imaslutforwritingshit

[imaslutforwritingshit]

I’m bored so face reveal

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Corrupt Her- Chapter II

A “Lolita” love story- of a nymphet and doomed older man.

Warning: some mature content (18+)🩷

I'm wondering how it's been possible for me to sit through days like this, every year, for the past 13 years.

The clock ticked on the blank wall of my literature class. Only 5 more minutes until the sweet escape of Old English that rests on white paperback books, ones the school had been so kind to grant us.

Ms. Mallory is venting about the district's disapproval of advanced girl-based novels, and I pretend her voice is one on the radio, one I can tune out. I allow the noise of frequency to buffer the sound of her abnormally screechy pitch, and wish for the minutes to hurry by. It's like time slows to the pace of syrup spilling, mocking my efforts to escape.  

But the low pitched ringing of the school bell eventually comes, and I grab my lunchbox with a small hand, blending with the rush of schoolgirls leaving the classroom.

Lunch spots are a ritual of Cabrini's. You must stick to the area you choose for the rest of the year, and if you choose wrong, you choose to endure the suffering of demonic bimbos. Freshman year was the year of one of my greatest mistakes.

I had chose to sit by the water fountain, tucked in a corner of the mildewing cafeteria. The girls in the volleyball and rugby team had splattered me with the cold water on numerous occasions, none of which were anything other than intentional. I had to pack a change of clothing for the rest of the second semester.

I almost run to the field behind the school, slowing my skittering feet to appear more ladylike. But when out of sights reach, I quickened my pace again, crunching small dandelions under the heels directly below my forming blisters.

There were 6 picnic tables that settled in the field of St. Cabrinis. I had walked past every one of them; knowing the girls that would occupy them. It would be better to overheat in the grass than sit with those snakes.

I had my eyes on a small, decaying bench near the statue of Madam Mistral, our principal's mother who had founded a boarding school in the 40s.

I sat down, spreading my hands on the wood, and waited.

The field began to fill out, blonds and brunettes and a few jet-black shoulder length styles. Everyone laughing, smiling, touching hands. All of us wearing black pleated skirts and tucked collars, knee length socks and neat red ties.

I've always been alone. It doesn't bother me, and I don't hope to make my distaste for the demons seem like a grab for pity. I would rather sit on the side then get my hair braided by a girl with scissors in her hand. 

I finished my yogurt, and fiddled with the small white spoon. My grandmother had brought a set of these from her trip to Scandinavia in the fall of '97. I can see her smile in the reflection of the head of the spoon. It's warmth.

It's a reminder to be strong.

"Hi!" A pleasant, high pitched voice. I stared up to meet the eyes of the girl.

She was new. Or I hadn't seen her before, but I assume she's new. No returner of Cabrini had such a smile on her face. Her eyes glowed a dark galaxy of black, and her short bangs were clipped just above the slants of her monolids.

"Hello." I hoped my voice didn't sound as reserved as I felt, and I straightened my body, clasping my hands over my skirt. "First day here?"

The girl nodded enthusiastically, and slid into the empty area of the bench by me. "First year in Pennsylvania. I moved from New Jersey. I've never been to a catholic school before."

I shuddered, even if the sun was blazing over my skin. I don't want to see the depression hit her. If I'm still capable of sadness, it would be for her downfall.

"Don't think too highly of this place."

She blinked a couple times, and stuck her lower lip out slightly. "Why not?"

I turned to the statue, unable to form the truth that would crush her hopes of this school.

"You'll see."

❦❦❦❦❦❦

The girl's name was Taylor Hakuja, a former member of Pine Peak's regional cheerleading team back in Somer's Point. I was immensely curious of her life. I wonder what public school could've been like. Or any school besides this one, one with real respect towards the adolescent bodies. I just can't imagine having choices anymore.

She had already hugged me in the 30 minutes I had known her. Her arms were fragile, and she smelled like blossoms, and her smile was brighter than the sky above our heads.

I wondered if she thought we were friends.

But given the reputation of most girls in the social circle of this school, she would quickly learn to lean away from me.

I could still admit that having a girl around me felt good, a relief on the planes of my shoulders. Even if this relationship would dry up by tomorrow, it's still nice to think that I was worthy of being someone's friend.

Taylor and I walked to the science hall. She chose physics, and explained how New Jersey pays little attention to the important branch of science. I nodded my head, once, twice, keeping my lips closed.

"So, this is my class!" Taylor rocked on the bases of her heels, and swallowed, her olive throat bobbing from the effort. "I'll take it I'll be seeing you around? Here?"

I let a full smile fall onto my face. "Of course. There are only 680-something girls in the building. Most of them tend to disappear, so I'll stick out of the crowd."

Taylor nodded, and flashed a smile again, one that crinkled her eyes into beautiful black crescents. "Thank you. For being in this school, I mean. There's no one cool around here."

I laughed softly. "Have you met Mr. Peporelle yet?"

Taylor furrowed her brows, and shook her head. "No, but I will in my 8th period. Why? Is he cool?"

I shook my head quickly. "He wishes to be."

She nodded again. "I have him for AP American history." She paused, a wary change in her voice. "I'm very passionate of my grades and classes."

The relatable words had caused me to slide into a careless relief. "Me as well." A twang of pride jumped to the base of my tongue. "I already had him, of course. I had completed my 28 credits last spring."

A small frown slips on her soft face, but she covers it with a charming laugh. "You are better than me for that."

Yes. I am.

She lunges into a quick hug on my side again, the cold pads of her fingertips brushing against my collarbone.

"Bye, Esther. I hope I'll see you again!" She sprang her small body to the opened classroom, and smiled bashfully one more time, before leaving my gaze.

I waved with a small turn of my wrist, and turned the corner. An unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest. No one had ever hoped to see me again. The opposite, really.

The classroom number of my biology course was new to me. I followed the signs and letters of each name, before slowing my footsteps.

A thick oak door was opened, large windows bleeding sunlight throughout the classroom. Each desk was neatly aligned in rows, and by the windowsill, tall lab stations and heaps of equipment blocked the window, forming shadows of microscopes and flasks.

The sign made my heart skitter, for no apparent reason.

In small, bolded letters, the white metal read,

"Laurier."

I took the only empty seat left, positioned in the direct front of the teacher's chalkboard.

My biology teacher was facing the board, gracefully writing his name with white scratches. He was wearing an ironed white shirt, tucked in his grey slacks. Laurier's back was strong, a distinguished masculine V, trailing into the lean shape of his hips.

The male anatomy is not something I'm familiar with. I hadn't had contact with a man since last summer, when the mailman asked for me to sign a package my mother bought. I had noticed his fingers had hair on them.

But my mysterious teacher's body looked like ones from Renaissance paintings, a muscular frame visible through the thin cotton of his button up.

A shrill ring of the school bell vibrated through the walls, and the class settled down, hands clasped.

And Mr. Laurier tapped the chalk with his lean fingers, then placed the small stick on a the ledge of the board, and turned around.

The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They met mine with sharp intensity, the color of a green sea, like the one I had seen in a postcard my aunt had sent me from Cancun. Laurier was watching me, fixated on my still figure, and his jaw clenched when his eyes took over my whole body. 

He was beautiful.

I had only dreamed of such a man.

A man of Aphrodite.

His handsome appeal was evident, because as I turned my head, the other girls in my class had sat up straighter, widening their eyes. The girl beside me gasped a small breath, the full lips of her face parting.

"Good afternoon, ladies." His voice was melodic, smooth and strong. Like he was reciting poetry, not a greeting.

"Good afternoon, sir." The room echoed with the familiar statement, only a second later than usual.

