.

He is just coming towards the coffee cart when he sees you dart out of the cafeteria and practically sprint towards the chapel. Dave grunts, knowing the priest won’t be awake yet, the old codger never gets into the confessional booth before 11am. 

Changing directions, Dave follows you. Wanting to make sure that you are alright and wondering why you are not eating like you told him you would.

*

You breathe a sigh of relief when you notice the chapel is empty, no one waiting to confess their sins or engaging in morning prayer. Heading straight to the confessional booth, you shut it behind you and take a deep breath before sitting and waiting for the priest to speak.

Dave opens the door to the chapel, finding it deserted and he knows you have to be in the confessional. His steps are light, quickly walking towards the box where all confess their sins before God and slips into the priest’s seat sliding the first window open to keep the privacy barrier between you.

You begin by completing the sign of the cross.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 3 months and 17 days ago.”

You take a deep breath and bite down on your lip before speaking again.

“I have engaged in… improper activities with a man. A man who I can’t get out of my head, I allowed him to… touch me, and I-I-uh want him to touch me again. He is all I think about,” you admit with a sigh, “I have known him less than a week and I have been more intimate with him than I have anyone else. I have neglected prayer, and I have avoided speaking to my family. All because I don’t want to say anything that’ll risk me being pulled away from here… from him.”

Dave hums, heat filling his chest and it makes his cock start to harden as he listens to you confess your sins to him. He doesn’t say anything yet, knowing you will discover it’s him so he waits for you to continue.

“I-uh, I don’t think I could say no to this man,” you admit blissfully unaware you’re admitting this to dave, “I want to please him. I want to see his face contorted in pleasure as I sin with him. Before this weekend, I had never known the pleasure that my body is capable of… and now all I think about is him drawing it out of me… What should I do, Father?”

Dave contemplates several answers, some of them demure, fitting with a priest. Others are immoral and make his hard cock twitch. “You should follow your heart, little girl.” He murmurs softly. “Make this man’s face contort in pleasure like you wish. Right now.”

“Dave,” you gasp out, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Dave retorts. “Didn’t you promise me you were going to eat a hearty breakfast?” He asks. “Confession isn’t in the cafeteria.”

“I was on my way but I,” you reply, “I saw my rosary. And I spoke to my Mom this morning and I just keep letting everyone down. So I came here.”

“Why are you letting everyone down?” Dave asks, annoyed at the way you sound frantic and upset. “Forget everyone for a second. Are you letting yourself down?”

“I don’t know,” you reply softly, “I don’t know how I am supposed to feel. But I know that I barely know you, in fact I know nothing about you, but what I do know is that I want to make you feel good.”

“Then make me feel good.” Dave tells you, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. “Right here.”

The idea of desecrating the confessional has Dave about to burst his jeans, cock throbbing as he slides the divider out of the way and looks at you without the screen. “Right now.”

“Tell me what I need to do,” you say before shifting towards him, kneeling down as he feeds his rock hard cock through the window.

Dave groans at the lewdness of this. The sin of lust and fornication being committed right here in a sanctuary of God. The confessional booth where sins have been expunged will be stained with the sacrilege. “Wrap your rosary around the base of my cock.” He’s panting as he orders you to mark the beads with this act, knowing every time you pray and rub them, you will remember how you had violated them.

The words feel like a bucket of ice water being poured directly over you, but you still reach into your bag and pull it out. Doing exactly what he instructed and feeling your panties get soaked as you do so.

His cock bounces in your face from the way he reacts, twitching and a bead of precum leaks from the head to gather and nearly drip off of his length. "Now, open your mouth, pretty girl. Put it on your tongue."

You moan in response, one hand lightly wrapping around the base and rosary, before opening your mouth and pressing your tongue to the tip, you look up at him, eyes wide and awaiting your next instruction.

Dave can see your face through the slot, moaning softly at the sight of his cock on your innocent little tongue. “Close your mouth around it and suck.” He groans when your lips immediately latch onto his skin. “Good girl. Slowly start to take it deeper.”

You follow his commands, wrapping your mouth around his thick length, you’re not sure how much you’ll be able to take.

His eyes threaten to close but he forces himself to keep them open. Not wanting to miss a second of this. Slowly, his hands come through the slot to cup your cheeks, pulling you gently towards him as his hips push forward. “Like this.”

“Mhmmm,” you hum out around his dick, the quiet groans he occasionally lets slip spurring you on. He starts rocking on his heels, gently fucking into your mouth.

He shudders when your tongue moves, curling around his shaft and pressing against the head when he pulls his hips back. “Fuck.” He whispers so he doesn’t echo the curse through the church.

The urge to use the hand that’s not wrapped around the base of his cock to relieve some of the pressure pulsating in your clit is almost impossible to ignore. You can keep your arousal seeping out, coating your core and pussy lips, pooling in the middle of your panties.

You accidentally let a loud moan slip out as he increases his pace, fucking your mouth a little faster with each thrust, you hear him tell you to be quiet and to swallow around him as he pushes deeper and deeper.

It’s impossible to keep this up for long. The way your mouth sucks at his cock and the entire scene has him throbbing and poised on the threshold of pleasure. Your confession turning into the biggest sin so far and he’s loving it. 

Rocking his hips faster, he curls his fingers around the edge of your jaw. The beads keep him from plunging too deep and choking you, butting up against your lips. “When- when I tell you, start swallowing.” He grunts quietly.

You wonder what you must look like right now, your eyes watering and you’re pretty sure the drug store mascara you’re wearing isn’t waterproof and you can feel your spit and saliva coating your chin. He lightly taps your cheek as you moan around him again, ‘would he be ok with you touching yourself?’ You think. Needing to do something.

“Fuck.” He moans quietly. “Are you touching yourself, little girl? Praying to my cock while on your knees with your hand between your thighs?” He can’t see your other hand but he wishes he could. Wants to see how wet you are, watch you touch yourself in this booth.

You show him your free hand, and look up at him, waiting for his permission to slide your free hand into your panties. You suck on his cock a little harder as he presses it deeper, past your tonsils and almost to the back of your throat. You feel as though you’re about to choke and you start to pull back.

“Touch yourself.” Dave orders quietly, knowing he’s not going to last much longer. “Fuck, slide your fingers inside your pussy.”

You briefly drop your hold on his cock, using both hands to hoist up your skirt and rip your panties down just past your thighs. You slide in hand between your legs and resume your grip on his cock with the other, you rub your clit, trying to replicate the feeling of his fingers on you.

You bob your head on his cock a little faster, your form sloppier than he’s used to and you start to gag around his length.

“Don’t choke yourself.” Dave chides, the last thing he wants is to have you vomit in the confessional. “We’ll get there. I’m gonna cum.”

You slow the motions on your clit and return your focus on sucking his cock, you’ve given yourself a little relief and now you want to focus on making him cum. You tighten to grip on the base of his cock, careful not to painfully press the rosary against him too hard and suck a little harder, taking him deeper and breathing through your nose as he just instructed. His grip on your face tightens and his strokes get a little sloppier as he rocks in and out of your mouth.

“Gonna- fuck, gonna cum.” He warns you, feeling the edge of his orgasm starting to build up. “When- when my cock starts to throb, start swallowing.” He instructs as he pushes his hips forward again and again until he feels it. His balls draw up tight against his body. “N-now.” He groans, your name coming out of his mouth on a low growl as he starts to flood your mouth.

The sound of him groaning you name unlocks something primal in you and the need to please him grows stronger than ever. You swallow the best you can as your mouth becomes coated in his cum, the saltiness of him consuming your tastebuds and sliding down the back of your throat. You take as much as you can, but you feel some dripping out the corners of your mouth.

It seems to last forever. Spurt after spurt of his cum pumping onto your tongue. He groans when he feels the last of it work out of his cock and he twitches in your mouth, panting quietly. “Shit.”

Slowly you move off of him, letting your hands fall into your lap as you stare up at his dark eyes, your chin shiny with your saliva and his cum, mascara running down your cheeks and your hair ruffled from his hands in it. You must look horrendous, you think to yourself. 

“Did I do okay?” you ask and even you can’t hide from the innocence drowning each word.

“Perfect.” Dave coos, his hand coming back through the slot to cup your cheek and he kneels down to look at you through the access. His eyes light up when he sees how debauched you look and his thumb swipes through some of the cum to smear it into your skin. “You did perfect, little girl.” He licks his lips and smiles. “You look so pretty like this.”

“I must look a mess,” you reply meekly, “Can I do that again? When you’re ready?”

Dave groans, happy that you are wanting to do it again. “Go to my office.” Dave tells you, reaching in his pocket and handing you a key. “I will meet you there.”

“Wait,” you say before leaving. You dig into your bag and pull out some makeup wipes and start dabbing your face, somehow missing every stream of mascara lacing your cheeks, “Did I get it all?”

He chuckles quietly and takes a wipe from your hand to finish cleaning your face up. Wiping away all visible evidence of your sin. “Go wait for me, little girl.” He orders. “But don’t make yourself cum, yet. I’ll make you feel good.”

You make your way out of the chapel and down the hall, weaving your way through the crowd of people and towards his door. As you approach you see Deandra sighing as she waits outside his door and you can’t help but feel a little smug as she gives up and walks away.

When the hall clears you unlock the door and let yourself in, taking a few minutes to look at his bookshelf, before making your way around to his chair. 

Your fingertips trace the soft leather, before you pull it out and take a seat. Making yourself comfortable whilst you wait for him.

Dave is about ten minutes behind you. He had sent out an email cancelling the class for the day and had stopped by the cafeteria and picked up food for both of you. He opens the door and smirks as he sees you sprawled on his  chair. “Comfortable, little girl?”

“Yep,” you reply sweetly with a little shrug, “You know it’s not going to look good if I turn up to your class late, if you’re planning on making me a feast,” you say gesturing to the food in his hands. Unaware that class is cancelled.

He snorts and sets the bag down on the desk before he turns towards you again. “Good thing you aren’t going to class.” He murmurs before he crooks his finger at you. “Come here.”

“But I’m comfortable here,” you say feeling a little braver than usual, “Why don’t you come here?”

He chuckles at your moxy, deciding to indulge you since you had just sucked his cock. Striding around the desk, he holds the back of it while he takes your chin and lifts it, stretching your neck out as he lowers his head for a kiss. Eager to taste his cum on your tongue.

For the second day in a row he has taken you by surprise with a kiss, you let him take the lead as you get it used to the soft dexterous heat, before realising that he didn’t lock the door and it’s likely a certain visitor is on her way back to his office following the news that class was cancelled. 

You pull back and rest your forehead on his, “Deandra was looking for you, we should probably lock the door unless you want her to waltz in.”

Standing straight, Dave walks towards the door and flips the lock, closing you both inside his office once again. “Open the bag.” He tells you as he turns around. “You need to eat.”

“You’re bossy, have I ever told you that?” you say as you reach into the bag and pull out some fruit cups, eggs, bacon, pancakes and waffles. “This isn’t all for me right?” you ask as you spread the boxes out across his desk, still comfortably nestled in his seat.

“I was looking for you when I saw you going to church.” Dave has no issue with you being in his chair and settles down in the seat across the desk and shrugs. “Was going to make sure you ate properly.” He ignores the bossy comment because he knows he is, and that you secretly like it.

“Mhmm,” you say as you take a bite of eggs, “I mean technically you gave me a meal in the church.”

Dave stares at you for a second, speechless at the dirty comment that just came out of your innocent mouth before he barks out a laugh. “Yes, I did.” He hums.

“Sorry,” you say after a few seconds, “Sometimes I forget to engage my brain before I speak. One of the perks of a lonely childhood  I suppose.” You push over a little tray you’ve made for him, before taking a large bite of a waffle.

“Stop apologizing to me.” Dave tells you mildly as he leans forward and takes the tray. “I was admiring how dirty it sounded coming from that innocent - well, not innocent anymore - mouth of yours.” His smirk is smug and he winks when you look at him.

You breathe out a little giggle and you wiggle down in his chair, “How long have you worked here?” you ask, wanting to know him a little better.

"Nearly ten years." Dave tells you, figuring he deserves to tell you something of his background. "This was my alma mater too."

“Really?” you say not meaning to sound so stunned by his admission. “Don’t tell me, you’re the son of a clergyman too?” You say with another giggle.

"No." Dave chuckles and leans back in his chair, raising his brow at you. "I was actually headed to Seminary." He admits.

“Mhm,” you say back, “I can’t imagine they taught you to… do that,” you say in reference to your dalliance in the confessional, “there.”

"No, but after figuring out that I wasn't one for the rules and restrictions of the cloth, it became intriguing." Dave chuckles, watching the embarrassment bloom over your face.

“Oh,” you say before digging into some pineapple, “Can I ask you something else?”

