#COME LORD JESUS CHRIST QUICKLY

[jclovely]

ANOTHER OCTOBER 7TH .... ACTUALLY MARCH 7TH GENOCIDE IN NORTHERN SYRIA. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 🇸🇾 🇸🇾 🇸🇾 🇸🇾 🇸🇾

AND NOT ONE MAINSTREAM MEDIA, BBC, CNN, AL JEZEERA, OR OTHER SPEAKING ABOUT IT. GENOCIDE HAPPENING NOBODY SPEAKING ABOUT IT.

The new president of Syria, Isis and AL Qaeda trained evil man, known by his nom de guerre, Abu Mohammad al-Jolani, Mr. al-Shara spearheaded an offensive last month that ousted Mr. al-Assad and ended the Assad family’s iron grip on the country, which had lasted more than five decades. Mr. al-Shara was the leader of Hayat Tahrir al-Sham, an Islamist rebel group once linked to Al Qaeda. His faction controlled most of Idlib Province, in northwestern Syria, during a long stalemate in the country’s civil war, which dragged on for nearly 14 years.

In the last 48 hours he murdered 2400 persons doing the same massacre which happened on October 7th in Israel but NOW of the Alawite Muslims which are primarily concentrated in the coastal provinces of Latakia and Tartus in Syria, with a significant number also residing in Damascus and Homs, Druze, Christians, Kurds were murdered within their homes same way Hamas did to Israel and they took videos.

SINCE LAST NIGHT WE ARE PRAYING FOR CIVILIANS IN SYRIA, FAMILIES, CHILDREN, ELDERLY AND ESPECIALLY FOR OUR CHRISTIAN BROTHERS AND SISTERS. THE LORD WARMED US IN THE END TIMES LAWLESSNESS WOULD INCREASE. THEY GOT RID OF ASSAD TO BE REPLACED BY ANOTHER BUTCHER. LORD HAVE MERCY RETURN SOON.

WHERE IS THE INTERNATIONAL COMMUNITY ?????

More news today Monday 10th March.

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

📯👑📯

🇮🇱👑🙏

🙏💖🌺🦋🕎✝️👑🇮🇱🕊📯🪔🧡

[heartsings77]

[listofwhyyouloveher]

can you do ponyboy x soc reader who is stunning and always dressed up and pony is so obsessed with her and the boys tease him all the time when she comes over and then Darry walks in on them making out with the door shut and flips out and the boys have a field day making fun of pony because of it

Summary: Yours a Pony's relationship is not quite as it seems.. Warnings: Kissing, Author's Note: sorry for the spotty updating, im sooo busy rnnn You treasured the lofty nights spent on the hardwood of Pony's floor. His brothers and friends oblivious to you being in his house, head resting against a lazily strewn pillow and hands dusting the cold floorboards. You only came here when you needed a small time to rest, a place to curl up and take a light nap as the world swirled on around you and life clamored in the busy house. Technically, you were risking quite a bit by being close to Ponyboy. You two came from two different lives, the spoon in your mouth was always silver and shining, Pony had to work for his end. But that probably what you admired most about him. Far from the lazy and arisocrat-like snobby attitudes of the soc boys, Pony was actually a fresh breath of reality. He'd liked you for quite some time. You'd known it, but the lingering eyes and burning stares only made you turn your head for ever so long. How much could you risk for someone like him? You found your answer all too quickly. You were willing to risk it all. His thumb stroked your cheek and you blinked up at him. His eyes were glued to a thick book, the pages smelling faintly of a library and of everything human, but he smiled as he felt your gaze on him. His nimble fingers dog-eared a well worn page and he closed the book quietly. "How you feelin'?" He asked, although he could read you like a children's book, with letters in bold and simple lettering. You smiled and stretched, getting up from your curled up position on his floor to sit up next to him. "Alright" You said, sighing and leaning your head on his shoulder. His hand found your hair and his index finger twirled a long stand around and around like a carousel. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you pressed one to his nose. Pony let out an airy chuckle, peppering your face with light kisses, and then a final one to your lips. You locked hands as you kissed, deep and lovingly. But the tingling sensation in your heart stopped short as the door burst open. "Pony whaddya want for din- JESUS CHRIST" Darry yelped. His hand covered his eyes but his parental instinct kicked in shortly after. "Ponyboy Curtis, you better get your ass out in the living room." He said, a hint of anger hidden in his stern voice. Your face grew beet red and you got up quickly. "And you, Y/n, how the hell'dya get into my house!" He sounded more exasperated than angry. You silently pointed to the open window. "Goddamnit Ponyboy! Lord knows I have enough to deal with already! And now you're sneaking girls in through the window!" He said, walking over to the steady stream of fresh and and closing it abruptly. "Pony's doing what!" Soda yelled from the kitchen. The boys all laughed and started filing into his room. They looked you over. Dally gave a low whistle. "Isn't that the one you always talk about?" Dal asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Ponyboy hung his head in embarrassement. Two-Bit clapped him on the back. "Good going, kid." He snickered. "I want all you out in the living room!" Darry yelled, ushering them out the door. You gave him the best pleading eyes you could, trying to save yourself of the shame but he shook his head, "You too, missy," He said. You groaned and hid your face in your hands.