"Welcome to Advanced Placement Biology. I hope you'll enjoy this course, and I trust you have chosen seats most beneficial to your learning preferences." He glanced at me again, and a corner of his mouth pulled up.

Laurier slid his body on his oak desk, spreading his legs a little too wide for me to be comfortable. He rested his hand behind him, picking up a small, foil wrapped piece candy. It had an imprint of a strawberry on the red luster.

"I would like to hear the definition of the  biology." He twirled the candy in his hands. "Anyone?"

The room was silent, captivated in his presence. A small, short-haired girl's hand raised tentatively.

He nodded his head to her. "Yes?"

"The...study of life."

He raised his chin with satisfaction. "Good. C'mere."

She tentatively stood to retrieve the candy, and stuffed the crinkly paper in her book bag quickly.

"The study of life," Laurier continued. "Yes. We will be studying the very basic components of what it means to live." He paused, and scanned the classroom again. He dropped his head to meet my eyes, and I flicked them down to avoid his heavy gaze.

"This is one of the most difficult courses this school will offer. I need you trust you're in good hands. Can everyone do that for me?" His voice softened, and I could feel his question was directed to me, his gaze unnerving on my hair covering my face.

"Yes, sir," everyone in the class repeated.

Everyone except for me.

Laurier jumped off the desk, and walked to mine. His fingers touched the wood only inches away from mine, and he tapped his fingers.

"Can everyone," he drew out the word, completely focused on me now. "Do that for me?"

I raised my eyes, to the way his buttons on his sleeves were undone. His forearms, the hard indents of muscle. The way his veins on his hands were clean and smooth, like a river of electricity in front of me, burning my nerves into ash.

A weird feeling floated to my stomach.

"Yes, sir." My voice was a breathy whisper, and he gripped the side of my desk. I could feel those clear green eyes still on my frame when he whispered, a smooth, soft sound in my eardrums.

"Good."

I stared at him as he walked away, the strong sway of his body mesmerizing me with each footstep.

When Laurier turned back, eyes on my wide ones again, I dropped my gaze to the white notebook in front of me.

❦❦❦❦❦❦

(𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙿𝙾𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆.)

𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚐 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑.

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐.

𝙸 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜. 𝙸 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚝.

𝙸 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.

𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚝��𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜.

"𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍?"

"𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚜𝚘, 𝚜𝚒𝚛."

"𝚂𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎? 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗-"

𝙼𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙼𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚝. "𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜?"

𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍.

"𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍. 𝙼𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜." 𝙷𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜. "𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍."

"𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝." 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎.

𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚢. "𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗. 𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚐𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖." 𝙷𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑. "𝙰𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚔𝚒𝚍. 𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙿𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜."

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎, 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛.

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚖 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛?

𝙲𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛.

𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗'𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍.

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑. 𝙸 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚙 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎.

𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝟷��� 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍.

𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑.

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝.

𝟸𝟷𝟶 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

𝙽𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝.

𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝟻𝟹𝟸 𝙶𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝, 𝚆𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝙿𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚜𝚢𝚕𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚊.

𝙸 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍.

𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟺 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛.

𝙼𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎...

𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚖�� 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚓𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚜𝚠𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔.

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚐, 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜, 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗.

𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝. 𝙰 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝o 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜. 𝙸 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜. 𝙰 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕.

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙰 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚒𝚝.

𝙼𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙸 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖.

𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚏𝚏. 𝚃𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎.

𝙸 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜.

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝.

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚗,

𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚍𝚘.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Corrupt Her- Chapter 1

A "Lolita" love story- the doomed fate of a nymphet and troubled man.

The prospect of dark love fascinates me.

Mr. Louis Laurier is 33 years old, unmarried, in his prime age, and dangerously desperate for one student he can't take his eyes off.

Esther Cohen is a 17 year old girl, famously known for her streak of intelligence and charming personality. She will stop at nothing to win academic validation, a never ending trial she chose to bear.

Her outdated Catholic school forces the young pupils to wear small cross necklaces, skirts and ties.

And in one class, Esther is unusually failing her exams. Lessons are suddenly harder to focus on with the teacher's eyes on her back.

Esther is a good girl. She's spent her whole life pretending to be.

She is an innocent flame, and yet she is irresistible to the moth lurking around her body.

Louis yearns to succumb to the forbidden beauty of his student,

And the flame fires on, Trapping him in a prison of lust.

Disclosure- I am well aware of the age gap, and Esther will be 18 by the time the two actually have sexual relations. I am not suggesting this relationship is a good idea, nor that this is based on real life events.

Esther is severely traumatized from a messy childhood with her father, causing her to find comfort in denial of her age. She acts the way a child would- irrational and hopeful, even though she's off to college in a year. Louis's character has engrained trauma as well, a reason behind his abnormal attraction to Esther. His heart had never healed from a broken love of his teenage past, and Esther revives that pain. I say this as a precaution, because this relationship would cease to exist if both members were healed of subconscious trauma.

The poetic and charismatic character of Mr. Laurier is similar to Nabokov's interpretation of Humbert Humbert, because even though both are guilty for different reasons, their outward appearance prevents them from being caught.

This story also takes place in a strict, authoritarian catholic school. The take on religion that this school has is not to be interpreted on any bias on my part for Catholics or Catholic beliefs.

This is an illustration of the messed up beliefs people can conform to due to environments and social interactions. This school is not to be suggested as the normal Catholic school, but as a heavily ironic take on outdated and misogynistic traditions old Catholic schools had imposed on children. I hope everyone can express their religion with freedom and peace. Take my interpretation with a grain of salt.

Without further ado, let the story begin.

Corrupt Her- Chapter 1

I am a decaying cherry blossom. My petals of pale pink drop on the snow dusted ground.

My branches are bare, hopeless, stinging from the cold of a December conserved in ice.

The great potential that once was me, had been stripped from my grasp by a winter wind, a dangerous beauty tickling the ends of my frostbitten fingertips.

And all I can do now is accept the tragedy of my life for what it is.

"Notre amour faisait partie des films. Quelque chose qui devait se terminer. Nous savions que le générique de fin allait arriver. Nous ne savions tout simplement pas quand."

[Our love was something of the movies. Something meant to end. We knew the credits were coming. We just didn't know when.]

My sin, my soul, Laurier.

Let this be an ode to you.

Let this be my goodbye.

Let this be your invitation to hell.

Ａｕｔｕｍｎ， ２００１

I've always loved the color white.

It's untainted. Free of any impurities of the other shades, of crimson or violet or green.

It's simple, that's what I like about it. It's empty. I smoothed the pale blouse over my thin frame.

Uniforms have been mandatory at St. Cabrini's Catholic School for Young Women since the school had formed in 1963. And even though 38 years have passed since then, been the uniform remains the same.

We've always been old-schooled. The girls had only recently been given the right to wear pants on winter days.

And if we behave well, we can even wear pink pearls on our wrists as well.

I grabbed the small lunchbox I had packed the night before. It consisted of raspberry yogurt and a porcelain spoon. Nothing more, to avoid the sickness of the demonic girls of Cabrini.

I've always hated school lunch. The girls at my table would mock the girls in wheelchairs, or transfer students, yelling vulgar things that made my stomach clench. The smell of half-baked biscuits and soggy jam packets had always made me queasy either way.

But I'm a senior now. The school will treat us differently. Seniors eat at the picnic tables outside, and stay in the library for those free periods. I think it's a sort of reward for dealing with the cruelty of high school for so long.

I repositioned the mandatory cross on my neck, and slipped on black Mary Jane's. The ones without a thicker heel, of course. Because the boys at school get distracted at any sort of inappropriate gesture. And heels are for prostitutes, Mrs. Barcley said.