"Sure." He takes a bite of his own meal, pleased that you are eating vigorously and not being shy about it. He hates when someone thinks that eating heartily is a bad thing.

“There are so many… gorgeous girls in our class,” you say, avoiding eye contact, “Why me?”

"You aren't gorgeous?" He asks, his tone making it clear that he doesn't believe that at all.

You roll your eyes at him and start picking at your food again, ignoring his question.

Dave harrumphs, not liking your non answer and decides to turn it around on you. "Why not you?" He asks. "Or better yet, why me?"

You can’t contain the giggle that escapes your mouth as you look up at him, “You’re… you’re kind of the most attractive human being i’ve ever seen. And I just… feel like I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He can't deny that it boosts his ego when you say that you find him wildly attractive. "How would you disappoint me?" He asks, tilting his head at you in confusion.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing, you say with a shrug.” I worry I’ll do it wrong or I'll be boring… I don’t know.” You attempt to change the subject with another question, “Do you have siblings?”

"It's my job to teach you how, little girl." Dave reminds you, not bringing up the very real fact that you could say no at any point in time. That you could go to the school administration and get him in trouble. You don't seem to understand the power that you hold. But he moves on to your other question. "I have an older sister."

“Will you teach me more?” you ask quietly, “Is she in the church?”

"I'll teach you as much as you want." Dave promises with a wicked smirk. "Soon you'll be sitting on my cock in that chair while you recite your catechism." He doesn't wait for your scandalised expression before he moves on. "She's a nurse."

Your face burns at the casual way he speaks, you want to ask if they’ll be anyone else, he’ll be teaching. But instead ask something else, “Will I lose… will you take my virginity in here?” you ask with wide eyes.

Dave snorts, but he doesn't ridicule you for that question. Most of your sexual experience has been in this office but he finds he doesn’t want to take you here. "I would prefer to take your virginity in a bed." He sets the tray down and spreads his legs as he speaks. "You should be spread out on a bed and every inch of your body kissed and licked before I take your innocence." The fact that you are speaking like it's a foregone conclusion bodes well for him and he is eager to find out when that will happen.

Heat floods throughout your body at his words, ‘Are you really considering giving your virginity to this man? Are you really considering giving away your virtue to a man you’re sure has no interest in ever marrying you… of ever loving you?’ your teeth find your lower lip again as you brain bombards you with a final question, ‘Are you really considering disappointing your parents and going down a road they spent years blocking with bible studies, mass every evening, making sure your weekends and after school activities were revolved around the church?’ And then the words leave your mouth and linger in the air, “When… and where?”

"My house." Dave decides immediately, knowing it would not be good in a college dorm bed. They are too narrow and uncomfortable for him. His bed is where he wants you. His sheets stained with your innocence if you bleed. "When is.... up to you." He had meant what he said, he wouldn't force you into something you didn't ask for. The point was to get you to give yourself to him, not to take.

“Your house?” you repeat, “I’d like that.” You take a deep breath before nibbling on some more fruit, “I’m not sure when though.”

Dave shrugs, disappointed but he knew this wasn't going to be a quick conquest. "You'll let me know when you are ready." He tells you lightly, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "And I'll make it amazing for you."

“And we can still do other things in the meantime?” you ask as the pulsating between your legs grows stronger.

The slow smirk blooms on his face and Dave nods. "Of course we can, little girl. I still have to finger you, eat your pretty little asshole, rub my cock through your folds, cum on your pussy, have you suck my cock while I eat your pussy. So many other things to do."

“I liked it when you tasted me,” you admit, “I’d like to try that other stuff… but i’d like you to keep doing that as well.”

"Of course you would." Dave chuckles, well aware of how good oral sex is. "No one turns down head." He thinks about it for a moment and stands up. "I'll give you a choice, little girl. I can eat your pussy while you finish your food. Or we can go back to my house and I'll show you how to suck my cock while you have your pussy eaten."

“The latter,” you say far too quickly and internally chide yourself for appearing so desperately.

"Good choice." Dave smiles in approval and picks up his tray again. "Eat up, little girl. You will need your strength."

You eat the rest of your breakfast in silence, occasionally stealing a glance at Dave who’s finishing off his own. You take a step out of his chair and start to clean up the empty containers.

"I'll clean this up." Dave waves you off and stands up. "You need to change out of your uniform. Put on something comfortable.....and easy to take off." He smirks, imagining you naked and sitting on his face.

“Okay,” you say with a small smile, thinking about that sundress you have hidden at the bottom of your suitcase, “Meet you in about twenty minutes?”

Dave hums, looking down at his task as he agrees. "Little girl?" He calls you back right as you reach the door to leave. "Don't change your panties." He orders as he looks up. "I want to feel how wet sucking my cock got you."

The second you’re in your room, you start to strip out of your uniform, a twang or guilt rearing its ugly head at the fact you’re about to skip the other two lessons you have today. 

You dive into your suitcase and pull out the yellow sundress you bought in secret a few days ago. Carefully cutting off the tags and sliding it on, you freshen yourself up the best you can before taking a few seconds to have a look at your panties.

White of course, just as Dave likes them, and with an obvious patch of wetness that you know he’s going to tease you over.

You shake off the nerves bubbling in your tummy, grab your phone, keys and bag before bouncing down to the spot he told you to meet him.

Dave takes his time, picking up the trash and shoving it back in the bag so he can throw it away on the way to his car. He'll drive over to your dorm and pick you up before he takes you to his house. When he opens the door, he rocks back when he comes face to face with Deandra. "Class is cancelled." He tells her, not willing to dawdle.

You don’t see his car when you get to the spot and take a seat on one of the benches, punching out a quick text to let him know where you are. The breeze makes you shiver a little and second guess your choice of outfit, but you figure you’ll be wearing a lot less very soon.

Deandra pouts for a second, glancing down at the bag in his hand and turns on a smile. "I- I was hoping to talk to you about our last assignment?" She asks hopefully. 

Shaking his head, Dave pulls his keys out of his pocket. "You can email me." He tells her as he locks up. "Office hours were also cancelled in the email. I'm going home."

After a few minutes you see his car pull up and you climb into the passenger side. “Hey,” you greet him, fighting the urge to lean over and kiss him.

"Sorry, baby girl." Dave reaches over and squeezes your knee as he pulls away from the curb. "Deandra came up to me when I was coming out of the office and it took a few minutes to shoo her away."

“If I look away too long, she’s likely to get those acrylics into you, Professor,” you say with a giggle, “Also… baby girl… I like that.”

"You like that better than 'little girl'?" Dave asks with a smirk. You might not have noticed the possessive tone to your voice, but he did.

“I like them both,” you say with a shrug, “and don’t think I missed you ignoring the first thing I said.”

"What?" Dave looks over at you for a moment before he looks back at the road as he navigates off campus and towards his house. "Her sinking her claws into me? Not going to happen." He knows what type of girl she is and he's not interested.

“Good,” you say with a slightly smug tone, “How far do you live from here?”

"Only about ten minutes." Dave tells you, having bought a house years ago when he was first hired on to the college. He hadn't seen a reason to rent and it had paid off to have a place away from campus.

“Nice,” you reply sweetly, playing with your hands in your lap.

"You seem nervous, baby girl." Dave hums. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

“I’m not nervous,” you admit, “I just need to… never mind.” Embarrassment floods through you as you nearly admit how desperate you are for him to touch you, how the ache in the middle of your legs is growing stronger and almost painful.

"You need to do what?" Dave asks, looking back over at you again. "Tell me what you need."

“It hurts,” you say as he drives out of view of campus, your hands snaking up your thighs and under your dress, “Like if I don’t touch it, it’s gonna explode.”

You're turned on. Dave grunts in understanding and bites his lip as he contemplates what you should do. Finally, he reaches out and puts his hand on your thigh. "Put my hand on your clit, baby girl." He orders, wanting you to use his fingers. "In your clit or inside your pussy."

You place your hand on top of his and slowly lead it up your legs, opening them wider as you do. Leading it down to feel the wet patch on your panties before pulling your panties to the side and putting his hand on your clit.

“Jesus, little girl.” Dave groans, wanting to push his fingers inside you but you had brought him to your clit. He quickly turns his wrist so he can start rubbing it for you. “Want to cum?” He asks, knowing you do.

“Yes please,” you beg, desperate for something to ease that ache.

“Close your eyes.” Dave orders. “Just feel my finger on your clit.”

“Yes, Dave,” you breathe out as you do what he says, “Please.”

He makes slow, tight circles on your clit, keeping firm pressure on it as he drives. Feeling it throb against his digit as your chest heaves and your hips start to grind down subtly.

An endless stream of moans pour from your lips as he works something spectacular from you. “Oh, Daddy,” you moan without realising what you’re saying until it’s floating midair.

He chuckles, sliding a finger down through your folds to wet it even more before moving back to the bundle of nerves.

It doesn’t take long until you’re hanging over that edge, whimpering uncontrollably in your seat.

“That’s it, baby girl.” He coos, close to the house and his fingers speed up. “Cum for daddy.”

You cum hard and with another moan of his name, “I think you’re trying to kill me, Professor York.”

Dave huffs, pulling his fingers out of your panties and turns the wheel to turn onto his street. “So I should take you back to campus?” He asks teasingly. “Give you a break?”

“Don’t you dare,” you say with a loud giggle.

It’s only another few moments before he is pulling into the driveway of his house, opening the garage door as he pulls up so he can drive right in. “Too late now.” He grins as he winks at you. “I’ve got you home.”

His house is beautiful. The front yard is perfectly maintained and the house perfectly painted. “Wow,” you say, “This is… gorgeous.”

“Thank you. It was rundown when I bought it, but it’s been slowly improving.” Dave pulls into the garage and closes the door as he parks and shuts off the engine.

“You did this?” you ask in shock.

Dave smirks as he gets out of the car. “My parents were poor, I paid my way through college working for a construction crew building houses whenever I wasn’t in class.”

“You truly do have magical hands,” you say as you step out of the car, “It really is a beautiful home.”

“Thank you.” He motions you over to the door into the house. “It was college working my ass off and a partial scholarship, or the military.”

“Your parents must be super proud of you,” you say, reaching out and gently touching his elbow.

“They disowned me when I didn’t go to seminary.” Dave tells you matter of factly. There was nothing he could do about his parents' views, so he didn’t dwell on them.

Your stomach drops at his revelation, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t.” Dave assures you. “It’s their loss. I don’t let it affect me.” He guides you into the house and the kitchen. “What do you want to drink? Water, juice, tea, soda?”

“Water would be nice, thank you,” you say, “And your house is just as beautiful inside as it is outside.”

“Doesn’t look like a bachelor pad, you mean?” Dave jokes, opening the cabinet and pulls out a glass to get you some water.

“I can’t say I’d know what one of them looks like, so I'll just have to take your word for it,” you say, reaching out to take the water and thanking him.

It reminds him again of how sheltered you have been. “Do you want to look around? Take the tour?”

“Lead the way, Sir.”

It’s important for you to feel comfortable, so he takes his time. Slowly wandering through the house with you, telling you about the house and what he had done before guiding you to the master bedroom. The door is open and his bed is made, so Dave stands in the doorway and gestures for you to enter if you want.

You smile at him before pushing past him and walking over to the bed, and perching yourself on the edge. He’s still standing in the doorway, as you run your hands across the soft duvet. “How do you want me?”

“That’s a loaded question, baby girl.” Dave admits, still not moving from his spot. “How I want you, is naked and filled with my cock. How I get you, is up to you.”

“How about we start with the naked part and go from there?” you ask as you stand up and slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, before letting the whole thing fall down and pool at your feet.

Dave groans, drinking in the sight of you in your pretty white bra and panties, looking innocent but your face is filled with dirty thoughts. “That sounds good.” Dave reaches for his own button down and starts unbuttoning it, shrugging it off his shoulders and tosses it down. Both of your shoes are by the kitchen door and he reaches for his jeans.

The sight of him without a shirt makes your breath hitch, the wide expanse of his strong shoulders making you feel like you might drool. “Should I take my bra and panties off now, Daddy?”

“Take your bra off.” He orders, lowering the zipper of his jeans and starting to push them down his hips. He’s wearing boxers today and they are already starting to tent as he watches you remove your bra and reveal your breasts to him.

You let your bra drop down on the floor, saying nothing as you notice the large bulge in his boxers. “Tell me what you want to do to me,” you say in a whisper.

“Lay down on the bed and spread your legs, baby girl.” He kicks off his jeans and smirks as he does. “I want to see the wet spot over your pussy.”

You immediately climb back on the bed, making yourself comfortable before spreading your legs, eager to feel him touch you somehow.

The last thing is for his boxers to come off. Despite you sucking his cock, you’ve not seen him naked, probably never seen a naked man before right now as he pushes his boxers down, cock bobbing as he kicks them off and stands straight for you to look your fill.