[wintersera]

forever mine || alpha!karina x omega!reader

notes: AGAIN sorry for the delay anon but here’s the request!! fun fact i wrote this while listening to the super mario galaxy ost 😭

cw: OMEGAVERSE, alpha karina, omega reader (obvs), maybe rina is a little possessive, use of toys, biting, scratching, g!p rina, creampie, breeding kink

wc 2.2k

your alpha girlfriend was so sweet and caring, the best alpha you could ever wish for. unlike other alphas, she was never too aggressive with you, rather, she was too careful with you- biologically she should’ve been treating you like you were her toy for breeding, but i guess not. nonetheless she was still a great alpha girlfriend.

—

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK

first of september- the first ever day since you’ve forgotten to buy your heat suppressants since you started dating jimin. your stomach drops as your pheromones begin to waft around your workplace filled with pure blooded alphas.

shit shit shit i’m dead, oh i’m screwed what do i do? ohhh god what do i do?

it was sorta stupid. yeah- an undercover omega in a job filled to the brim with hardworking alphas. you were doing a great job of convincing everyone that you were just a simple beta. that’s how you landed your job in the first place, but now because of this one stupid mistake, you were bound to lose your job.

“guys…” head manager, a very big alpha man in your words, spoke up. his head tilting and nostrils flaring as he’s looking around the office, confusion on his sharp features “…are you smelling that?” with the attention drawn on your floral scent, you begin to panic as the other alphas begin sniffing around too.

ough,, how do you get outta this situation fast “i think i’ll head out early guys. whoever has their heat is driving me insane it might trigger my rut” how bad of a lie was that. it didn’t matter anyways, dashing out the room with your blazer and bag in, hand rummaging around your trouser pockets as soon as you make it out of the building.

“jesus christ jimin pick up please, please” walking, no- sprinting to the direction of your apartment. you knew your heat was gonna hit you badly. you’ve been taking suppressants for years so having a full blown pheromone disaster for the first time in years was going to be crazy. people were looking at you like you were crazy, but you’d rather have many people look at you weird than have your scent imprinted on the damn streets.

“what’s up?” thank the lord, she answered her phone just in time.

fumbling for your keys trying to shove it into the door lock, you sigh with a heavy breath “uh,, um jimin i’m going into heat- i already feel funny” unlocking the door, you fling yourself into the apartment, slamming the door shut with a loud bang.

“what do you mean going into heat? did you not,,, oh well shit okay give me a few minutes” hanging up the call.

not so much to your surprise, slick was coating your cunt like crazy. to the point where it started to go through your trousers and down your legs. the need you had for your girlfriend was so unbearable.

in a haze, you wobbled to your shared bedroom and grabbed one of her used shirts. her clothes smelt so good, the lingering scent dripping from her clothes was enough to make you keel over and plop onto the bed. you felt yourself getting slicker, your needy cunt needing your alpha to come over and fuck you silly was growing stronger each second she wasn’t in the room with you.

taking matters into your own hands because you couldn’t wait any longer, the feeling of your heat coiling in your stomach was too much. your brain was giving into your biological urges and you needed to get off now or you’d suffer. grabbing a pile of jimin's clothes and making somewhat of a nest on the bed, you surround yourself with the scent of freshly ground coffee. quickly taking off every single piece of clothing, getting right back up to open the box of toys you kept just in case a moment like this ever happened- searching for anything, any toy, that could satisfy you while you wait for your alpha.

whereas jimin on the other hand was worried sick. throughout your two year relationship with her she’d never seen you in a proper heat. like yeah, the heat suppressants and scent blockers helped quite a lot so you were never heavily affected by the symptoms. of course omegas would usually never get this horrible desire to mate this early into their heat, but unfortunately for you, you did have this raging urge to mate so early.

you weren’t so very conscious, you were starting to feel groggy, a feverish high temperature when you touch your head began to appear. this heat was kicking you in the ass and you couldn’t take it anymore- taking the vibrator in your hands and placing it on the highest setting, your hands make there way all the way down to your throbbing clit “a-ah, hnnng jimin come quick…”

so so desperate for her, you pick up your phone hoping that she would answer your calls “please- please pick up jimin”

“i’m almost home baby, do you need something or…”

“just hurry up i’m begging you to come home pleaseee” and who was she to deny your request. stepping on the gas faster knowing that her precious little omega was in need of her alphas presence. she could here your desperation deep within your voice.