The house was eerily quiet. Sunlight filled the room with an artificial promise of happiness. My father was still sleeping, I think. And my mother doesn't leave the night shift until a quarter past 7.

My mother stopped dropping me off at school when I was 7 years old. The bus would wait for me on a hot Pennsylvanian morning, a bright yellow symbol popping out from the thick forest trees.

A symbol of hell.

When I was in 6th grade, I had used the tie of my uniform to form a noose around my neck.

I attempted to die in the girls bathroom.

One of the demons had tried to help me. Delamont. She smeared dark pink lipstick on my face, forming two x's over my eyelids.

A faculty member had found me, clutching the ripped tie with one hand, and the bruising on my neck with another. There, a small-voiced counselor had brought me in, two days or so of questionnaires made by the school.

Suicide Notice Form (For Girls) St. Cabrini's Catholic School For Women ✟

Name: Esther Elizabeth Cohen Grade: 6th

Please answer truthfully. Remember, He sees all. Turn in this questionnaire to your administrator promptly after you finish answering each question.

╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳╳

1. ᴡʜʏ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴅ-ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ʟɪꜰᴇ?

I had a bad morning.

2. ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇᴠᴇʀɪᴛʏ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ꜱɪɴ?

It wasn't on my mind.

3. ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴏʀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ? (ᴇx. ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ꜱɪɴ, ꜱᴇx.)

No, thank you.

4. ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʟᴘ?

Everything I did was me asking for help

5. ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ��ɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ?

No .

6. ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴘᴇɴᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ?

It's not me who should be asking for forgiveness. Gwyneth Delamont is the reason I tried to end my life. Her existence is such torture that Lucifer begun to seem pleasant.

╳ ╳ ╳╳ ╳ ╳╳ ╳ ╳╳ ╳ ╳╳ ╳ ╳╳ ╳ ╳

Gwyneth Delamont had gotten in-school suspension for three weeks. Her father moved her away from the state of Pennsylvania shortly after.

My potential is in the palms of my hands. I have never told anyone this before, but I think I can run away from this small life.

The spring flowers and summer rains are the only things that tether me to the quiet town of Honesdale. But I have a plan.

A plan is simple.

A plan never fails, as long as you hold on to it until your knuckles turn white, and your teeth grind into each other, and then maybe you'll succeed, and it will all be for something.

I dreamed of flying to the stars when I was 7. Cosmic dust had cradled me as I drifted to craters in the moon, humming the sounds of sweet melodies I never could name.

I don't think I've ever woken up from my dream.

I'll try as long as it takes for me to be something in this world. I want to touch the stars with my fingers and pretend they wouldn't betray my body into dust and ash.

I want to fly. I want to disappear into the void of black, an infinite nothingness warming my body with liberation.

To find solace in the loneliness of space.

But achieving such a dream means you must be exceptional. And being exceptional starts with the academically validation I crave in every class.

I must be perfect in order to succeed. And I will allow nothing to get in the way of my dream.

❦❦❦❦❦❦

The familiar brick building towered over my soft hair. Its engrained metal words sent tingles of dread down the base of my spine.

A young man with red hair, one I assume to be a student teacher, opened the door for me, and nodded, the freckles on his face smoothed from the sunlight. I smiled sweetly, and made my way through the deserted halls, each soft step of my Mary Janes filling the echoing corridor.

Small pink and blue posters were hung to the walls, a product of last year's student council. The penmanship of the words  "JULY TALENT SHOW," had faded from the summer days, and I urged my body to move forward.

"My dear girl!" A high pitched, womanly voice came from my side, and I turned to meet the familiar face of Ms. Mallory. 

She pulled me in to her large body for a suffocating hug, the cream color of her blouse almost identical to mine.

"Hello, ma'am. How was your summer?" I forced my voice to be polite, as that keeps up the disguise of the innocent, bright flower they all see me to be.

"Just wonderful. Really, truly wonderful. I led the girls choir in our church band." She smiled, uncertainty creeping to the light in her brown eyes. "I missed you at church."

"Oh, I went on vacation with my father. A work trip to our family home back in Michigan. We raised money for the Sunday school activities."

The lie sounded like butterscotch on the tips of my teeth. So smooth, so easy. They all presume my father has any impact on my life, as if his existence isn't similar to one of a dead man's, buried in the dark of the master bedroom, hardly awake.

I wonder when his flesh will start to rot.

Ms. Mallory's delighted smile jumped to her lips again. "That's wonderful. Oh, I said wonderful already, haven't I? Well, I was so excited to see your name in my class again. Did you enjoy English last year?"

The only acceptable answer if someone is asking if you enjoyed their class last year is to nod, so I did.

Having been the smartest girl in school, I am allowed privileges the other girls aren't. My sweet persona works well on each teacher, and with that, I am treated with a private respect.

Ms. Mallory had me in her English class the previous year. She would wink at me as I recited Hamlet, and smile with pride when handing my grade slip back.

I said a few more words of casual conversation, and waved goodbye to Ms. Mallory. I can only assume she acts so friendly to students, because of her lack of relationships with anyone older than the age of 17. Student teacher relationships, that is. Romance is dead when you are close to the grave yourself, I think. I remember the strange fling she had with Mr. Wilsow, and the sheepish kisses they had behind the car door of his dusty Camaro.

I knew he had broken up with her, when the next day of class, Mrs. Mallory's round face was blotchy, her voice a meek wobble.

I trailed my fingertips on the white walls. I recognized this place, from days and long evenings spent wrapped up in school events. The deteriorating brick, and scratched tile, had seemed more home-like then the house I live in, for a very long time.

I scanned the bright pink schedule in my hand, in search for Mr. Dale's name. He's my first period class, calculus being the subject.

I remember Mr. Dale from student council meetings. I can hear his strange voice and see trimmed mustache vividly, as if he was calling my name only yesterday, not a summer ago.

I'm very opinionated on the subject of schedules. A correct schedule can change your entire high school experience. A week ago, when the pretty envelope had showed in the mailbox, I evaluated each one of my periods, and felt relief when I knew most of them.

𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝙲𝚘𝚑𝚎𝚗    𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝟷𝟸   𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚎 → ◘ ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟷- 𝙰𝙿 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚞𝚜- DALE ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟸- 𝙰𝙿 𝙴𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜-PREALY ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟹- 𝙴𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢- WHITMAN ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟺- 𝙰𝙿 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎- MALLORY ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟻- 𝙻𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟼- 𝙰𝙿 𝙱𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢- LAURIER ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟽- 𝙰𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜- OPAL ┊𝙿𝚁𝙳 𝟾- 𝙰𝙳𝚅. 𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚎- DAKOTA

When you act good for your entire life, the teachers will show unconscious bias in your favor. Almost every teacher on my schedule had me in a class, one way or another.

The teacher I didn't know was Opal. I heard rumors of her, the passionate Native American women's coach, who was sent on leave after preaching homosexual beliefs to her 4th period class.

We aren't allowed to talk about things like that. Sexuality, politics, anything that has to do with the world outside of the box our principal had created.

Mrs. Mistral, the principal of our school. Reigned the campus for 17 years by now. But you wouldn't tell, because her age is smoothed over by shiny Botox, and pristine liposuction. I had never had a problem with her. Or, that is, she never had a problem with me.

If I had the opportunity to throw her off a cliff, I would take it. And watch her bleed on the boulders a thousand feet below. Maybe that would give me the satisfaction of a miserable 6 years of school reflected on her broken body.

And there was one more name I didn't recognize.

Laurier.

I had searched the staff directory for his or her picture, but the website had come up empty. Whoever they are, they haven't been in the school system long enough to have a profile.

It would make sense, having a new teacher. Our previous biology instructor was a criminal on the run from the Kentucky police.

I suppose our school doesn't do background checks.