“Holy fuck,” you curse before scolding yourself internally, “I-uh, I need you.” Your eyes flick up and down his bare form, you want to kiss every inch of him, you want to feel every part of him and you want him to do whatever he wants to you.

“What do you need, baby girl?” Dave asks, starting to walk towards you slowly, eyes fixed to the soaking wet patch of fabric over your pussy. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I need you to touch me, kiss me… use me,” you admit sheepishly, “Whatever you want to do.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say, little girl.” There is a growl to his voice and his cock twitches. “You know what I want.”

“Tell me,” you beg, wanting to hear the depravity fall from his lips.

“I want to suck on your tits.” Dave murmurs, “until you are squirming and begging me to lick your pussy. Then I want to lick your pussy until you cum all over my face like a messy little girl.” Dave sets one knee on the bed and leans in, cock hanging between his legs. “Then, I want to kiss up your body and slide my cock into the tightest, sweetest pussy I will ever have. Fill you with every inch of this.” His other hand wraps around his cock and he squeezes himself, groaning quietly. “After you cum on my cock and I’m about to cum, I want to pull out and paint your skin, your soft, untouched skin with ropes of my cum.”

“Yes,” you say as you rub your fingers between your legs, “Do it. Do it now.”

Euphoric victory hums through his veins and he nods. “Whatever you want, baby girl.” He had permission, he can taint you, deflower you. Soil you for any other and know that he was the first. He crawls up the bed and hovers over you, leaning in and pressing his lips to your gently before he ducks down and wraps his mouth around one of your tight nipples.

It comes to no surprise to you how responsive your body is to him, you gently gasp as he sucks hard on your nipple, your hand coming up to entangle in his hair. Your soft moans fill the air as you realise that you don’t need to hold back, “I’m all yours to do whatever you want with,” you whisper as he continues to tease your nipple with his tongue.

“Naughty girl.” He teases, switching to the other breast. “Sinful.”

“Should I start to repent?” you ask with a moan as his teeth graze you.

“Maybe you should.” Dave grins up at you. “Pray while I’m fucking you.”

“Pray for salvation as you send me towards damnation?” you say with another giggle, “Ruin me for whoever my parents make me marry.”

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, frowning as he pops off your tit. “You marry who you want.” He growls, suddenly pissed off at the idea of you being married off to some virginal twat who doesn’t know shit about pleasure.

You giggle again, “I’m pretty sure that my parents have already chosen someone for me, I’ll just need to cross the T’s and dot the I’s. My mom will have reassured his mom that my pussy is untouched, my lips unkissed, but they don’t need to know. They’ll never know I let the first and only man -ohh just like that- I've wanted to use me as he wishes.”

He has to stop talking about it or it will piss him off. Instead of answering, he bites down on your tit, just above your nipple to make you gasp out before he sucks on your tit again like you asked him to.

“Mark me up,” you beg, “Please.”

You love the way his mouth feels on your sensitive bud, the little streaks of pain when he drags his teeth across it. Every movement feels like it’s dripping with sin, and your body craves more.

He does as you ask, until your skin is littered in impressions of his teeth, making him smirk at the sight.

“Taste me,” you begin to plead over and over, “I need your tongue.”

You squirm under him on the bed, looking down at his handiwork. The bruises and teeth impressions making you gasp, “Make me yours,” you moan out as you trace your fingers on a particularly prominent mark.

Dave groans, moving back up and kisses your lips before he winks and starts to kiss down your body. Every inch is covered with his lips and he bites your hip playfully.

You groan at his ministrations, loving the way he’s teasing you, but also wanting to feel his mouth on you.

He's eaten you out, he had tasted you yesterday but this time there is a purpose. He wants to make it good for you, to get you wet enough that you don't hurt when he takes your virginity. His cock throbs in anticipation as he pulls your panties off and settles between your thighs to hook your legs up over his shoulders so he can spread you wide and spear his tongue into your core.

“Make me feel good,” you ask as sweetly as you can, watching the way he’s licking his lips as he stares at your glistening pussy.

It is the easiest order that he would ever follow, smirking and nodding. His eyes are fixed on yours while he lowers his mouth to your pussy and he groans at the tangy taste of your cum bursting on his tongue as he slides it though your folds and flicks it over your clit.

You fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, knowing he won’t like that. So you keep yours locked with his as he begins lapping at your clit, “Dave,” you moan, repeating his name over and over like it’s the only word you’ll ever speak again.

He takes his time, he has all the time in the world right now. His classes are cancelled, the doors are locked and his phone is on silent. Right now all that matters is you right here in his bed. He smirks and pulls his mouth away from your throbbing clit. "Recite the Divine prayers, baby girl." He orders you before taking your clit back into his mouth.

You make the Make in the Sign of the Cross, before reciting The Chaplet, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. - Mhmmm, oh Dave - Amen.” You smirk as you begin to recite St. Faustina’s Prayer for Sinners, “O Jesus, eternal Truth, our Life, I call upon You and I beg Your mercy for poor sinners. O sweetest Heart of my Lord, full of pity and unfathomable mercy, I plead with You for poor sinners. - Oh god, Please, Dave -” you cut yourself off with a loud gasp as he does something magnificent with your clit, words failing you as your thighs start to shake uncontrollably and your breaths become more shallow.

Every swipe of his tongue matches your words. Keeping tempo as you recite the prayer while his tongue sins. He groans into your pussy, loving how your breath hitches when his tongue flicks and your voice pitches higher when he sucks on the bundle of nerves. He wants you to cum, he needs you to cum and he doubles down on his ministrations to make that happen.

You cum hard and fast, your orgasm ravishing your whole body, making you scream his name and unconsciously pull his face even closer to your pussy as you ride out your high.

His scalp burns as you pull on his hair, making him moan and your juices flooding his mouth. His tongue is still moving while your thighs are squeezing his head and shaking around his ears.

“Kiss me,” you beg as you finally regain your composure, vaguely aware of him somewhere between your thighs, “Kiss me and fill me up with your cock.”

It's music to his ears and he swears that he could cum right now. His own breath shaky with excitement and anticipation as he crawls back up your body and his thighs slide between yours. His cock rests against your belly while he presses his wet mouth to yours, immediately sliding his tongue into your mouth and feeding your taste to you.

You kiss him with all the strength you can muster, getting braver with every kiss, feeling more confident and licking your way into his mouth. You feel his cock twitch against your stomach, and you shiver with anticipation.

There is a moment where he waits, still kissing you. Giving you a chance to change your mind if you want. Giving you the chance to keep your virginity for now if you wish to keep it. Wanting to hear you tell him yes one more time.

You can see the way his dark eyes soften for a few seconds, “I want this,” you whisper, “I’ve spent my whole life letting people make decisions for me. And unless you don’t want to… I want you to fuck me.”

"Baby girl...." Dave nudges your nose with his and kisses you again. "I want nothing more." He promises, cock twitching. 

He slowly lifts his hips and gives you enough space between your bodies to look while he reaches down and takes himself in hand. Sliding the head of his cock through your slick and puffy folds and teases the entrance of your pussy by circling it several times before he positions himself. 

Staring into your eyes, Dave lowers his body to yours to press you into the bed, his hips nudging slowly forward until the head of his cock slips into your heat and he starts to feel you.

You wince a little at the stretch of him, he takes his time, pushing in inch by inch, one of your hands wraps around his left shoulder and squeezes a little.

"It's okay....it's okay, baby girl." He stops when he feels it. The tiniest amount of resistance and he gives you a moment. Knowing that with a push of his hips, you will be considered tarnished. He kisses you softly. "Are you ready?" He whispers.

“Yes,” you say with a little smile, “I’m ready, Dave.”

He breathes in your cry when his hips snap forward, breaking through the barrier of your innocence and planting himself fully inside your walls.

You whimper into his mouth as he plants his lips firmly over yours, it stings, the stretch of him almost indescribable as he splits you open.

You’re not sure if it’s overwhelming, or not enough. You feel completely consumed by him, not able to form a coherent thought as he takes over all your senses.

"You're doing so good, baby girl, you feel so good." He whispers when he pulls his lips back and starts to kiss across your cheeks and your nose, giving you another minute to adjust to him.

“Do you… do you need to move?” you ask as you let your fingertips trail up and down his back.

"When you're ready for me to." He twitches inside you and pulls back so he can look into your eyes. "You tell me when you want to feel more, baby girl."

Your lip trembles at how soft he’s being with you, so soft that you could almost imagine him really caring for you, you quickly push that thought away and whisper for him to ‘move.’

Dave groans when he pulls his hips back, withdrawing from the heat of your body and hating how he doesn't have the tight squeeze of your walls around him before he slowly pushes back in. Feeling the way your walls yield as he fills you again so smoothly.

His thrusts are slow and calculated, he takes his time with each one, concentrating intently until he finds that spot inside of you that makes you yelp out loud.

"Good, baby girl?" He pants out, sliding his hands under your shoulder blades and he groans when you squeeze him tight. "You like that?"

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, “Keep moving.” You plead. “Please, Dave.” Words fail you as he continues to thrust in and out of you, the pain reducing with each drag of his cock and the pleasure increasing as you adapt to the girth of him.

Rocking his hips, Dave keeps his pace steady and the angle the same that had made you cry out. Wanting to make you feel good and cum on his cock. "Gonna- fuck, baby, you're so good."

“I think I’m gonna cum,” you pant seconds before your clamping down around his thick cock, and flooding him with your cum, it takes you by surprise how intense it feels and you find yourself digging your fingernails into his back as it all becomes a little too much.

He moans with you, gritting his teeth so he doesn’t fill you up, knowing that your pretty, untouched pussy isn’t protected against pregnancy. He has to pull out and he wants to feel every second of your pleasure. “Good girl, fuck, good girl.” He praises you, kissing along your jaw and down your neck.

Soft whimpers fill the room as he frees himself from you, you feel exhausted, unable to move from the spot your laying it, just basking in the soft attention he continues to pay you whilst you come back down, you feel the tip of him nudge against your clit before the sound of him aggressively stroking his cock floods your ears.

Dave’s teeth are buried in his bottom lip, barely suppressing a grunt as he works his cock. The slick of your cum coating him along with the thin strings of blood from your innocence. Marking him with your virginity and making him burn. His eyes are nearly black as his body trembles, jerking slightly as he hovers over you. “Fuck, fuck.” He hisses, your name grunted out right before he starts to cum.

You moan as you feel the warm spurts of his thick seed coat your pussy, and drip down through your folds, it feels like he cums forever. You whimper softly as your cunt clenches hard every time he lets a raspy grunt free and occasionally lets your name break free from his lips.

When he is done, your skin is covered in him. Thick ropes of cum splattered on your skin and glistening under the light. You look like an angel, dragged down to hell and he wants to take a picture to immortalise it but he doesn’t think that would be allowed. Instead he pants over you, his hand holding your knee and he looks over you like a priceless work of art.

“How was I?” you ask as you look up at him studying you, “Did I make you feel good?”

Dave chuckles, enjoying your eager expression. “You were amazing. You should see how you look right now, covered in me.”

“Show me,” you say, gesturing to your phone on the chest of drawers, “I want to see.”

His grin is immediately as he reaches for your phone. “I’ll delete it after I show you.” He promises, holding it out to you to unlock.

You punch in the key code quickly and then let your exhausted arms rest at your sides, “Show me,” you whisper again as he begins to angle your camera.

Dave snaps several pictures, quickly sending one of them to his phone before he turns it around and shows you the pictures he had taken.

“Oh wow,” you gasp, barely recognising the girl in the photo, before yawning loudly and looking away, “I feel exhausted.”

Dave smirks and takes the phone back from you to delete the photos like he had promised and sets it down on the nightstand. “Why don’t you pray while I clean you up and then we will take a nap?” He suggests.

“I don’t wanna pray right now,” you whisper, “But a nap sounds good.”

Nodding, he leans down and kisses your forehead. “I’ll go get a wash rag.”

You’re already asleep by the time he returns with the rag, you don’t feel him gently clean you up or feel him climb into bed beside you.

Dave pulls you against him, enormously pleased when you curl into his chest and sigh, settling into his arms. There is a blood stain on the sheets and he has quite a bit to write about tomorrow.

[Six Months Later]

He whispers in your ear to ssshhhh as the door to his office is knocked a few more times. You’re thankful you’re the one who locked it today, confident that no one will be able to come in and find you sitting on his lap. Your uniform skirt hitched about around your hips, sitting on his cock whilst he draws lazy circles on your clit with one hand and makes papers with the other. 