“don’t worry i’m about to park soon, just wait for me okay” jimin, knowing how she acted during your very suppressed heats, believed that she could never submit to her instincts since she has never done so when it came to you. that quickly changed as she opened the door, the scent of roses attacking her as she stepped inside. it was a thick scent, it stuck to everywhere and it didn't help that you couldn’t open the windows in time, now your walls were coated in this thick floral scent.

it took jimin a lot of willpower not to give into her urges right there. she felt her rut kicking in and it made her growl in discomfort. never feeling this way in a while, because she took rut suppressants since the two of you started dating, she started growing hazy much like you did. she was a pure blooded alpha which didn’t help either, the intensity of your heat did rounds on her and she had strongest urge to mark you up.

you could hear her footsteps grow louder and louder, her low growls could be heard with the door still shut. quite impressive. she didn’t even say anything when entering, taking off her work clothes only leaving just her boxers on, the line of her hard cock showing through made you whimper out loud. your slick was practically drooling out from your pussy.

in her eyes you were nothing more than a snack to be devoured. her red eyes peered down at you like you were some sort of prey, and you must admit that pure blooded alpha jimin was really arousing to watch. pheromones in the room were strong as hell, your thick sweet floral scent mixing with jimin’s freshly scented coffee smell made a delicious combination. the scent alone driving you two mad.

she went to sit on the bed, still peering at you meek little body. with hunter like eyes she stared you down and licked her lips, “sit up omega” obeying your alpha like the good little omega you are, you sit up from the nest of clothes.

she could hear little puffs of air pour out of your lips, stifling a chuckle as she watches you struggle to sit up straight and look at her straight in the eye. hooking you up with ease, jimin had your body pressed up against hers, sliding one of her hands in between your thighs opening them up with a strong grip “you look so needy for me” a second goes by and she’s shoving you back into the pillow.

“fuck” jimin whispered “how do you smell so good” nuzzling into the crook of your neck, “you smell so tempting, fuck, i can’t-“ she gave your thighs a firm squeeze, exhaling shakily “you need to take me right now, i can’t take it anymore. i need to feel your tight cunt around my cock” her voice low and coarse. in a flash she slipped her cock into your dripping heat, mewls threatening to escape your mouth.

if you weren’t too dazed and horny you would’ve been saying how you’ve waited for this exact moment. jimin didn’t spend anytime fucking around with foreplay, she went straight into pounding your slicked up hole with no mercy. everything she did set your body ablaze, her hands were touching every single inch on your body and it felt so fucking good.

like a ravenous animal she attacked your neck, licking, marking, biting your throat all whilst groaning. her animalistic mind wanting to show that you’re her omega and nobody else’s and by that she had to litter you with marks of any kind, purposely rubbing her scent to mark you as her omega.

every thrust made your back arch slightly off the bed, hitting all the spots you never knew could feel good because of how nice she usually fucked you. you felt how fast and precise her movement was, and it was heavenly.

as your back arched closer to hers, she shifted even more closer to you, practically pinning you onto the bed by hooking both of your legs above her broad shoulders. hitting even deeper then she previously did before, you felt the tip of her cock graze your cervix “mmfh, fuck, fuck- my baby feels so fucking good” saying all that while she’s harshly sinking her teeth into your shoulders.

“s’too much,, ah- jimin, g-good” her urges began to flare up, the only thing on her mind was to mark you up for good. like she was oh so desperate to keep you as hers.

pulling her cock out, in between breaths she instructs you “turn around. y/n turn over for me.. need to- need to fill you up“ taking your legs of her shoulders and flipping you over with ease, again with her predatory gaze, she stares right at your exposed ass in which tempted her to completely destroy you until you can’t stand anymore, leaving you in a state of vulnerability so that she can take care of you.

her alpha instincts were indeed controlling her every movement, the loving and caring alpha you knew was gone. all was left was a dominating alpha who wanted to fuck you till you were filled up with her cum, even if that means you’ll bear her pups.