The four letters of my Calculus teacher's name popped from a white sign above his classroom.

I released the grip on my sweaty palms, and shook my hair out of my face with a slight rattle of my head. I was here again.

My future, my life, rests on the 180 days of the private school education system.

I must persevere.

And maybe, the clouds will lift, and I will see the world that was behind the fog of my life. A world away from silver chain crosses and knee length skirts.

A world of something greater than I could ever imagine.

Perhaps there's a person behind the one I've pretended to be for so long.

And maybe, I could be her again.

Maybe, I could be free.

Hope you guys like the story so far! I also write on Wattpad, so check that out if you want.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

[imaslutforwritingshit]

How I look at him after he calls me “baby”, “sweetheart” or “angel”

[imaslutforwritingshit]

[imaslutforwritingshit]

MAKING LIFE BEAUTIFUL ༊*·˚

beauty is a high value of mine, it makes life worth living, and with that i don't mean conforming to commercial beauty standards, but cultivating a beautiful environment, inner thoughts/mindset, and lifestyle. here are some things i want to do to make my life more beautiful:

avoiding stress by doing tasks and assignments early

feeling refreshed by not staying up late

experiencing the sunrise and sunset by waking up early and being more mindful of my environment/nature

having a clean and tidy room

having an organized digital space

having an athletic and flexible body by regularly exercising and stretching

having an uncluttered mind by journaling my thoughts everyday

having a positive mindset (no self-loathing, ugly thoughts!)

making life meaningful by not only consuming, but also creating beautiful things through creative means

pursuing my hobbies (writing, drawing, singing, dancing, crafting)

eating less processed food & more beautifully prepared healthy food

being hygienic by smelling good, caring for my nails & hair, and wearing stainless clean clothing

avoiding stress by not being forced to hurry

concentrating being in the present moment

minimizing social media usage

creating a nice atmosphere with matching music

basically romanticizing my life

i hope these tips help you cultivate a more beautiful life too! i might make more blog posts if i feel inspired, because they are pretty too ;)

︶︶୨୧︶⊹︶⊹︶୨୧︶⊹︶⊹︶୨୧︶⊹︶⊹︶୨୧︶︶

[imaslutforwritingshit]

[imaslutforwritingshit]

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Stop sabotaging your reality with your own thoughts. Stop upholding the beliefs that don't serve your highest good. You’re the only person thinking inside your mind. Brainwash yourself for the reality you want to experience. Brainwash yourself for abundance. Brainwash yourself for success. When you change your thoughts and feelings, you change your life.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Born to Kill- A Miguel O Hará Romance- PART 6!

Miguel's teeth sunk into my lower lip.

"I need you, princess. Now."

I bucked my hips, desperate for the feeling of his body, warm and strong on mine. He growled in my mouth, and snaked his tongue on mine, a shudder taking over my body. Each flick of his tongue wet my core even more, my slickness dripping on his satin sheets.

Miguel unzipped his suit, the muscular build of his upper body bulging through the spandex. I sucked in a breath, and he rocked his clothed dick on the rising hem of my nightgown.

"My pretty-" he groaned with pleasure, and rocked his hips more. "girl."

I dug my fingers into the warm muscles of his back.

His body was so comforting over mine.

I wanted it to be like this forever.

Miguel slid his lean body out of his suit, his erection throbbing on the small slit of my pussy. I sucked in a breath, and leaned my head back, gripping the sheets in anticipation.

The way he teased my wet body with the tip of his cock made my mouth open in ecstasy, each moan getting stronger with the hard rubs of his skin on my clit. I felt the liquid of my arousal slipping under my thigh, and I moved my hips forward, the excitement for his body overwhelming my senses.

"My god, Scarlett." His moan matched mine, a synchronized masterpiece that made me clamp the satin harder.

"Scarlett."

"Scarlett!"

My eyes snapped open.

I was back where I was before. His room.

Except Miguel wasn't on me.

He was standing near his nightstand, arms crossed tightly. His sweatpants were sliding down on his lean frame, the v of his pelvic bone casually showing. I forced my eyes up to meet the dark confusion of his.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, and hardly sounded like anything over the frantic pounding of my heart.

I tried to sit up casually, reminding myself that he wasn't aware of the dream I had.

Right?

The thought that my moans escaped during sleep burned my cheeks red.

But if Miguel knew I had a wet dream about him, it didn't show. He rolled his eyes, and pinched the area between his eyebrows. "I told you I was sleeping in my bed, princess. And I go to the bathroom, come back, and see this. Get off."

The sound of the pet name that he had used in my dream made my stomach swirl. But when I repositioned my thighs, horrible realization hit me.

I was soaking wet.

If I moved from the bed, Miguel would know.

Fuck, this is embarrassing.

"I...can't." My voice was so meek you would've thought I had confessed to a crime.

Miguel made a strange sound, and coughed to override it.

"Jesus. Okay. I'm going to the bathroom."

He turned away from me, and walked to the entrance of the master bathroom..

Curiosity in my mind, that was much braver than me, forced my mouth to ask a question.

"I thought you just said you already went. To the bathroom."

He halted, and breathed shakily. His strong back was facing me, and for some strange reason, he didn't turn around when he spoke.

"Such a nosy girl."

The blood rose to my cheeks again, and I slid back down the pillows. Miguel shut the door, and I rose to examine the mess of the sheets.

It wasn't bad. My thighs had taken most of the blow of my embarrassing reaction to the dream.

I raked my fingers through my hair. The way Miguel had used my mouth has been driving me crazy, and now I can't even go to sleep without thinking of it?

I'm so mad at my heart for doing this. I know for a fact Miguel isn't thinking about me like that. He just had some sort of animal erection and took it out on me.

A loud, messy groan came from the closed bathroom. My ears perked, and I faced the entrance.

"Miguel...you good?"

I heard a faucet turn on, and Miguel grumbled,

"Yeah. I just- uh, fell."

I furrowed my brows and settled back on the bed. The thought of Miguel falling in a shower brought a giggle to my lips.

I swirled circles in the fabric next to me, lost in thought. Everything was so complicated now. I can remember the days of jumping on skyscrapers during sunset, and fighting monsters like my life depended on it. Now that I look back, petty villains were nothing to worry about.

My mother, Hobie leaving, Reiner, now Miguel- it was all so much. Worry and sadness and pain, and I had no idea what to do with it. I clutched a pillow close to my heart.

Miguel came back out in a white towel, which hung over his hips dangerously. I slowly shifted my head to look at him, hoping no sudden movement will prove how infatuated I am with his body.

He opened the drawer near me, curling down so his abs clenched, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and boxers from a cabinet. When he processed my dumbfounded stare, he scoffed, and pushed his body up, using his hand on the blanket near my thigh as support.

My ears went pink.

The shower ran in the background of the room as I tapped my fingers on my knee. A part of me wanted to knock on the door and get some sort of reaction from Miguel. Another part of me wanted to meet with Gwen, or swing around the Society. But here I am.

Locked in his room.

An idea sparked into my mind.

I'm going to have fun with this.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

When Miguel came out of the shower, he was wearing his classic color of red sweatpants. All of his sweatpants are really high quality, I realized. I guess he pays attention to things like that.

But me, on the other hand, chose to wear less clothing than the last time he saw me. I had already changed out of my skirt and heels from the afternoon, into a pair of Miguel's oversized shorts. He grumbled about how I looked like a clown, but didn't protest my body covered with his clothing.

I stripped the sweatpants, wearing similar underwear to the one he had slid to the side of my thighs this morning. My small purple top and tight underwear were the only things I was wearing. I wonder if Miguel enjoyed how he had fucked me in these. Fuck, I can't believe we did that. It's like nothing changed in our dynamic of a relationship, but the thought of touching him is blazing in my mind. I want it to be the same for him.