Your confidence had grown since Christmas break, and going back home to find out that your suspicions were founded. Your parents had been talking to one of the elders who had a grandson your age, a few years ahead of you at St Brennans that they were expecting you to marry. Your mother had gushed about how he’d seen you in the hall a few times and felt that you would indeed make a suitable wife, it took everything in you to ask if he’d still find you suitable if they all knew that Dave had developed a few hobby that involved bending you over his legs and spanking you as you recited the verses that were bled into your skin as a child. 

The very next day you found yourself driving back to your dorm but instead of stopping in front of your building you kept driving, until you arrived at your Professor's house.

Unable to spill your guts and tell him what was upsetting you, the second he shut the front door, you ripped off your jeans and bent yourself over the back of his couch and begged him to make you forget.

He proceeded to drop to his knees and lightly tease your clit for a few minutes before dragging his tongue up and burying it in your ass. You can still feel the way your body tensed up as he took you by surprise, never having touched you there before, only briefly mentioning he’d wanted to.

He stuck two thick digits inside of you whilst making you squirm and whimper on his tongue. Seconds after you came he sheathed his cock inside of you, filling you the hilt and pulling hard on your hips, fucking you harder than ever before and making you scream that you were his.

After then you found yourself more and more pliant, always ready and willing for him to use your body however he wanted, all whilst trying to push away the obvious feelings you were getting for him.

“Don’t cum,” he orders as he feels your walls flutter around him, “If you cum, I’ll bend you over this desk and you’ll spend the rest of the day unable to sit down. And that just wouldn’t look good to your bible study pals now, would it?”

You groan as the circles he’s drawing on your clit get more precise and make you squirm even more. He knows what he’s doing, he wants you to soak his cock and say his name like a desperate little prayer as he works you towards heaven. As you tremble more and more, he drops his pen and sneaks his now free under your sweater and starts to massage and squeeze your tit, ‘Don’t cum’ he warns again, knowing you have no way of stopping yourself and you’re definitely about to defy his orders.

His cock twitches inside of you as you flood his lap, cumming around him hard as he tuts throughout your high, still refusing to let up on the way he’s working your clit.

You hear him say something about you being a naughty girl, before he’s pushing you off of his lap and over the stacks of papers on his desk. “How many this time?” he says out loud as he admires the view, his hand coming down to knead to flesh of your ass, “At least 5 for defying my orders and I can’t ignore this now, can I?” he says whilst grabbing at your skirt, “The rule is 2 inches below the knee at the very minimum, yes? And you’ve got your pretty little pussy out on full display for me… so that’s got to be at least another 15 more.” He coos mockingly as you groan on his desk, “Oh I know poor baby, but you’ve got to follow the rules.”

Dave smirks at how filthy you are now, begging for his cock and anything that he will do to you. “Get your rosary beads out.” He orders, rubbing your ass and warming up your skin before he lands the first strike on your ass.

He’s done what he wants with you and he loves it, loves how you take everything and beg for more. How’s he’s turned you from a sweet, innocent little girl and turned you into a cock hungry little whore. Leaving your Bible study to come suck his cock and let him cum on your face.

His secret stash of photos has grown. Password protected and for his eyes only, he has dozens of photos of your body covered in his cum, filled with his cock. On your knees with your innocent eyes looking up at him or your pussy stuffed full. He loves it.

You reach into your bag and pick out your rosary as he instructed, “I’ve got it,” you say as innocently as you can, knowing that he’s about to mark you up in his favourite way.

“I want you to count out the licks.” He leans over and coos into your ear. “Then you are going to use your rosary in prayer while you sit on my cock again. And you don’t cum.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond as a mixture of anticipation and excitement courses throughout your veins.

Sir. You know he loves it when you acknowledge the power imbalance between you. Sir or daddy being his favourites. He hums in approval and smirks as he slaps your ass again.

You choke out the word “Seven,” unsure if that was indeed number seven or number eight. His large hand gently rubs as the burn patch of your ass and you wonder if he’ll make you ride out the 20 he suggested.

Dave makes sure that he keeps the tempo of your punishment slow, working you up and making you anticipate. Knowing your pussy will be throbbing when he slides back inside you. Smirking to himself, he pushes your foot wider to spread your legs more. The next slap aimed for your pussy.

You yelp louder than you definitely should in your professors office. The pain is almost unbearable as you realise what he did.

“Shhhhhh.” Dave chuckles, fingers sliding through the mess your orgasm had left. “Do I need to stuff your panties in your mouth?” As much as he loves your virginal white panties, you had bought some white thongs that he had stripped off of you today.

You half mumble the word ‘no’ before falling forward onto his desk, he gave you a word to use when it all gets too much and it’s hanging off the tip of your tongue, “Dave,” you murmur, “Please.”

“Do you think you deserve a reward, baby girl?” He can tell you’re overwhelmed, nearly to the edge of making him stop and he caresses your ass again. “Do you want to sit on daddy’s cock for him again? Can you be a good girl this time?”

“Yes,” you just about manage to croak out, “I want to sit you on your cock.” You push yourself up on steady legs, and much to your surprise he gently leads you around to face him.

Dave sits down and pulls you into his lap, opening your legs and making you straddle him. “Just like this, little girl.” He murmurs, reaching between you so he can line up his cock to push inside your sweet pussy.

You slowly sink down on him, resting your hands on his shoulders as you do so. You moan softly as he fills you, somehow feeling even bigger from this angle.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He murmurs, letting you lean forward and tuck your face into his neck. His hands rub slow circles on the gooseflesh skin on your ass, slowly caressing you while you flutter around him.

You hum in agreement, letting your arms wrap around him, “You always feel good,” you admit as you nuzzle your face against his skin, “always.”

Humming in approval, his fingers graze the beads. “Start praying, sweetheart.”

You start reciting a prayer of self protection into the crook of his neck, trying to focus on not moving, trying to focus on not clamping down around his hard cock and milking him of all of his pleasure, “Dave,” you whine as he very slowly fucks himself up into you just to tease, “Don’t be mean.”

He huffs in amusement, loving how you are whining his name. “Greed.” He rasps out, twitching inside you again. “So greedy for your pleasure.”

“Who’s fault is that?” you ask as you suck on his neck, don’t hard enough to leave marks, but enough to make him hiss.

“You want to blame me?” He grunts, gripping your ass more firmly and rocking you on him while you curl against his chest.

“Yes,” you reply petulantly, before bringing your face up to his, “I do.”

Dave smirks, making his cock twitch inside you just to make you gasp. He leans into you, making you think that he was going to kiss you but his teeth find your bottom lip. He bites down on it, loving how you moan.

You purposely clench down around him as he nibbles your lip. Your hands reaching up and gently gripping his jaw softly. “You know I’m going to have to leave for my next class at some point?” you say with an exaggerated pout.

“You don’t have to.” Dave huffs, kissing your lips and biting it again. “You could stay.” His hips thrust up. “Right here.” He thrusts again. “All day.”

“Yeah?” You say as he fucks up into you, “How are you going to teach your next class with me keeping your cock nice and warm?”

“I’ll teach over zoom by powerpoint.” He teases, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Or maybe just show everyone what a bad girl you are.”

“How do you think your number #1 fan would react to seeing me bouncing up and down on your cock?” you ask as you grind down on him.

He chuckles, knowing how jealous you get over Deandra. You’re possessive and honestly it doesn’t bother him as much as he had thought it would. It shows how deep he’s gotten.

“I have to go in like two minutes, Dave,” you say as you start bouncing up and down on his cock a little faster, “Unless you want to explain to Professor Thomas why I’m late to his lecture again.”

He rolls his eyes, huffing at the idea of talking to that pompous windbag again and listening to his lecturing about decorum. “Fine, baby girl.” He slaps your ass playfully and urges you to ride him faster. “Gonna fill you up and you keep it inside you, okay? I’ll put more in this sweet pussy tonight.”

You hum happily at his words, as you ride him a little faster, “Fill me up, Daddy.”

“Shit.” Dave hisses, tightening his grip as he starts to push his hips up harder. You know how to make him cum. “Fuck, fuck, little girl-“ He groans your name as he thrusts one last time, burying himself deep and painting your walls with hot spurts of his cum.

You kiss him gently on the lips before standing up, tucking your panties in his shirt pocket, knowing that he wouldn’t be happy if you left here wearing them.

“Good girl.” Dave tucks his cock away and pats your ass as you straighten your appearance in the mirror that he has hung in a corner. “I’ll pick you up after your last class.” He tells you softly.

*

It’s only after you give him a decidedly promising kiss and slip out of his office does it hit Dave. He’s gotten in too deep. 

He’s allowed you to do things that no one else has, including practically living at his house. More often than not, he will pick you up after your classes, telling himself that he doesn’t trust you to eat or take care of yourself. Or that he wants to fuck you. But often it’s when you’re in his bed asleep that he thinks about the first time you had napped there, pulling you into his arms and letting you sleep on his chest. 

Dave frowns, analysing his feelings and realises that he hasn’t written for months. The meticulous notes that he used to take have been abandoned for the pure pleasure of spending time with you.

He’s completely changed for you, and the most ironic thing of all is that you don’t even know it.

*

You sit on the island in front of the oven swinging your legs, the timer on the oven still showing over twenty minutes as you kick your legs impatiently.

Dave is sitting at the table marking some essays and you decide it’s best to stop distracting him for a little while. 

Your mind drifts to the way he greeted you an hour earlier, you had barely stepped in through the door before he was pulling you in for a kiss. Possessively moulding his lips on top of yours as he pulled you as close to him as he could. 

You thought he was going to drag you into his bedroom then and there but he just kissed you a little softer and peppered a fleeting kiss to your forehead before telling you he had a few papers to mark, so you offered to make dinner. 

You’re pulled out of your daydream by him asking you to grab some new markers from his work office, a room you’d only been in once. 

“Sure, baby,” you say with a grin before jumping down off the countertop. 

“Baby,” he repeats with a raised eyebrow and a boyish grin, “Mhmm.”

His office is meticulous, everything perfectly placed and dusted. The smell of leather is both inviting and a little intoxicating. You look for the pack of markers on his desk and don’t see them, so you start looking in his drawers, finding nothing in the first few and in the third finding a small leather bound diary. 

You feel a twinge of guilt as your fingertips brush against it, for the most part Dave is so closed off, only giving you small parts of him, on occasion.

The book feels heavy in your hands and you know it’s because you feel guilty, you shouldn’t be doing this, but you just can’t help yourself. You open to the first page and see a girls name you don’t recognise at the top. 

Your eyes scan the page in disbelief. 

You were a conquest. Just like the girl on this page, and the girl on the next and the one after that.

And then it was your name.

He listed your age and how long it took for him to get you into his bed.

He had underlined the fact your father is a clergyman over and over, like you’d be his biggest challenge.

You feel a painful lump form in your throat as you realise that you never meant a thing to him. 

You feel sick, your legs threaten to give out beneath you and the room feels like it’s spinning around you. 

The sound of him calling your name from down the hall makes you want to scream or cry or both; you can’t decide. Before you realise it your feet are dragging you down the hall until you’re face to face with him again. 

He doesn’t have time to speak before you’re throwing the book down in front of him. 

“You got me into bed the quickest,” you shout, “Does that make me the winner or the loser?”

Tears start to stream down your face as he picks up the book you threw down on top of his pile of unmarked essays, “You’re evil,” you spit, “Is this a game to you? Pick the weakest girl and strip her of her innocence! Her virtue! Just for fun?”

Shit. Horror and guilt sink like a stone in Dave’s stomach and the chair scraping back against the floors as he stands up sounds like the scream you want to hurl at him. Dropping the book down on the table like it offended him. 

Eyes wide, he holds up his hands. “Sweetheart, let me - let me explain.” He rushes out, unsure of what to say or how? How does he admit that in the beginning you were a conquest but that changed and he didn’t even know it until it happened? That the reason he stopped writing in it was because it had changed. Today in his office, he had come to the conclusion that unlike the others that he had tarnished, he was keeping you. Needing to see where this would go.

The heartbreak on your face makes him feel dirty. Like a true sinner for the first time. His kinks were hurting you, he had hurt you and he hates it, hates himself for it.

He fucking loves you.

It’s a stark realization and Dave nearly retches because he knows he’s fucked up. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and shake your head, “No.” You grab your bag from the counter and head towards the front door, hearing him scramble behind you and yelling your name, but you keep walking.

He tries to reach you before you get to the door but he can't. Tripping over the fucking rug that you had wanted him to buy for the space on a rare weekend out shopping. He should have known then that he was fucked. 

Calling out your name again does nothing, the door slamming so hard that a framed landscape falls off the wall. Leaving him to decide if he should chase after you and create a scene in the street or call you.

The cold air feels like a slap to the face as you run down his driveway. Your eyes are stinging from the never ending flow of tears, but you manage to pull out your phone and order an uber to pick you up from down the street. 