returning back into your needy cunt, she moans even louder, louder than you’d ever heard. “omega- omega fuck, i’ll mark you. you’re mine, mine only. mine,,, shit you’re mine forever” relentlessly pushing your head into the pillows, her thrusts became frantic and desperate- her movement erratic and messy, it made you love her even more. her alpha side was making you wetter and wetter, bedsheets were covered with your slick.

your moans were insanely unholy. you were screaming and clawing onto whatever you could grab hold onto. her dick growing larger than before and that's when the both of you knew that she was about to knot into you. grabbing her arm for moral support, you dig your nails harshly into them leaving a few minor scars.

right now you looked so fucked out. you were crying, drooling everywhere all while you were screaming out her name. jimin took her time to place a generous amount of bites and hickeys all over your back too. you know… for extra measures of course.

“aah fuck, pleasepleaseplease alpha cum- cum in me” you sobbed out.

“bout to- gonna,, augh fuck cumming” one final harsh thrust into your cunt and her knot swelled as she spilled every ounce of cum into your hole. your cunt clamping down on her as well, essentially locking the two of you. whilst she knotted into you, she swiftly leaned to the back of your neck and inserted her teeth. it hurt a lot, the feeling of her sharp canines sent your nerves on fire, but only a second later and it felt almost orgasmic.

finally she had marked you, but now you were stuck like this for a while. her knot being large enough to just be stuck in this position. both of you were lowkey back into consciousness, the alpha side of her dying down a little bit and the subby omega side of you dissipating.

after a couple of minutes of basking in your orgasm, her knot went down eventually. it was just enough so that you could move slightly which inevitably caused her semen to seep out of your cunt.

“aaah~ can’t… believe.. i… marked.. you..” catching her breath through each word she managed to muster up “that means you’re mine.. forever, right?”

aww big dom alpha jimin was gone, but your cute puppy of a girlfriend was back. you turn around with her cock still in you and see her smiling right at you, her big puppy eyes beaming with glee.

“yeah.. forever”

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [SEASON 2] - 007 (PT 1)

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [8.9k] based on Netflix's Outer Banks Season 2 Episode 9

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, general obx warnings, discussions of sexuality, mentions of suicide

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ still love me?? not the biggest fan of this chapter but

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

PULLING UP TO THE BUNGALOW ON THE END OF THE STREET AND KILLING THE ENGINE, you and JJ were quick to jump out of the truck, calling out for his cousin, who owned the house in question.

“Ricky! Ricky!” You both shouted, helping Kiara drag Pope’s limp frame out of the backseat. The three of you helped walk Pope to the front door, JJ frantically rattling the handle and slamming his palm against the door before his cousin Ricky appeared — shirtless with a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“Hey, Ricky!” The blonde called through the window. “Look, I know you’re mad at me-”

“Remember the time you stole my ambulance?!” The dark-haired man argued through the glass, face turning red.

“Yeah, I know. I know you’re mad but - please, don’t do that!” JJ begged, watching as Ricky slammed the actual door in his face. 

The rest of you begged and pleaded, voices creating a mess of protests behind the door. JJ was quick to hand his portion of Pope’s weight off to John B, walking towards one of the windows and banging on it.

“He’s a having a reaction, he needs help!” JJ screamed through the glass. Ricky was JJ’s EMT cousin, who also happened to be the cousin who’s ambulance he’d stolen to break John B out of jail, which failed anyway. “He can’t breathe, Ricky!”

Something one of you said must’ve gained some sympathy because it wasn’t long before the front door behind the glass screen was swinging open again. “Who can’t breathe-” Ricky’s word died in his throat as he took in Pope’s swollen face this time.

“Look at him!” You cried — you, Kiara, and John B holding up your friend. “He needs help.”

“...Alright.” The man caved, pushing the screen door open to allow you all in. “Jesus Christ…” You were quick to hand off Pope, rushing into the man’s house.

“Hi, nice to meet you. Sorry.” You quickly threw in Ricky’s direction, making a b-line for the first flat surface you saw and swiping everything to the floor. Your friends were trailing behind you, using their strength to lift Pope onto the now cleared island counter top.

“You know, I wouldn’t come to you if it wasn’t an emergency.” JJ clarified, being the last one inside of the house.

“What’s wrong with him?” The medic asked, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel for a pulse. 

“Wasps.” Sarah and Kie replied in sync.

“Wasps?” Ricky repeated, asking for clarification. You all nodded. “Is he allergic to wasps?”