My lacy black underwear was riding up the curves of my ass, and I waited patiently, actually attempting to read a book about Metaphysics.

Miguel threw the batch of his old clothing in a bag of laundry, and stopped by the bed to drop his web shooters. His eyes shot to mine for a second, and he looked back to what he was doing. Only a second later, he processed what I was wearing, and focused on my body.

He was shameless in the way his eyes devoured my figure, the red flickering down my hips, legs, and then up again to my face.

"Scarlett." He paused, and stared back down at my hips, his breath slightly heavier. "Are you wearing the panties I fingered you in?"

Shit, this was definitely a bad idea. I am not this bold.

I could've shrunk into the shape of my shoulders, because of how embarrassed I felt right now. Yeah, I wore these to tease him. But he didn't have to be so upfront about it.

"No! These..are a similar pair."

He trailed his eyes of fire down to my groin again, and subconsciously licked his bottom lip.

"Yeah. Very similar."

I burned in my skin, my stomach doing uncontrollable flips. Why does he remember?

I squeezed my legs together, and placed the book on the drawer beside me.

"Are you gonna have a problem with it?"

Okay, I regret that too.

Miguel's eyes contorted to filthy amusement. "No. Not at all. I might have a problem with that attitude, though."

The conceited tone of his voice was so hot. Why did he have to be so hot?

I decided to push his limits. This game we're playing is exhilarating me more than any villain-chase I've had.

"Oh, yeah?"

Miguel smirked, and rested his hand on the nightstand near me. His body was practically leaning over me, his scent of spice hitting my nose.

"Yeah. But I might have to fuck that pretty mouth again to get you to shut up."

A babble of shock slipped from my throat. My face was probably the color of his eyes now, burning so hot that I felt feverish. Nerves in my stomach electrified when he said those words, and the space between my thighs begun to experience a needing sensation.

I am disappointed with my body for being so turned on by Miguel, so fast.

"I-don't-"

Miguel laughed, an unusual sound. It was different from his small scoffs, or chuckles. It was a smooth, open sound. I couldn't hide the way my heart thrummed at it. I wanted to hear him laugh again.

He settled on the side of the bed next to me, and clicked off a small table light.

As if he was trying to torture me, he just dropped those words on me, and then left us in the darkness. I sinked into the blanket, and covered my body carefully. I realized that he hadn't told me to move yet.

Fuck, my heart is betraying me.

"Scar?"

My breath hitched at the softness in his voice. "Yes?"

Miguel was silent for a few seconds. I heard a faint rustling of him laying down, and he murmured fluidly,

"Sleep well."

It's been four days since Miguel put me on house arrest. Every morning, afternoon, and night, he brings hot plates stacked with food, slides them on the nightstand, and walks out without uttering a word. Every now and then he stays in the room, clicking things on his orange screens or arguing with Lyla.

But for the most part, it's been quiet.

I've worked on my training like normal, just without him. I memorized the binary code of my invisibility ability so cleanly, that I don't need to think the words, I just need to will my body to disappear.

I've explored every crack, every crevice of Miguel's office.

It's sort of peaceful. I've realized that I've grown comfortable in Miguel's presence. He makes me feel stronger, like I have more potential then I think of myself.

It was another silent morning, sunlight barely lighting through the tiny cracks of his room. I was stretching on the cold tile, straddling my legs and pushing on my hamstrings. The door swung open, and I turned my head to see Miguel's mouth dropped. He seemed dumbfounded for a second, and I didn't realize why until I remembered the position I was in.

"Uh...I can leave you in privacy if you want..."

"No!" My cheeks burned as I repositioned my body in a way my legs weren't spread out for him. I hopped to my feet, and shimmied my t-shirt over my frame awkwardly.

Miguel held out a plate, wavering slightly. "Well. Here." He pushed the plate forward again, and I took it, sitting on the floor with the bed frame against my back.

Miguel sat directly across from me, a healthy couple of feet between us. He had a similar plate too, white and stacked with meat and vegetables. I picked at the strange food in front of me. Most of the time, we had run of the mill breakfast food at Spider Society. Either way, most Spider-Men really like sandwiches.

But the food in front of me was far more complex than a deli bagel. A layered shape of some danish pastry, an blood red jam spilling out of a small heart in the middle. Two eggs with gracefully splayed micro-greens and spices were on my plate as well, and an array of peaches and blueberries faintly touched the pastry, but not the eggs.

I raised my eyebrow, searching for why Miguel had brought me such an exquisite plate, but he kept his eyes on his large sirloin steak. Weirdo.

I grabbed my pastry, sticky around the edges, and took a bite. I practically moaned.

"Oh my god, Miguel. That's so good. Did Fiona make it?" Fiona was Miguel's private chef, an AI bot who ran the cafeteria.

Miguel looked up, and wiped his mouth. "No." His voice was gruff. "I cooked it."

The amusement in my voice was too potent to hide. "You cook? You're a pastry chef?"

Miguel scowled, and set down his fork. "No- It's just a hobby. It's whatever. Not a big deal."

I looked down again, tracing the beautiful plate. The half eaten heart in the middle of the confectionary made me arch my eyebrows again.

I held the heart up above my own. "Oh? This seems like a big deal to me."

If Miguel had ever blushed, it would be now.

"I didn't know what shape to use," he spat, cutting his steak vigorously.

I smiled. What he did was really cute. A heart for me...

"Thank you, Miguel. It's actually really good."

Miguel nodded at me dismissively, but I could tell the compliment went a long way, because his face seemed to soften.

My heart warmed even more.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

"Gwen? You there?" My voice traveled through the door.

"Yes!" She exclaimed through the door. I heard a rustle with a knob, and barged in the room. She was wearing her suit, the hoodie balancing over his forehead.

"Woah." I gestured the suit. "Where are you going with that?"

Gwen didn't look at me, and made her way to the middle of the room.

"Gwen?" I asked, my voice wavering.

She turned back to me, a wince of pain forming on her face.

"We're sort of...going on a mission."

My mouth lowered into a frown. "Who's we?"

Gwen twiddled her thumbs awkwardly. "Oh you know. Me, Jess, Miguel... the entire Society." She cringed.

"What?" I slammed my hand to my cheek. "Everyone's going? Except for me?!"

Gwen sighed, and swung a web, rocking her body on the thin white string. "I'm sorry, okay? It's just... no one can really afford any more mistakes after last time. With Reiner. And not to mention...he escaped when you met with him." Gwen put a defensive hand up. "I'm not saying you have anything to do with it, but you know how it looks on paper, right?"

I nodded, disappointment already sinking in my stomach. I had already felt alone, but now I'm going to be the only Spider-person on Earth-928?

No.

"No!"

Gwen looked at me, hesitance lining her face.

"Scar, you don't really have a choice."

I shook my head. "I'll find a way to convince Miguel, one way or another."

Gwen had a weird look on her face, like she was wondering what my "other" was. I reached for her hand, clasping it in a pleading gesture.

"Can you get my suit out from my room and bring it here? I promise I'll get his permission." I smiled tentatively.

Gwen groaned, then jumped down from her spider web. She grumbled a small "fine," and shut me in the room, the previous light shining from the open entryway gone.

Alone again.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

It's the first time Miguel had ever come back so late. I tapped my foot on the floor, waiting for him in the dark of night. My eyes grew tired, and I shook my head to wake up.

I can't have the wet dream fiasco happen again.

The door opened, so quietly I didn't recognize Miguel was the one who had turned the knob. I realized he was trying to stay quiet for me. He had thought I was already asleep.