‘How could he do this?’ you think to yourself, maybe you knew he was never going to love you. He was never ever going to truly care, but you never imagined this. You were a conquest. A game. Something for him to laugh over after he got what he wanted. 

Your virginity is preserved like some kind of sick trophy in the walls of the house that you’d grown to love, one that he’d refer to as ‘home’ when telling you to stay the night. 

You wipe the tears off your face as you round the corner, seeing an uber matching the description as the one coming for you pulling up.

[redfurrycat]

🏍️☃️🔁💞🔙🤠🐓Time Travel/Loop & Reincarnation Fic Recs🤠🐓🔙💞🔁☃️🏍️

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Adiduck, Alecjbi, Andthentheybow, Aphroditedany, Boasamishipper, Chase_acow, Earthangel_44, Haridwar, Lacerta, Lxvenderhaze, MadeItUp, Nighttimedawn, Notchka88, OfTheDirewolves, Qin_ling, Quantumoddity, ReformedTsunderePodfics, Secretservicebadger, SunMonTue, VarjoRuusu, Winterbucky, Youlookgood.

> Space AU {🤠🐓} > Amnesia & Memory Loss

Make A Wrong One Right by boasamishipper {T}

/☃️Time Travel🏍️/

Terrified, Maverick grabs the newspaper off the doorstop and tears the thread off, tearing it open. There’s a story about the nuclear reactor that exploded in Ukraine in April, and another about the death of Ted Lyons. Ronald Reagan is the president of the United States, the Cubs beat the Dodgers last night 9-4, and Aliens is the number one movie in America. The newspaper is the San Diego Union. The date is July 26, 1986. Maverick clamps a hand over his mouth and barely makes it back in the house in time to fall to his knees and vomit into the toilet. - Maverick makes a wish and wakes up thirty years in the past. He reacts accordingly.

time and time again by andthentheybow {M}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

Rooster wakes up on the third April 22nd in a row covered in phantom explosion burns and with the concrete knowledge that this mission is going to go terribly, horribly wrong. + time and time again [Podfic] by ReformedTsunderePodfics

Whatever It Takes by Aphroditedany {E}

/☃️🏍️Time Travel🤠🐓/

"Are you truly willing to do this, Pete? Are you ready for what awaits you?" He swallows heavily. "Whatever it takes." If you had a chance to go back in time and fix everything, if you could make a world where you can be happy, would you be willing to sacrifice what you already have?

falling for you everytime by nighttimedawn {T}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

Jake responded with a full body laugh, and, like they had done this a million times before, the two of them gravitated into a quick hug. He could see the astonished stare of Javy behind Jake, could sense that Phoenix was giving the same astonished stare behind him. And why shouldn’t they? For years, they had fought like children on a playground, pushing and shoving and yelling, never letting anyone get a word in otherwise. But now, now they were hugging and laughing like they’d been friends for years and even Bradley didn’t know where the animosity had gone. Or a time loop AU in which Bradley and Jake have spent years and years falling in love, but neither of them can remember.

as lions by qin_ling {T}

/☃️Time Travel🏍️/

Maverick doesn’t regret it when he takes the hit, when the last thing he hears before he ejects is Rooster screaming his name. But then he wakes. Not to a vast, white snowfield behind enemy lines—but to an inverted cockpit of an F-14. And to Goose, alive and well in the seat behind him. — Or; the time-travel fix-it in which TG:M Maverick wakes up at the start of TG (1986).

it was only ever you by haridwar {E}

/🤠Reincarnation🐓/

Different lives, different faces, different names and identities. Centuries of chasing. Those eyes, that soul, still inexplicably the same. It was both a blessing and a curse that Jake was the one forever burdened to remember first. or: soulmates au where they reunite once they've recovered memories from their past lives

Leave the Future Behind You by VarjoRuusu {T}

/☃️Time Travel🏍️/

Maverick went to sleep after a long day, a hard mission that they barely survived, exhausted, bruised, but happy as he could be after loosing Ice less than a week before. He had Bradley back, and things were the best the could be. When he woke up something was very, very wrong. Halfway across the world Slider tumbled out of bed and swore. - Or, Maverick and Slider go back in time to the day Cougar turns in his wings.

tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow by alecjbi {T}

/🤠Reincarnation🐓/

They said the woman in the woods would show herself only in someone’s darkest hour, when they needed her the most. If there was any time for it, Jake thought, it was now.

all our yesterdays by Notchka88 {E}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

Everything that happens on the carrier is clockwork; there’s no variation that Jake has noticed in anyone’s behavior or actions unless he initiates something. The changes he effects are inconsequential and the end result is always the same: Bradley dies. And dies. And dies. (Jake gets another chance at the mission, and then another, and another. At a certain point they stop feeling like chances and more like foregone conclusions.)

today, again, and tomorrow by Lacerta {T}

/☃️Time Loop🏍️/

Maverick wakes up with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. It’s almost as if he’s lived through the day before… but that, obviously, is a ridiculous idea. * It takes him a couple of days to discover he’s not alone in this time loop.

If I Could Turn Back Time by Earthangel_44 {E}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

In the wake of Bradley’s death, Jake sells his soul to go back in time and save him. The only catch: they can’t be in love. AKA: The angsty demon timeloop au

as if it might turn out this time by quantumoddity {M}

/☃️Time Loop🏍️/

Sergeant Tom Kazansky is a battle hardened solider known as the Iceman, he's killed hundreds of mimics across multiple time loops, he's the freaking Angel of Verdun. But he's never come across someone like Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Because this time, Maverick's the one in control. He's the one in the loop, he knows whats coming. At least until something takes them both by surprise.

the stars align (just one time) by OfTheDirewolves {M}

/🤠Reincarnation🐓/

In one world a prince fell in love with a lord but the world was cruel and they were robbed of the time they deserved... In another two pilots meet at top gun but it will take them too long to fully understand what they mean to each other. or Jake and Bradley fall in love over multiple lifetimes, will they finally get it right? or will they keep getting in their own way?

love you right this time by winterbucky {T}

/☃️Time Travel🏍️/

Maverick knows he and Iceman missed their chance. Too scared, too hesitant, they're left to pick up the pieces of their love. And then Tom dies, and something in Pete dies to. It's no brainer to sacrifice himself for Bradley, at peace with joining his best friend and the love of his life in the afterlife Only he wakes up somewhere else. Sometime else, actually. Is he alone?  or icemav time travel au with reunions and second chances and mav not being alone

Both Sides Now by adiduck {E}

/☃️Time Travel🏍️/

“How do we know the pre-selected one-seaters will be able to fly the mission?” Cyclone and Warlock look at each other. “They have been selected, as you were, Captain, for their experience in similar missions. Their situation is… unique,” Warlock explains. “They’re black ops?” Maverick asks. “Because otherwise I don’t know that there are any active naval aviators who can fly this.” Besides me, he doesn’t say. Again. “Not anymore,” Cyclone allows. “Are you familiar with Operation Groundhog?” (Or: The Navy has decided to solve its problems with Time Loop technology. Certain parties decide to solve a few other problems with it, too.)

 I love you - It never ends by secretservicebadger {T}

/🤠Reincarnation🐓/

They died there, foreheads pressed together as they held each other, Jacob’s arms circling Bradley’s head like a halo. They had so much left to do with no time to do it.

undo what has been done by lxvenderhaze {_}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

When Bradley was called back to Top Gun for a special mission, he had no idea that his whole life was about to change. He was about to get a strange and inexplicable chance to heal old wounds, change his future, and find love along the way. or: Bradley got stuck in a time loop during the mission only to realize he wasn't the only one.

Kissin' by the Mistletoe (until we get it right) by MadeItUp, Notchka88 {T}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

Penny’s Christmas Party is an annual tradition. It's invite only, and the entry requirement is a dish for the potluck, an ornament for the tree, or ten bucks for the tip jar. All Jake has to do is put in an appearance and then he can leave. But leaving the Hard Deck soon proves more challenging than Jake was expecting. If only he could figure out who is the right person to kiss under the mistletoe...

Resting Grinch Face by chase_acow {M}

/🤠Time Loop🐓/

If anyone were to ask Bradley if he felt the holiday spirit, he’d say sure. After all, his bruises had faded to green and his newer scars were finally a dull red. His santa hat cocked jauntily on his head as he played the piano. There was a twink dressed as an elf cuddled up on his left, and on his right an over-sized mug of spiked eggnog. What more did a man need for the holidays?

I love you always by youlookgood {_}

/🤠Reincarnation🐓/

heartwarming, heartbreaking, bitter, sweet. they carry enough love in their hearts to last a lifetime and beyond.

Once Upon a Time in 1996... by SunMonTue {E}

/☃️Time Loop🏍️/

Set in 1996 Maverick wakes up to a great day. Then it all turns to shit. It ends up being one of the best days of his life. Eventually.

[habit-poxly]

father neptune (pt.1)

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 

sea monster-hunter au!

description: Ghost is a crew member aboard the Bravo 141, a large sea monster hunting ship with decades of battle experience. Upon docking in a small, remote island the crew of the ship are warned by the locals of a spirit that wanders the beach at night- waiting to drag unsuspecting passersby into the depths of the ocean. Disregarding the villagers cautions, they stay the night; unknowingly invading another ghosts haunting ground. 

warnings: alcohol, no sea monsters in this pt >:( , harpoon, strong horror elements 

word count: 4.1k

masterpost | Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt.3 

The year is 1809. Simon Riley -better known as 'The Ghost of the Sea' by other monster-hunting vessels- was a member of the crew on the Bravo 141, a large three-mass ship. In the earlier years of the vessel Simon and his crew would be out for months, travelling the open waters in search of high-bounty kills. Yet over the past couple of years, after the loss of crew, friends and family over and over, after the deep wounds that have changed the survivor's bodies forever, after taking beatings and battering- the crew had decided to begin to slow down. Their once bustling crew now reduced to just four: Captain Price, Ghost, Gaz and Soap. It was more honest work now, mostly just drifting their large hunting ship up and down the coastline looking for creatures that wandered too far in; nothing like the massive firefights and battles of their heyday.  

As of recently they had been using the same route, taking them sailing into the same small port village for minimal supplies and trading every journey- It had been the Captain's favourite stop and it was not difficult to see why. The coastline would dip and rise, falling into beautiful rocky beaches and climbing into sharp, nearly completely vertical cliff faces. The out of place looking dock was wonderfully maintained and big enough for them to dock, the small bay it rested in deep and void of undercurrents. The lighthouse was always in working order despite the Bravo 141 being the only ship to regularly pass through other than a few small personal vessels. Inside the village was quaint- only a hand full of buildings scattered distantly across the hilly, grassy landscape. The crew only ever saw a handful of people about- there was almost always a few men in the pub, maybe they'd see one or two men walking through the winding dirt road that lead from the dock into the village centre, but never any children or women- always just older men. They had found it odd, yet they were so few people living in this area the crew had presumed the men shipped their families off for education on the mainland- or perhaps none of these men had anyone at all. 

They had never stayed for more than a few hours during daylight, never having needed to do anything except resupply and head to the dusty pub. The old men inside would tell tall tales on end of a ghost that haunts the coast, walking up and down the beach with a lantern in hand looking for men to drag into the sea to claim for her own. No man on their small crew of 4 was superstitious despite their odd profession- the only ghost they knew to be real was the Ghost who draws their sails, aims their harpoons, and sleeps soundlessly in his bunk. The local's warnings went firmly unheeded by the experienced monster hunters, quickly being discounted as fiction and promptly made fun of, becoming something of an inside joke amongst the crew. After all, they had faced beasts larger then their ship- no ghost, no woman, no chance of death was anything to fear.

After a particularly gruelling chase and fight, the ship had come up empty-handed. The giant, grey monster they had wrapped in their net managing to wiggle free and dive back down into the deep, refusing to resurface. The creature itself hadn't caused any incidents yet- but was massively large with thick rows of razor-sharp teeth, a beast deserving of a hefty bounty. They had suffered three weeks of tracking, chasing and running in circles only to limp back to the only port near empty-handed was a unignorable blow to the crew. The journey home would be long and tedious, far too long to not rest beforehand. Yet the closest large port was days away in Dublin-  in the opposite direction of London, where they were located. It was a simple decision, they'd stay in port for a few nights- possibly a few weeks if they could find a bed in town- and enjoy the peace of the cliffside while they recuperate. 

Sunday evening air blew a chilled but comfortable breeze over the ocean, the ship softly bobbing up and down in the calm water of the bay. As night fell, the men gathered on the ship's front bow for a few drinks as they did often, looking out into the pitch-black landscape ahead of them. They had gone into town earlier in the evening to head to the pub- only to find it closed and the town completely dark. It appeared that all the villagers had turned their lights out the moment darkness had settled over the landscape. 

"It's odd, yeah? They must really believe this place is haunted." Gaz hummed, swirling a glass of whiskey in hand as he leaned over the ship railing. The group of men had long abandoned properly putting on their gear, settling for tunics, breeches and leather boots- all except Soap who still managed to pull enjoyment out of dressing extravagantly. 

"Turnin' out all their lights like that is making it worse. They're scarin' themselves." Price quips with a scoff, drunkenly slurring his words "Hysterical, the lot of em" With a wave of his hand he refills his own glass and takes a long sip. Simon could swear the drink in his hand had to be his 5th or 6th since they started- everyone else having had about the same. It wasn't uncommon to see the men aboard heavily intoxicated while no work needed to be done, it happened almost every evening recently in fact. There were never any conversations over sensitive topics, everything felt far too tender, and drinking was the welcomed substitution. 

"Even if there was a lass walkin' up the beach lookin' for poor bastards to drag in- they could just not go to the beach at night, right?" A wide, cocky grin stretches across Soap's face at his words, face flushed red from the booze. "Would solve the whole issue... And they can keep the lights on." 

Simon had half been paying attention to the conversation happening beside him, his focus mainly on the swishing of the liquid in his cup. The whole thing was ridiculous to him, anyways. Giving it any thought at all was a waste of energy, yet the others had been speaking endlessly about it. Out of habit, he readjusts the piece of cloth covering the lower half of his face- messy blond hair sticking up in every direction. Perhaps that's why Gaz and Soap had insisted they had drinks on deck tonight- to watch for the ghost. Simon guesses Price was just as interested- as he did nothing to stop it, even bringing out his nice whiskey glasses. The only light for miles was what was softly radiating off the lanterns and candles scattered across the vessel, making focusing on anything but the black outline of a shore and waves very difficult. During the evenings when the moon is covered, the ocean swallows any light, making everything below a pitch-black void.

"Can't be that simple, bastards must have a reason to be actin' this way." Ghost grunts taking a swig from his glass, eyes fixating on the ground. The ship's floorboards creaked under his weight as he shifted, leaning his back against the ship railing. 

"Wait- fuck. Look." Gaz loosens the collar of his red tunic and points down the shore to a small, glowing yellow dot. "Someone's on the beach with a lantern all the way down there- didn't even see it 'till now" Gaz announces, gathering everyone's attention to where he was looking. About 500 yards from the ship was the soft silhouette of a woman- wearing a long, loose white dress that hung heavy from the waist down with water. The light from the flame inside wasn't enough to shape any distinct features from her- just her clear outline. She wasn't facing them, not at the moment, her gaze was turned out to sea- ankle-deep in the no doubt freezing ocean water. 

"Someone's fucking with us. One of those bastards from the pub." Soap grumbles, his body leaning over the boat in an attempt to get a better look. Price nodded, taking another long sip. 

For a moment Simon can see why the people in town would be frightened, seeing her there was certainly jarring against the jagged black rocks and swirling waves. She looked like a woman, a real, human woman standing in ankle-deep water.

"I don't think so." Simon says, voice deep and tense. Shuffling closer to the edge he focuses on the figure. Silence falls over the crew as she takes another step deeper into the water, it reaches up to her knees now. The bottom of her loose white dress bubble to the surface- riding on top of the waves. 

She wasn't bothering them, nor had she called out for their attention in any way, she was just standing on the beach alone. Maybe she was a real person who was just someone who liked to linger, or maybe she was a ghost- haunting the beach waiting for one of them to drunkenly wander to her so she can take them away.

"Creepy." Gaz hum's, leaning back onto the ship. "If she gets any closer I'm going to shit my pants." The men chuckle, quickly brushing off the instance as all three turn back to the table on the deck. Quickly the topic is discarded, the group arriving at the conclusion that it was nothing worth worrying about. The men begin a game of cards, enjoying the pleasant evening and indulging in, even more, liquor- yet Simon can't help but stay glued to the railing watching the woman in the water. After a few moments still, she takes a few steps back onto the beach, the sound of the metal clanks from the lantern managing to reach the ship. There she stays, feet planted to the ground facing the open ocean. 

Loud laughter busts out behind him, the smell of liquor wafting over the ship as the volume increases. Ghost nearly flinches when he watches the woman's head snap towards him, her gaze no doubt locked on his form. She raises her hand and turns off the flickering blaze- plunging the beach back into complete darkness, shielding her completely. If she hadn't been aware they were watching her, she was now. He straightens, eyes running over the dark area in an attempt to catch her figure again; yet he doesn't. No shadows of movement flicker, no sounds of footsteps are heard, it was as if she had simply vanished from her spot. 

"She's gone." Simon said flatly turning back to the group, he hears Soap choking down a hardy laugh as he hiccups. "Like she walked away?" He asks, Scottish accent thick with drunkenness. 

"No. She turned the light off. I can't see her anymore." He replies sternly hands gripping the railing in front of him tightly. It was worth no mental energy, he had told himself, yet still, he sat there with eyes mulling over the dark evening for the ghost's figure. 

"Creepy!" Gaz says again shaking his head, the three men glance at Price who simply shrugs. "Suppose we could head down and see." 

Gaz and Soap visibly tense, quickly exchanging glances. "All of us, Captian?" Gaz asks. 

Once again he shrugs. "Doubt it's anything more than a woman on an evening walk, I'd like to get out for a walk myself." He says placing down his glass and beginning to walk to the main floor of the ship to disembark, he wobbled slightly in his steps- yet it was nothing anyone was worried about, the rest of them were nearing that point themselves.

The three other men quickly grab their things, following the Captian wherever he decides to take them. Soap had grabbed a harpoon while exiting the ship, earning a stern look from both John and Simon. Silently, the men made their way down the dock and onto the empty beach. From this vantage point, the ground was much clearer, yet still far from perfectly visible. 

" 'right." Price grunts, adjusting his light and turning in the direction they had seen the woman. A thick fog had seemed to begin to quickly rush in covering the path ahead in a thick sheet of it. "Why'd you bring that stupid harpoon anyways?" He raises an eyebrow, half turning to the man behind him. Price was leading the way, followed shortly by Gaz and Soap and lastly Ghost lingering behind at the back. The sound of boots displacing the rocks that covered the ground echoed off the tall wall-like cliff beside them. If she wasn't wearing shoes Simon doubts they'd be able to hear her footsteps- and that was more than likely. 

" 's for protection!' Soap held it up proudly, earning a chuckle from the group.

"From the ghost? That'll come in real handy." Simon grumbles and rolls his eyes, Soap stopped and turned back to him- it only takes a few moments for the two to meet and begin walking together. 

"Only you said it might be a ghost, Ghost." The man smirks, fixing his gaze back on Price.

"Didn't think you were the faithful type, Simon." John muses- a large, drunken grin steadfast across his face-, holding the small light strong in front. Simon wasn't faithful- sure: he had been raised protestant, had gone to church every Sunday his parents made him, had been a choir boy at the city chapel, but he was never faithful. The word held no meaning to him, he had seen the sea swallow many good, capable men,-in his youth he had prayed to women, to bourbon, to money and what it could buy but the only god he prayed to nowadays was Father Neptune. Silent prayers for safe passage leaving every dock, every harbour. No one knows he does it but him, but Simon was never 'faithful', or at least he'd never admit it out loud. 

Yet, clearly, someone haunts these shores. His personal stalking ground was elsewhere- just beyond the breaking waves not two meters from him. This was someone's place they came to pray, he was sure of it. He had hoped their God had been merciful to them, but their pacing of the shore begged to tell a different, more unsettling story. What pain must they have gone through to be so tortured? No person could force him to suffer a fate as he imagines hers to have been- perhaps her story had concluded, and she was left scattered in the aftermath. A ghost like him was difficult to come by, regardless of if they were of the flesh. 

" 'm not." He replies sternly, it was more than controversial to not follow the crown faith, especially after the rise of Napoleon, yet all men who stepped onto the deck of a hunting vessel such as their own would no doubt leave an atheist. Simon had lost his faith long before that ship, though; it dwindled over time as experience after experience cast chisel marks into the stone. 

"But you believe in ghosts?" Gaz quips, chuckling softly. Simon shakes his head, deciding to end the conversation where it stood. 

As the group slowly stumbled further down the beach, it was clear inebriation had begun to make the trek undoable, Soaps steps swaying- feeling slipping over the large rocks that bade the beach- Price and Gaz were not much better. Simon hadn't drunk nearly as much, feeling far more capable here than the others must have. 

Suddenly, Price stops and motions for them to be quiet, causing the men behind him to go rigid. Almost instantly upon the silence settling over them, they heard it. 

Coming loudly from a dark dip in the rock face ahead echoed soft, haunting cry’s- a woman's voice spattered and sobbed, merciless noises racking from the cave and bouncing down the beach. It was as if she was in agony, as if she had lost something so unbelievably valuable to the dark waters that she would never recover, she would walk in mourning forever. The wailing grows louder the more small steps forward Price takes sending shivers down the spines of the men. 

"Hello?" He drunkenly calls out, receiving no response. The crying doesn't fade, instead staying at the same level of distress. John calls out again, this time a decent bit louder while taking a few steps closer. 

"You 'right?" Soap screams louder, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cliffside and bringing the crying to a sudden stop. After shooting Soap sharp glances the men sit in dark silence for more than a comfortable amount of time- frozen, waiting for any other noise. But when none come Price scoffs. 

"This is definitely someone fucking with us, Cap." Gaz asserts, taking a wide step back in the direction of the boat. "Let's just go." His face quickly dissolved into a look of worry, he moves to grip the Captain's shoulder with his hand but Price takes a staggered step back. 

" 's not a thing to worry about, son." The man shakes his head and takes a few more steps toward the cove. 

Simon steps forward, walking after John slowly. "Come on, let's go." There was a threatening tone to his voice. Gaz and him exchanged looks, both now suffering from the same sinking feeling. "John, come on." Simon says again, it coming out as a plea this time, Price now walking full speed towards the entrance to the cove, light held out in front of him. 

The three men paused as John stood outside the entrance, placing his lantern down onto the beach he calls into the cave again, receiving yet again no response. Simon watches him place his two hands on the rock walls of the cove and lean his head in to look around. 

"You 'right in there, love?" Price slurs out. For a moment, theres nothing- no noise, no movement, just the crashing of the waves and the breeze through the rocks. 

Two hands shoot out from the darkness of the cove, violently shoving John's chest. Frantically he slaps the hands away and lets out a loud, terrified scream  and sending him reeling back. The hands retreat back into the darkness, the sound of footsteps echoing from inside stop as suddenly as they start. Price falls onto the rocks with a loud thud, eyes wide and face panicked- he isn't on the ground for more then a second before he begins sprinting back in the direction boat, running straight past the group and losing both loosely tied boots in the process. Gaz and Soap are quick to follow, immediately retreating with the Captain with frantic screams. In the panic the Harpoon clinks to the ground, abandoned. The footsteps fade as they disappear into the fog- not even the light from the ship was visible anymore.

Simon, though, had remained locked in place, eyes fixed on the cove's entrance. He had seen his crew scared, he had seen these men say final goodbyes to each other on rough missions, had seen them face death and accept it, yet this had terrified them. Sent them running with tails between their legs. It was the booze, Simon told himself, the booze they drank at nausea every night finally driving them all mad. He had no reason for staying, no reason for standing motionless and weaponless outside the cave in wait, his breath ragged and heart thumping in his ears. 

Slowly the crying begins again, sniffles growing to silent sobs.

"Leave now aswell, Man." The woman’s voice staggered out through hiccuped breaths. Despite the demand, her voice sat hollow and soft- only audible due to the echo of the cliffside. "Less I drag you into the deep." Her words seemed unsure, as if she staggered over saying them.

"You'll drown me?" Simon takes another step forward, as if guided to her by her voice- as if she was pulling a string attached to him and dragging him forward. 

"Begone, Ghost." The woman's gentle voice pleaded. 

"Me? I? The ghost? Out of the two of us?" He muses, a nervous smirk settling across his covered features. "Only you haunt these beaches, only your lantern lights these shores, you are the ghost. You've earned the title far more than I." 

"Leave me be, sailor, I beg." Her voice tightened as he further approached, not deterring his speed. "You'll be cursed if you come any closer, I'll swear it!" She began to sputter another sob, the sound of which echoed down the length of the beach. By the time she had finished and Simon had paused it was too late, him standing beside the small entrance- close enough to rest the bare palm of his hand against the cool rock. 

"I am cursed." He huffs, the scent of booze wafted off of him. Simon stood in spot for a moment, thinking over the night's events as clearly as he could. "Tell me 'ghost', what will you do if I've always been cursed?" He hum's, a drunken smile plastering his face.  