That unexpected flutter of my heart came to be again.

"Miguel?" I asked, softness falling over my voice.

"Scarlett." He sounded surprised at the fact I was awake, and I clicked on a small light.

Miguel looked more exhausted then I had ever saw him. His dark hair was a mess on his head, and red circles coated his under eyes. He was wearing red shirt with wrinkles, which is even more unusual- Miguel always irons.

"What's wrong?" I jumped up, running to the area in front of him. My hand grazed his cheek. I couldn't help it, the way he had widened his eyes at my touch- gave me some sort of deep thrill.

He grabbed my hand, and dropped it to my side. "Nothing."

We were still holding hands when I spoke, inquisitiveness lining my voice. "It doesn't seem like nothing."

Miguel looked down at me, and let go, sighing in defeat. He swung his body to the platform, and I heard the scratch of his talons on the metal. "Reiner. We have to deal with him tomorrow, and I have no idea how. He escaped prison, Scar. I tried to reinforce another version of amno-chains on his cell, but I won't be surprised if he finds his way out of those, too."

I walked to the direct area in front of the platform. "Then let me help."

Miguel's eyes flashed at me. "No."

I groaned. "Why not? You should be well aware I'm not on Reiner's side."

"I can't risk anything again. You fucked up, Scar. Learn to live with it."

The hardness in his voice stung. I blinked a couple times, then balled up my fists.

"No. I'm not letting you get away with that. I'm probably the only actual chance you have on catching Reiner. If I don't, you can lock me up, for like, forever, I don't care. But he's the only one who trusts me, Miguel."

The silence of thought fell over the room. I wanted to know more, I needed to know more.

"What happened with you and Reiner?"

Miguel was silent for a minute. "We...we're friends. We both had pain. Pain that needed vengeance to heal." I shuddered at that.

"But why did you...lie to him?" My voice was quiet.

Miguel inhaled. "Because I couldn't have someone mess up the world again. Reiner's too prideful- he could mess up the lives of trillions, without even trying to."

I shook my head. "You could've confronted him."

Miguel laughed without humor, and jumped off the platform, swinging his body to the tile. "It's not as easy as you think, Scar. You don't know much about the multiverse."

Anger fueled my words, because I didn't want to be dumb and ignorant. I didn't want him to see me like that.

"Try me. I want to know."

Miguel looked at me, a strange sense of admiration in the red pools of his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he muttered,

"Get some rest. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

It took me a second to realize what he meant-

I was going on the mission.

I ran after Miguel, laughing in the wind as I attempted to catch up with his long strides. We were climbing the S.S building, the night stars glittering in my peripheral.

"Wait!" I panted, grabbing a ledge and hauling my body up. Miguel had already reached the roof, and I jerked forward to the rising brick, swinging my legs over the rooftop bridge. As I caught my breath, I glazed my eyes over the view of Nueva York.

There were thousands, maybe millions, of twinkling building lights surrounding the area. I felt like I was in a magical realm, just a small speck of dust surrounded by incredible beauty.

Miguel positioned himself over the building ledge, letting his feet swing. I joined him, staring at the green lights twinkling thousands of miles away from here.

"It's beautiful." My voice was soft, softer than normal. But how could my voice be anything other than quiet when surrounded with the beauty of this world?

This world. The world meaning Nueva York, Miguel, the S.S.

I was home.

Miguel sighed quietly, and I closed my eyes, feeling a cold breeze of wind wash over my face. "Yeah. It is."

"So, you sleep here?" I bit my lip, twirling my fingers in my lap.

Miguel laughed hoarsely, and stared at me, his eyes glinting with that familiar teasing blaze. "On the rooftop? Who do you think I am?"

I paused. "Spider man?"

Miguel let out a brief laugh again, lighter this time. Each time he did, my heart warmed a little more.

He unclenched his jaw, and rested his body on his arms, the veins and smooth skin of his muscular build almost glittering in the moonlight. "No, no. I sleep in headquarters too, just on the office platform."

I pause, crinkling my brow. "You sleep in headquarters? You have been sleeping in the same room as me, this entire time?"

Miguel looked away again. And then softly,

"Yes."

I dropped my eyes away too, shock too great to hide on my face. I can't believe that he had slept above me this entire time.

All of my dreams, all of my....not so appropriate dreams...

I stared up at him again, only to find his eyes already on mine, on my mouth. I unconsciously sucked my bottom lip, a burst of butterflies returning in my stomach. And that beautiful, horrible glint in his eyes told me one thing-

"Did you...." I couldn't finish the sentence without my face turning bright red.

Miguel smirked, the white of his fangs too shiny for me not to feel afraid, all merged within the lust and passion he makes me feel every time he speaks in that pretty low voice.

"Did I hear you moaning my name in your sleep?"

I audibly gasped, and brought my head down to my lap. My body was warm from embarrassment, and I hated it, and I loved it.

His gaze darkened, and he wrapped a hand around my neck. My eyes closed, the shame crawling up my neck and my face.

"Mi vida, I didn't want you to stop." His grip around my body tightened. "I wanted to hear you say my name like that again," his head tilted up, the red of his eyes puncturing my heart, "And again."

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe

Breathe

He leaned in. And he kissed me.

And it was so strange, the way a man who was rough and beat around the edges, sharp in claws and insults, a man who was hurt from the world- can be so gentle, so soft with the one he touched. His lips felt like air on mine, warm and breezy and so, so, comforting.

He tasted like something familiar, something I fell in love with a long time ago. I let my body relax, and he grabbed my waist, pulling me into his lips.

All I wanted was him. All I needed was his body on mine, ingrained into my skin like a tattoo, because he was too beautiful to forget, to not imprint on my body.

"Do you want to go inside?" Miguel's lips met my forehead, and it was weird, because we weren't this. We weren't easy and loving and a forehead-kissing couple- we were mean, and loud, and angry. We aren't happy. We were made to be sad, to be ruined, to ruin each other.

But not now.

Now, we were perfect.

We were us, who we were supposed to be- like an alternate version of our relationship, something happy, liberating, even.

"Yeah." My voice was breaking from a whisper to a plead, and I had no idea why. "Let's go inside."

Miguel stretched, and stood up, letting his hand fall to reach mine, so effortlessly. I reached up, and held on to him.

With our hands laced, and his heat warming my shoulder, we walked down the stairs of the building, feeling stars on our backs.

Maybe this is temporary. Maybe tomorrow, he'll ignore me like he used to, and he'll continue calling me vulgar names, a practical spit in my face. Maybe, maybe all of this has a time limit, and we are reaching the end.

But this is love. No matter how fleeting it is, I realize, I am drowning in the depths of love, for this beautiful angel sent from hell.

Miguel O Hará.

I gripped his hand tighter.

[imaslutforwritingshit]

can we have a shy innocent ethan (beginning of scream) texts with ethan, dating??

Ofc!

Ethan (shy) texting from reader!

(Contains mentions of smut)

Ethan: hey?

Y/n: hey lol

Ethan: is this y/n?

Y/n: who else would it be

Ethan: sorry

Y/n: for what??

Ethan: I don’t know how to talk with girls

Y/n: LOL

Y/n: it’s okayyy lol just pretend I’m not a girl

Ethan: that’s hard

Ethan: you’re very feminine

Ethan: sorry

Ethan: that’s a weird thing to say

Y/n: I see it as a compliment, haha.

Ethan: good, it is. How are you?

Y/n: mad at chemistry. Wbu?

Ethan: why are you mad at chemistry?

Y/n: I don’t care too much about molar mass conversions

Ethan: I’m quite good at those.

Y/n: of course you are, nerd

Ethan: I feel like that was a compliment too.