The crying quiets at his statement, leaving only the sound of the gentle evening waves in its wake. 

"I'm sorry you have always been cursed." The voice responds, tenderly, far too tenderly to be meant for him. 

The salty night air blew easily threw his thin clothes- the oceans breeze nipping at the little skin he had exposed. Distantly, a panicked voice calls his name- Price, he imagines; finally sobered up enough to realize the possible severity of the situation. Turning back his eyes scan over the still lingering fog. 

What was he even still doing here?

Why had his feet remained in place- why had he been drawn into her? Why did he want to stay? 

A sudden wave of nausea washes over him, his face suddenly heating and his gut turning in his body unbearably. Turning back, as if broken from a spell, his feet move on their own- sending him barreling down the beach towards the Captain's increasingly frantic yells. In what felt like a blurry instant, Simon was hung over the balcony of the boat, the evening's dinner -a worrying amount of alcohol- lost to the ocean tide. Soap had rushed to his side, Gaz tending to Price who was currently sprawled out on his back across the main deck. 

"Fuck! Fuck." Soap grunted. "What the fuck was that? Ghost, what happened?!" His voice was frantic, clearly having sobered up the most out of all of them. 

"I don't- I-" Regardless of how hard he fought, how hard he tried to formulate a proper sentence- he just couldn't. Vomit stained the front of his black tunic, face covering abandoned somewhere on the ship deck

"You broken?" Soap asks, the worry on his face melting into a strained smile as Simon shakes his head no. Soap patted him on the back before turning his attention to the -now passed out- Captain. The four of them managed to hobble into the sleeping quarters and retire safely for the evening- not before Soap pulled the plank they used to exit the boat off the dock. 

When the sun rose, the men were up as always. There was a brief discussion of the previous night's events, but with Simon and Price's aversion to speaking about it Soap and Gaz quickly stopped asking questions. The line of conversation concludes with Price grumbling about losing his boots. Swearing obscenities and curses non-stop. Apparently that morning he had gone down to the shore himself and found nothing, not a trace of anyone had been there. Of them nor a woman. He had said to Simon in private that the tide must have eaten everything, yet Simon knew Price well enough to tell something was bothering him about it. 

In spite of hangovers, the crew went about their daily business of upkeep and cleaning, quickly deciding to visit the pub as soon as it opened. By the time they were staggering back to the ship, it was well past 7 in the evening; with the sun about half an hour from setting, the men had felt silently rest assured of their eventless walk through the beach. As the group approaches the dock, they notice Price's pace in front begins to slow to a halt. 

"Captian?" Gaz calls, eyes scanning Price. Yet, the captain's eyes stay coldly locked onto the dock. 

Pushing past Soap, Simon takes a few steps closer, eyes intently trailing Price's gaze. There, on the top step of the dock, were Price's boots and lantern- shoelaces tied and delicately placed. The men stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, the captain's gaze intensely glaring down the dock. 

After a deep breath in, the captain lets out a strained chuckle, the crow's feet beside his eyes wrinkling under the forced smile. He turns his gaze to Gaz, who looks down the dock with a confused look. 

"You're right-" Price strains, smile draped across his face yet eyes void of such emotion. "Creepy."

Soap pushes forward, being the first to approach the dock. 

"The harpoon is still missing." He notes, turning back to face the group. The captain's lips pull into a tight frown before nodding and beginning to walk to the dock himself. 

Regardless of their previous plan- Simon imagines they'll be back in London sooner than they had anticipated. 

taglist: @blueoorchid @@hoe4myers @yjhariani -luvurwriting @lexi-zsy09 @galaxieshearme

[not-wholly-unheroic]

A Comparative Analysis of Hook’s Ship and Cabin in Popular Media Portrayals

Part 5: Peter Pan & Wendy (2023)

For the final part in this series, I want to take a look at Disney’s most recent live-action retelling of Peter Pan. While the film itself isn’t perfect, I will say that at least in terms of its external appearance, this is one of my favorite representations of the Jolly Roger because of the intricate details included. They’re subtle—blink and you’ll miss them entirely—but they tell an interesting story.

First, let’s take a look at that figurehead, shall we? Unlike so many other versions of Hook’s ship, this time, it isn’t a menacing skull or claw but a lady. While this wouldn’t be an uncommon sight on a ship, this particular lady is not a saucy mermaid or proud goddess… Instead, she appears to be in mourning, her left arm raised to cover her eyes while her right is extended longingly toward the side of the ship. Zoom in and you’ll see why. Carved into the wood is a row of children. We can see the wooden children again in a brief close-up near the end when the ship is flying and nearly runs into the cliffs. This figurehead is a mother weeping for her lost little ones. And if that doesn’t break your heart and make you seriously think on what this version of Hook’s mindset must be like, I don’t know what will.

There are even children’s faces—or rather, a specific child’s face—carved into the railings on the ship. We can see it in a few scenes but this is one of the clearer images I could find. Does this look eerily like Molony’s Peter to you? Because I think it does. But maybe that’s just me.

Then we get to the outside of Hook’s cabin—which unfortunately is never really clearly shown in the film. However, we DO have some behind-the-scenes images of it and OH MAN…. This part of the ship very clearly depicts Peter chained to a tree while four mermaids reach out to him, attempting to offer comfort and aid.

If you’ve ever seen the original cover art for the novel, this seems to be a nod to it. On it, Peter sits on a rock playing his pipes while a mermaid approaches on either side and the crocodile lays curled up beneath, Hook’s claw poking out of its mouth.

That Hook would have such artwork blatantly referencing his time on the island as a part of his ship tells us a great deal about how effected he was by his time there. This ship seems to be one that Law’s Hook himself designed very intentionally. Despite all his hatred for Pan, he keeps his long-lost friend close at all times and openly bears his grief over the loss of his mother and Peter through the artwork that surrounds him.

In contrast to the ornate decorations on the outside of the ship, the inside of this Hook’s cabin is surprisingly sparse and practical. It is probably more realistic than any other version we have seen thus far, but it feels strangely empty and dark for a Hook’s residence. The bed is—much like in Disney’s animated film—a simple cubby built into the wall with only a thin curtain to separate it off from the rest of the room. There are a few books on the shelves to the right of the bed and some bags of what I assume may be rations stacked to the left.

What’s really interesting, though, is what we see in the brief close-up shots we get of the shelves near the doorway. There are all kinds of things in jars, preserved presumably in alcohol. One jar noticeably contains what looks like an octopus (or part of one)…possibly in passing reference to Hook’s animal antagonist in Disney animated sequel…while at least two others contain human hands. Right hands, to be specific. One of the hands is actually even labeled with a name—Stubby Bartholomew (?). According to an interview, Law seemed to indicate that his Hook was looking to see if he might somehow replace his own missing hand. Regardless, though, I want to know the stories behind these hands. Who were the men they were attached to? Why was Law’s Hook fighting them? Did they know he was going to save their hands, once severed? Did he just take the hand of the person or did he kill them and remove the hand after death as a kind of sick trophy? This is definitely one of the creepier things that we have seen with any Hook.

Speaking of creepy…on another wall, we see a dried fairy corpse pinned up like a butterfly. We don’t often see Hooks being completely ruthless on-screen, but this one definitely gives off a threatening vibe from all the dead things he has collected within his cabin walls.

There’s even a dead crocodile… Not THE crocodile, of course, but there IS a large skull which we can see he keeps underneath his desk. It shows up again later more noticeably and in a comic fashion in the finale when the ship is being turned upside down and the skull becomes stuck on his head…but it’s there even in the first shot we see of his desk. There’s also an hour-glass… Not a clock, of course, but the time theme is still present.

And then there is the gramophone, which once again, clashes with everything else about this Hook (clothing, a more classic wooden ship, etc.), which otherwise suggests someone from the earlier part of the Age of Sail. Unlike the ones in Hoffman Hook’s cabin, though, this gramophone is pretty obvious because Law’s Hook is actively listening to something on it when the kids first enter his cabin. A friend did a great write-up on the significance of exactly what he is listening to that you can read about here. Suffice to say for our purposes here, though, that the opera he is listening to wasn’t written until 1853, and gramophones themselves were not around until even later in the 1800s. Law’s Hook does mention that his mother is long gone by the time he leaves Neverland and goes looking for her, though, so perhaps his ship and belongings are reflective both of the time period of his youth and a later time period when he returned to the “real world.”

Then again, Smee is said to have pulled Hook out of the water as a child, and Smee seems intimately familiar with the older wooden style ship as opposed to steam ships, which would have been becoming pretty common by the mid to late 1800s, so it’s hard to say for sure. (Bonus content not entirely related but just because it’s cool… In a few shots of Mr. Smee, we can see there is a very small tattoo on his right hand. It’s a teapot. Which is just…such a perfectly Mr. Smee thing to have a tattoo of, and I love it.)

While Law’s Hook was disappointing for some fans of the more classic elegant, over-the-top versions of the character, he’s undoubtedly intriguing, particularly when we examine his Roger. This Hook is unlike any other. He wears his heart on his sleeve—or rather, his ship—and surrounds himself with reminders of Death and Time, as if he knows his own symbolic significance as a manifestation of the doomed Old Man going up against Youth. And yet…in this version, he is not quite so doomed, returning in the end, to make peace with Peter and accepting that one can be “old” while maintaining a spirit of youth.

[eclipse-rain]

TR; Yin and Yang:

☆☆☆

Summary: What would happen of there was another child of the sano family that no one knew about, not even mikey. A secret sibling who seemingly came from no where. One who looked alot like a ghost of the past long dead and buried.

Warnings; Slight manga spoilers?, Tense: You/Your, She/her pronouns, slight swearing, Plantonic/sfw - duh, Reader has a resembalance to mikeys mom and shinichiro

Part 2 •Part 3

Masterlist~

He remembered it vividly.

Those moments.

He remebered them all.

The image of his mother in a hospital bed.

His mother, the one who birthed him and his beloved older brother. The one who loved the two as well as their younger half sister emma.

His mother had loved his father very much. So much so that he was almost the only thing they ever talked about when he would go to visit her in the hospital. So much so that she loved his child who wasnt even her own.

Who wasnt her blood nor from her own womb but that didnt matter to her. She loved emma like she did her biological children.

Her children.

They were her children.

They were all her children.

You wondered if that included you.

If it had ever included you.

But you never knew and you never would know now that you stood in the freezing cold air with only one black umbrella held high above your head to keep the pelting rain from drenching your small frame.

Now that you stood at the back of your biological mothers funeral while you watched people walk up to pay their respects.

He nudged you forward, the man who held the umbrella above you, pushing you to start your journey up to the front.

Mabey it was weird that instead of focusing on the sadness of being headed to the place where you would say your final goodbyes to your mother you felt like you were walking the plank of a pirate ship.

You felt weird.

You felt exposed.

You felt like all the eyes in the room bore into you, like they could see who you were and what you were hiding.

You had inched your way about halfways up the aisle in the middle of the rows where people sat to the right and left of you when you felt a familiar hand on the top of your small back.

One that was familar to you but now felt slightly diffrent.

A strong hand that once held yours. Lifted you high and patted your head a million times. One you felt was reliable. One you could entrust everything to like the whole world revolved around this one hand that was held out just for you that you could fall back on anytime no matter what.

That hand now felt diffrent. It was weaker than it was before, it was tired, it was sad. There was no strength to its grip where it was placed on your back, like all the fight in it had finally run its course and had been washed away by the same rain that threatened to grow heavier outside the establishment.

The one who this hand belonged to guided you up to the place where your mothers picture was displayed in the center of seemingly a thousand white flowers.

You hesitated.

The lone flower in your small hands felt meager in comparison.

Noticing your reluctance the man cupped your hands in his and guided them to the place where your flower would rest by your mothers picture, his black hair falling in front of his face to hide his pained eyes in the process.

This was the last time you would see your mother, the only send off you could give her.

He was the same.

This time you both could do nothing more than accept defeat and cut your losses.

Because this had just about been the greatest loss either of you had faced yet.

~

You had lingered up there for too long. Lost in the few memories you had. All your thoughts swirled seeming to have too many and none at the same time.

You hated to think to much, it never did you any good.

But you couldnt stop yourself most of the time.

You hated to be seen.

You hated when you felt like people could see through you and into your heart and soul.

Like they could see past the barriers you put around them.

Thats why you probably felt more embarrassed than sad at your own mothers funeral.

Because she was someone who no one knew had any relation to you at all.

All except one person.

That one person who you could rely on.

Whos hands cupped yours, patted your head and guided you back down the middle of the aisle and out of the building.

Only a few moments had passed since you had been lead out of the establishment but you heard the two male voices not too far from you gradually rising.

'Those two are fighting arent they?' you thought flatly

The one who had brought you here, the one who held the umbrella, the one in the suit was fighting with the one who you relied upon, the one who rested a hand on your back in a comforting gesture, who was donned in a funeral garb and whos wet black hair stuck to his angered face because of the pelting rain.

The rain was belting down and you could still hear them shouting at each other through it.

Mabey they were shouting to be heard because the rain was so loud or mabey it was just the perfect cover. The perfect excuse for people to think that was the reason why they were shouting so angrily.

Trying to be heard.

It was something every person wanted.

But whether people then decided to listen in return was another matter and one you might never have the privilege of.

And you definitely would not if they were fighting about what you thought they were fighting about.

The rain splattered against the window on the car, where you had been sat, sheltered from the rain outside. You drew various shapes in the condensation that formed along it. You paused your drawing to watch two raindrops seemingly race each other to the bottom of the window.

You tried to guess which one would win. And you watched as they slowly made their way down, seeing the one you chose lose to the other.

"Hmn?" you made an interested sound having formed a thought on the matter

A bad sign?

Could that tell you something about what choice the two men outside were going to come to.

Make for you.

Make for your future.

'Thats dumb' you thought.

It wasnt a bad sign. It wasnt a sign at all. They were just bad feelings. It was just the bad feelings from your whole ordeal right now.

Your mothers death which in turn also ment the re-examination of your future. Of you and what to do with you.

Thats what they were disscusing, or rather, fighting about right now.

Where would you go? Who would you stay with? Grow up with?

It would shape your future, your life.

The choice had to be the correct one and even if it wasnt you, yourself, had no choice in the matter.

You who was still a child had no choice in the matter at all.

You had no choice and therefore you were forced to rely on the adults around you to make the correct choices for you.

The best ones. The ones that would give you the best future possible. The ones that wouldnt fuck you up the most.

But you specifically only relied on one person to do that for you after your mothers death.

Not the man in the suit but the one who donned the funeral garb. The only other person you could remember who was always kind to you and had always been by your side other than your mother.

Thats when you were pried from your thoughts as your eyes shifted to a blurry figure through the foggy window who seemed to be approching the car you were in.

It was that very same man.

The one in the funeral garb.

The only other person you could rely on, who was kind to you, who loved you, other than your mother.

Your older brother.

"Shin" you murmured in greeting and recognition, in a soft quiet voice, a voice that seemed unsure in itself of how it was feeling, that of a child who was lost and looking in this moment for something to cling onto for some solidarity and something in her life that would finally be permanent.

The only thing you had ever had close to that was your mother but even then you knew that someday your mother would leave you. Your mother who was always so sickly and frail looking, which couldnt be hidden even by her immense beauty.

Your mother was not something who would be permanent in your life, she was not someone who you could rely on to stay by your side and never leave you. To take care of you and not cause you any pain.

In fact it was quite the opposite.

It might sound cruel but you would be lying if you said you didnt feel the slightest bit realieved when she finally died.

Always being kept on the edge of your seat. Always being on the edge of that plank which you had started walking a long time ago, which now you could finally step off of to take the plunge into that despair, into that cold darkness that was almost like a refuge at this stage.

You didnt have to stay strong for her any longer. You could finally let go. Let go of your own emotions and despair and cry until you were comforted.

Comforted by a strong hand. One that could be relied upon, one that could protect you, one that you didnt have to be strong in front of.

That was why you felt even a slight bit of realief no matter how selfish that sounded.

The car door had been pried open and the soaking wet man in front of you made a gesture with his hand for you to scooch over.

You both sat there like that for a while in silence. You waited expectantly for his first words but you wouldnt push. You had learned not to push for more than you needed to survive at a young age.

And he was the only person you had every truly, fully relied on. You had no doubt that even if he made you wait years that the first words to come out of his mouth would reasure you of your future.

Yes. That was it.

He was just taking it all in as well.

He already has two younger siblings, even if they have their grandfather it would be hard to take you in as well.

But you were family.

You shared the same mother.

The same mother who was now a corpse that lay stone cold in a casket.

You had another older brother who you shared the same mother with as well, although you had never met him.

He was Shin's younger brother. Shin and your mother had told you about him. He was about ten years younger than shin, close enough to your age actually.

You wanted to live with Shin. You would be lying if you said you werent the slightest bit curious when he had told you about his younger siblings, your other siblings. You were even more intrigued when Shin had told you about his younger half sister.

Even if you and her were not related by blood, since you shared the same mother with your brothers while she shared the same father, that didnt matter. You thought having a sister would be fun and a younger one would be super cute.

So just say the word.

Say those words and im ready to start my new life. I'll try really hard to get along with them. I wont be bothersome. I wont take more than i need. I just need a palce to belong. Where i dont have to be strong all the time. To finally be able to rest.

When you live a life of uncertainty you never get to rest and when you have been living a life like that from a young age you never truly learn how to rest in the first place.

Constantly worried, constantly anxious.

Constant thoughts.

Ones you cant shut out or shut up.

Thoughts of a million diffrent scenario's. About everything. About life. About your future. About death.

But have somewhere you could finally belong, finally rest, and those thoughts might become quite, be silenced, be put at ease for the first time in your short but hard life.

Its not that you didnt love your mother, you loved her more than anything in this world. She was everything to you. Having Shinichiro made everything slightly more bareable though. With the help of your mothers reasurance you felt like even if she really did end up leaving you that you wouldnt be completely lost without her.

Before, you always had constant anxiety about what would happen to you if your mother ever did pass. It never really went away even after she reassured you but as you saw your mothers health declining when you were completely alone you started to spiral yourself.

Shin was your stabilizer.

Honestly, you knew your mother had other kids but you never thought about them much before Shinichiro made a point to tell you about them. And even when your mother would tell you tid-bits about them from time to time you only nodded along while doing something else and gave out the occasional response to show that you were listening to your mother.

You had always known Shinichiro though. He had always been just there. He had always been in your life. He was your constant. He had always been your big brother. Shinichiro really was a natural big brother. He was so easy to get along with, he was reliable and you felt like he understood you.

Understood you who had no one else in your life who you could talk to apart from your mother never mind confide in about your worries and mothers illness and how that might be affecting you and your mental well being.

You didnt really think much about your mothers other kids until one day your older brother asked you a certain question.

"What would you think about having other siblings?"

"Are you talking about moms other children?" You replied

"Yeah, my siblings. Yours too..." He continued "If you want them to be. Im sure they would love to have you as their sibling. Emma especially, she would go crazy for an older sister, im sure of it."

~~~

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw Shinichiros attention finally shift to you. He had been looking straight ahead ever since he got in the car as if in thought.

To be honest it hadnt even been that long since he had gotten in. It definitely had only been about a minute or two but the pounding of your heart in your chest blasted in your ears as if intensifying every second that passed by tenfold.

When his gaze shifted over to look at your small form you didnt miss the way his expression darkened slightly. He might have had a slight hesitance to look at you now and you could take a good guess as to why.

Even so, he continued to look you straight in the eye as he started to speak and never once did his eyes leave yours until the conversation between the two of you had ended.

You felt your heartbeat quicken in your ears as if your heart was trying to push more blood into them as you strained to hear the words that would be next to fall out of your older brothers mouth.

Your every hope and dream for your future relied on them, on him and you were just waiting to take your chance and run with it.

And run with it you would.

Well, you would have.

If the words that came out of his mouth were the ones you had expected to hear.

But you should have known by now. That there really was not a single soul you could truly rely on but yourself.

Oh...how hard it is to trust someone.

And how easy it is to have that trust betrayed.

Months and months of building up trust, mabey even longer depending on the person and then just like that, in a split second everything is thrown out the window.

Every hope. Every dream. And possibly every spec of trust you had left in your person.

That hand that you had relied upon, the one that had felt strong, well you were right earlier, it had grown weak.

Not in physical strength so to say, but in the capacity that the only words the man could muster while looking deep into your eyes as if also being able to see into your heart and soul in the process were...

"I'm sorry." He murmured in a voice that sounded so defeated, so heartbroken it would have tore at your own heart for him if you had not been in a situation where those words might as well be sentencing you

You stared at him blankly.

"I'm so, so sorry" he repeated

~~~

You blanked out for a second after hearing those words, trying not to believe that you knew the meaning behind them.

But you knew that this time you couldnt run from them, you were cornered and there was no way out.

You felt frozen and then all at once you felt a rush jolt though your body, through every vein, every nerve.

A rush of panic.

One so strong it could have winded you as all the emotions you had been bottling up over the years, almost the whole span of your short fleeting life, burst out.

"It's because i look like her isnt it!"

You hadnt missed the way his expression had slightly darkened earlier when he had turned to look at you.

You were well aware of, even if you were many years younger, just how much you resembled your mother in many diffrent aspects.

"...what...No! Of course thats not w-" Shinichiro sounded as if he had been caught off guard and wasnt expecting such a question but let himself be cut off by the shear panic in your voice

"If its because i look like mother i can fix it! I can just cut and dye my hair! I can wear glasses and even get contacts, it'll be no problem really!" The surge of emotions making anything you thought in that moment that would help the situation go back in the right direction spilled out.

Of course that was not the true reason for the cause of Shinichiros words but the panic inducing thoughts of a child left no room for a proper explaination or interpretation of the meaning of his words or why they were being said.

Outside the car a streak of lightning flashed and soon after a loud crack of thunder was heard as the sky grew darker and the rain continued to poor even heavier.

Although, the two inside the car seemed as if they had not noticed anything that could call for even a split second break in their concentration over their current conversation.

That was until the man in the suit strode over to the car where you both were. He who had been standing just outside the funeral venue under the roof while holding his umbrella seemed to have thought that enough time had been had between the two of you for your older brother, to clear things up.

Not that he cared.

He didnt care if shinichiro had the time of day or not. Who was the one who had to take his annoying little sister away with him?

Shinichiro and his grandfather could fight for custody of you all they wanted but it was certain to say that at least now they were no where near going to be granted that.

His grandfather was far too elderly by now to take in another kid after already having custody of three. Shinichiro could try for custody but he had only just become an adult and was already helping his grandfather in keeping his two child siblings together with them so it was not likely to be granted.

CPS had not been keen on the idea of pushing two children onto their elderly guardian either.

This ment shinichiros younger brother and sister probably could have come close to being rehomed or sent to an orphanage as well if shinichiro hadnt become an adult recently and was working and earning money in a motorcycle shop. And also if theyre grandfather wasnt in good health and still earning money by working in his dojo.

The man with the umbrella didnt want to take you away from them, it really just ment more work for him so your presence really was just entirely bothersome for everyone involved.

And you knew that.

He was sure you knew that.

As long as you were alone with any other person besides your mother or shinchiro you wouldnt speak a word.

Not one.

No matter who talked to you or tried to get you to talk, be it adult or child.

Either you knew you were a nuscance or you were just trying to piss everyone who had to help you off.

Mabey it was both.

It probably was.

Well, he wondered if you would start talking to others now that you would be taken away from the only other person who you would respond to.

Though he didnt care about that either at least it would make his job the slightest bit easier, although he didnt know if it would make you any less annoying than you already were. Worst case scenario it could make you even more so.

All of this really just ment more paper work. More work. More time. More energy. More money.

Nothing that you had but everything that needed to be put in by other people just to raise you.

This you knew.

This was something that you were prevy to from a young age. Something you had often observed.

How everyone would be better off if you had never been born. How much easier life would have been for everyone.

Why were you born?

You didnt know.

Perhaps you would never know the answer to that question.

Well that was the last you saw of your older brother that awful day.

A fleeting and blurry image of his drenched form standing in the rain in the rear view mirror. Donned in his funaral garb watching you go as the black car pulled away with you in the back seat.

Did you get a proper goodbye?

No.

When would you see him again?

You didnt know.

Do you remember what the last thing he said to you was.

Also no.

You had basically blanked out almost straight after those first words he had uttered to you in that car left his lips.

But you did remember one thing.

The way his eyes never left yours.

The way tears pooled in them before they began to fall as you had yet to see him do at his own mothers funeral.

The way he clutched your shoulders as if holding on tighter ment he wouldnt have to let you go.

He was there through his mothers pregnancy and birth of you, his younger sister, like he was for his younger brothers.

He was the first to hold you aside from his mother and imagined what it would be like for you and manjiro to grow up beside each other.

But of course that never happened.

He didnt really remember how everything went to shit. How you ended up being separated from the rest of them. Just passing flashes here and there.

Neither did you. That was one thing you both had in common.

Blocking things out, wheather it was subconsciously or not.

And soon enough you found yourself walking up that aisle again.

The aisle where no one knew you.

Only this time you were saying a final goodbye to your older brother instead.

☆☆☆

Sometimes i surprise myself by my own writing, i literally basically zone out and then somehow iv gotten from A to B 🤨😟

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

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