Y/n: it was

Ethan: it’s good weather

Y/n: you know that you asked me out, right? You don’t have to small-talk anything. There’s no need to prove yourself.

Y/n: I already like you, Ethan.

Ethan: I like you too.

Ethan: a lot.

Ethan: like very much

Ethan: because

Y/n: I would love to hear what you’re going to say but you don’t need to convince me of your devotion to me 😭

Ethan: that’s fine. I just hope you know I am very devoted.

Y/n: I know. (:

Ethan: then what should we talk about?

Ethan: if you don’t like small talk

Ethan: I can talk to you about the depths of my soul,

Ethan: but I want to keep you around, so I won’t.

Y/n: what do you mean?

Y/n: I guarantee I’m more messed up than you.

Ethan: why would you think that?

Y/n: I have a dark past.

Ethan: try me.

Y/n: maybe I’ll tell you. but why did you think you had a “darker” past than me

Ethan: me to know,

Ethan: you to find out.

Ethan: we should watch a movie sometime

Y/n: a date

Y/n: ?

Ethan: a commemoration of our relationship.

Y/n: what would we watch?

Ethan: hmm…

Y/n: rom-com?

Ethan: I was thinking of something more thrilling.

Y/n: hunger games

Ethan: too enjoyable.

Y/n: too enjoyable?

Ethan: I got it.

Ethan: what about scream?

[imaslutforwritingshit]

oh my god you're like the only writer i've found whose requests are open rn

so basically ive been reading this rlly good book where the male protagonist is like rlly tall and super sweet and a hockey player and now i very desperately need ethan landry as that with like a short reader who maybe has some attitude

you can add smut (preferably) but if you can't think of anything for it it's fine!

OKAY

(Hockey Ethan Landry x fem. short reader, that ice skates)

(Part One- teasing, plot)

Sorry to the requester! This took a while like four months 😭 but luckily it’s skating season!

Ethan Landry ❤️‍🔥

Julie Weston 🤍

I started the routine again. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Wake up, grab my skates, go on the ice. I forget all of my problems when I skate, letting them fall under my feet as I rake the blades into powdery ice. Today, the rink is empty, given no one comes this early. It’s 5:00 in the morning, and if any person would be here right now, my guess is that they would be a sports player, considering how insane they all are.

Skating has been a part of my life forever, since I was a child, even. I don’t let myself think about how long it’s been, how much has changed. I just ride, to quote Lana, whose music I immediately put on, raising the volume of my AirPods to (almost) an extreme level. I begin the comfortable act of sliding my legs, bending my knees, then faster, until the ice is blending and whirling under my skates, and I am speeding in the rink, distracted by the music in my ears. I do a backwards spiral, grabbing my leg and twirling, then a backwards spin. I feel elevated, euphoric, and then, I feel a hard wall slam into my backside.

I trip over my skates, and fall to the ice, hearing my leggings rip from the impact. Groaning, I push myself up from my hands. Not blood, just a scrape on my legs. I sigh, and feel that my AirPods fell out of my ears when I had slammed to the ground. As I searched the ice for them, a low, gravely tone behind me scoffed.

I jumped, immediately turning unsuccessfully to meet the person. I stumbled, and straightened my legs out of fear, like a small deer in the wintertime. But no sheer amount of embarrassment could prepare me for who I saw behind me.

Ethan.

Ethan Landry.

When he met my expression, he smiled, his dark eyes glinting with the satisfaction of my surprise. His hair was messy, as if he had just woke up from bed, like me. He was wearing a black hoodie, and grey sweatpants, which seemed normal, but what stuck out to me was the hockey stick in his hands.

“I’m not gonna play with you, you know.” I stammered, pointing at the stick.

Ethan laughed smugly, and I swear I could’ve just slapped him then and there. He tapped the base of the stick on the ground. “Yeah? I was hoping you would.” He dropped his eyes to my smaller body, and I straightened my shoulders in an effort to be taller. “You certainly have the…build of a hockey player.”

I rolled my eyes, and huffed, grabbing my AirPods awkwardly in front of him. I could feel his stare down my back, and I really wished he wasn’t in direct view of my ass. I moved on the ice faster than I thought possible to get away from him, finding a corner where I practicing skating drills in an effort to sit with my thoughts. Ethan was moving a puck casually on the other side of the rink, and I made certain that he didn’t see me staring.

When I was in elementary school, Ethan Landry was every girl’s crush. How could he not be? With his dreamy eyes, his soft, tender voice, cute curls? I could remember every friend I ever had begging him for his number, or to sit with him during lunchtime. But no, not me. I saw who he really was. He was cocky, so much so that every time I walked by him, he would ask me if I was ready to admit I liked him. But I never did, and even if I would, he would never hear about it. Ethan would pester me, throw dodgeballs at my shoulder, tap my thumb repeatedly in 7up, until I glared at him, ultimately losing the game.

And I was fine hating Ethan Landry. I enjoyed it. I liked knowing that I was the only one who knew what he was- a playboy.

In 5th grade, I had a friend named Allie. She always tried to convince me to “confess” that I liked Ethan. She told me nobody could resist him, and there’s no point in me pretending that I didn’t like him. But it didn’t matter how many times I told her I wouldn’t. She already had a plan.

Allie wrote a fake love letter, filled with the grossest things a 5th grader would possibly write, or know about. Allie signed the letter with my name; putting it on Ethan’s desk the morning of English class. I will never forget the look on Ethan’s face after she told me what she did. It’s the first time I saw him blush.

Probably because Allie wrote, “I want to sleep with you,” in the letter, even if she didn’t know what that meant yet.

Needless to say, I never talked to that girl again, until she moved schools. And Ethan stopped bothering me after that. Only recently, in high school, the taunting and teasing has come up again. And with it, memories of 5th grade. I just need him out of my life. And the worst part is, he’s still just as fawned over, if not more, than before. Every girl I ever knew had once crushed on him. He’s gotten significantly taller, around 6’3, and his form filled out nicely after enrolling into hockey 7 years ago. I never went to any of his games, and honestly, I don’t care to. He’s not my friend, my enemy, or my lover. He’s nothing to me.

I took a break from skating, huffing over the side of the rink walls. I heard him skate over to me, and I straightened my body again, my heart suddenly faster. I didn’t dare look at him.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, hesitant. I ignored him. “Hey.” I only stared at him, feigning boredom. He gritted his teeth. “Julie, can I talk to you?”

“No.” I turned around and began skating on the ice. I heard Ethan groan behind me and follow my trail.

“What happened to us?” His voice was light, but the words cut deep.

I whirled around, putting my hands in my hips to seem like my fingers weren’t shaking.

“What do mean, us? There has been no us, there will never be an us,” I exclaim, skating backwards. “The last time I checked, the only thing you ever wanted us to be was the boy who makes fun of the girl, and the girl who loveeeddd the boy so much!” I mocked him, rolling out the word with an irritating gesture. I huffed in cold air, and whirled around for the final time, taking my time to exit the rink.

As I clanked my skates on the warm carpet of the bench area, I looked back, seeing Ethan’s eyes on mine. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down, and butterflies warmed my core. I forced my eyes down, and began disassembling my skates, stuffing them in the light pink bag I got for my 18th birthday.

“You know that I knew about Allie, right?”

His deep voice shocked me out of my state of pitiful thoughts. I shook my hair out of my face, and stared up, Ethan suddenly nearing the wall that separated the rink from the sitting area. I slid on my boots, and wiped melted water droplets from my pants as I stood.

“What?” My voice was weary. I just wanted to be home. School was tomorrow, and I would prefer to keep my Sunday Ethan-free from now on.

He stepped into the area, and sat down on the bench opposite to me. He was out of breath, red cheeked, with a smooth glaze of sweat gleaming on his sharp jawline. As he dusted off his sweats and kicked off his skates, he scoffed.

“I knew that Allie wrote the letter.” Silence filled the heavy room, only the heaters buzzing from afar the sound I could hear. Ethan finally stood up, black sneakers on his feet. He unzipped his jacket slowly, his eyes burning onto mine. As he stripped his body, I could see the muscles lining fabric underneath his shirt. I had to clench my thighs, bite my lip, not to go crazy.

Because, the secret was?

I’ve been attracted to Ethan Landry since the day I met him. And I’ve been trying, trying so hard to convince myself that I wasn’t.

He tugged on his sleeves, and casually zipping his bag as he talked. “She told me that she wrote it. And the reason that I was ignoring you after all of it wasn’t because I was embarrassed that you wanted to sleep with me.”

He stood near me, now towering over my frail body. I can’t believe how much taller he got, and he closed space between us, until I was up against the wall.

My nerves were burning, and his eyes were dark, fire pooling in his dangerously beautiful irises. He leaned in, his husky voice in my ear. “It’s because I was upset that you didn’t want to.”

My mouth dropped. “You were ten, and you knew what sleeping with people was?” That wasn’t on my mind. The thought that he would want me too… it drove me insane. I rubbed my legs together harder, pressure in my core.

Ethan laughed, but in a way that almost sounded painful. He leaned back, grazing my body with his eyes. “Jesus, not then.” His face suddenly got serious, as he rested his eyes on my hips, my breasts, and then my lips again.

“Now.”

My eyes opened wider than I could have imagined, and I gasped, letting breath open my lungs.

“Y-you want to sleep with me now?” I straightened my back, my eyes drilled into his.

His expression glinted with dark lust, a smile forming on his face as he took in my shock.

“Yeah.” He whispered, grabbing my wrist and sliding my arm over my head.

“Is that a problem?”

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Things Ethan Landry Would Do! (But it progressively gets more specific)

1. Enjoy hot wings and spicy food

1.5. Grab you by your shirt when you walk too fast

2. Start giggling when someone cries, then stops laughing when he realizes no one else is

3. Would say “breakfast is the most important meal of the day” and defend breakfast for the rest of his life

4. Would accidentally be too skilled with a knife, making it twirl and throw it around, then realize he’s with his family, and they could suspect him.

5. Would go to a movie theatre, and after opening the first door, accidentally slam into the second door which is glass, and be upset, but then laugh it off

6. Would eat something, and spit it out when he tastes a giant piece of black pepper, then start sticking out his tongue and trying to get it off, and then eventually going to the bathroom and wiping it off with a towel.

7. Would go to class late, with rain in his hair, and then sit down, already in a bad mood, but then his wet hair would drop on his journal, and mess up his handwriting, and he would bang his fists on the table in the awkwardly silent classroom, and cover his face while breathing hard and looking down to his pants.

This was so stupid lemme know if you want more but with a more romantic Ethan LMAO

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Okay so I’m team Jess but I’m forever in my heart in love with Tristan. Because what the fuck

[imaslutforwritingshit]

Things Ethan Landry would text- (Fem Friend Reader) PART 3

Warnings- mentions of smut, knifeplay, sexting, fearplay, confessions to murder.

If you guys like this, I’ll make an extended version, where I write a story in Y/n’s pov that happens after this texting story:)

The Ballad Of Terror

Y/n: hey loser

Ethan: Loser? that’s new.

Y/n: but true

Ethan: no good night text, bunny?

Y/n: ugh stop calling me that. I promise I don’t jump that weird.

Ethan: in PE class you look like a rodent

Y/n: shut up

Y/n: I want something else first before you get your good night text

Ethan: let me guess. You need homework answers?

Y/n: I don’t get anything in science. I don’t even know what a molecule is.

Ethan: luckily I’m smart.

Y/n: luckily.

Ethan: click to view

Y/n: thank u <3

Ethan: np.

Ethan: hey, how are you and David doing together?

Y/n: why?

Ethan: I’m just curious

Y/n: maybe being curious isn’t always the right thing to be

Ethan: I’m your friend who wants you to be happy.

Y/n: I am happy

Ethan: with David?

Y/n: why are you asking that like david can’t make me happy?

Ethan: because I don’t think he could

Y/n: he does.

Ethan: oh, yeah?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: as in, present tense?

Y/n omg yes

Y/n: why do you care so much?

Ethan: you broke up with him last night.

Y/n: how did you know that?

Y/n: Ethan??

Y/n: who told you

Ethan: no one told me.

Y/n: then why the fuck do you know?

Ethan: I watched you get that text. You cried over your bedside table.

Ethan: don’t leave me on read

Ethan: cmon

Y/n: how do you know

Ethan: I watched you through the window.

Y/n: you’re my friend

Y/n: this is scaring me

Ethan: Don’t be scared. Remember when you told me that you loved the real me?

Y/n: yes.

Ethan: this is the real me.

Y/n: a stalker?

Ethan: For you,

Ethan: Yes.

Y/n: if you were watching me, what was I wearing?

Ethan: That Ivy League shirt I bought for you in 2018.

Y/n: what pants, then ??

Ethan: oh, that’s the best part.

Y/n: please

Ethan: you weren’t wearing any

Ethan: you hiked your thighs to your chest

Ethan: you were wearing black panties

Y/n: you’re a fucking creep

Ethan: don’t be like that.

Y/n: how long has this been going on?

Ethan: How long have I been in love with you?

Ethan: or watching you sleep

Ethan: ?

Y/n: i should call the police. do you stalk other girls?

Ethan: you’re the only one for me

Ethan: nobody makes me feel the way you make me feel

Ethan: All those girls meant nothing to me. They couldn’t replace you.

Y/n: what girls?

Y/n: you’re a manwhore now?

Ethan: don’t be stupid. I didn’t fuck anyone

Ethan: I killed them

Y/n: im calling the police

Ethan: I disconnected the system from your number

Ethan: you can’t call anyone for help

Y/n: what do you want from me?

Ethan: Don’t you want to know?

Ethan: Why I did it?

Y/n: no

Ethan: I want to hurt you. Is that bad?

Ethan: it just turns me on so much

Ethan: to imagine you begging for me

Ethan: begging me not to slice you open

Ethan: fuck your brains out until your screaming my name

Ethan: i want to use you

Ethan: and you and I both know you would enjoy it

Y/n: you’re ghostface

Ethan: oh

Ethan: what gave it away ?

Y/n: you piece of shit.

Ethan: I don’t think you should insult me right now

Y/n: why? you gonna kill me??

Ethan: don’t tempt me.

Y/n: but apparently I already am. I’m basically asking for a knife to my throat, aren’t I?

Y/n: to watch your cock enter me as you choke me

Y/n: god, it would turn me on so much!!!

Ethan: I don’t take sarcasm too well

Ethan: if your asking for it, I’ll give it to you.

Y/n: im blocking you

Ethan: you can’t hide

Y/n: I’ll lock my doors. Get my parents to call the cops when they come back.

Ethan: your parents aren’t home?

Ethan: That changes things.

Y/n: I locked everything

Y/n: leave me alone

Ethan: why did you assume I was outside your house?

Y/n: please leave me alone

Ethan: let’s play a game of hide and seek, y/n.

Ethan: you run

Ethan: you hide

Ethan: and we’ll see if I can catch you.

Ethan: and if I do…

Ethan: god, I love making you my victim.

Y/n: Ethan please

Ethan: 3

Ethan: 2

Ethan: 1

Ethan: time to run, bunny.

🩷