“We were kind of hoping you could figure that out for us.” You quickly replied, not wanting to be rude but wanting to speed up this procedure.

Ricky sighed, backing up from the table. “Hang tight, I gotta get my kit.”

“Hang tight?” JJ asked incredulously. “Hang tight, Ricky?!”

“It’s in here somewhere!” The older man called, disappearing near the bedrooms before re-emerging with nothing in his hands.

“Where’s your kit?!” You asked frantically — Kiara tending to Pope on the table as JJ and John B kept his legs elevated.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be looking for it-”

“What does it look like?” Sarah asked, the two of you intending to help the man look for his supplies.

“Like a duffel bag…” He offered, vanishing into his garage with his hands atop his head in distress. “Okay, I got it!” He returned after a few seconds — a navy blue med-kit clutched in his hands as he rushed towards the six of you.

He planted the bag on the counter top next to Pope, JJ scooting over to make room. “What do we do now?” The blonde boy asked.

“You don’t do anything because you’re not a paramedic. All you all can do is give me some space.” He said bluntly, the five of you backing up — similar expressions of distress etched on each of your faces. You watched as Ricky unzipped the duffel bag, pulling out a syringe and a small vial. “Here’s the thing,” He started, pushing the needle of the syringe into the vessel. “This a pediatric dose of epinephrine.”

He explained, extracting a precise amount of the medicine before removing the needle from the small glass bottle. 

“Is that gonna be enough?” You questioned, motioning for your teenage, six-foot tall friend laid out on this man’s kitchen island. “He’s not a kid.”

“It is ten times the normal dose.” Ricky informed you, holding the syringe up between his fingers. “So…if it doesn’t stop his heart, it’ll help him.” He shrugged sheepishly. “But I gotta use the whole thing, or else it won’t work. And I’m not goin’ down if he dies.” He said firmly, shooting a pointed look at his cousin.

“...Okay, fine, do it.” JJ urged, pulling at the roots of his hair. 

“Okay.” Ricky said, turning back to face Pope. “Okay....” He reiterated as the rest of you urged him to hurry. He seemed to mentally evaluate where to put the needle before settling on a spot on the boy’s bicep, pushing it in and injecting the dose before slowly pulling it out. “Alright, that’s it…” He said, setting the used needle down carefully.

“...Now what?” Kie asked, eyes flickering back and forth between the paramedic and her friend.

“Now, we wait.” He replied, chewing on his bottom lip. 

You all stood around and no one said anything. Not a word as all eyes remained laser focused on Pope, waiting on something. Any sign of life. The TV played mindlessly in the back, the tribe of you waiting for something to happen. All you needed was a gasp or for his chest to move, hell, you would even accept the simple twitch of one of his fingers.

But ten seconds turned to twenty and then thirty, and still…nothing.

“...You killed him.” Kiara said, staring angrily down at Pope’s swollen features. 

“No…” Ricky drawled out. “I didn’t do shit.”

“What did you do?” You asked angrily, eyes pinched as you searched Pope’s face for any sign of movement or life.

“I did exactly what you asked me to do.” JJ’s older cousin reprimanded. He was right and you all knew it. 

“Pope.” JJ said, grabbing the boy’s shirt and shaking his limp frame on the tabletop. “Pope, c’mon!” His voice raised, shaking the boy harder as you all stood back, distressed. “Come on, bro!”

A second passed and suddenly Pope was breathing in a large gasp of air, his chest rising by inches off the table before he collapsed back down, taking in steady breaths.

You all let out sighs of relief, watching as Ricky almost fell to his knees. Pope began coughing, his frame lurching off the table as he hacked, eventually springing up to sit straight on the table, his face swelling already going down.

“There he is!” JJ cheered, the rest of you laughing or sighing with relief. 

“It’s hot.” Pope wheezed out. “I’m really hot, guys…” He exasperated, the boy sliding off his patterned fleece jacket as he slid off the table, all five of you crowding around to help.

“Take it easy...” You instructed, helping the boy off the table as JJ helped him rid himself of the jacket. 

“I gotta get outside.” Pope breathed, letting his jacket fall to floor and gently pushing you all off of him as he set out for the front door, the five of you trailing behind.

“I owe you.” JJ patted his cousin on the shoulder, Ricky still standing shell shocked at the turn of events.

“It’s hot!” Pope said again, this time sounding much more irritated as he stumbled through Ricky’s front yard like a baby deer learning to walk. 

“Thank you so much.” You commended, looking back at JJ’s cousin before he closed the door. “Are there any side effects we should be concerned about?” You asked as he shut the door further and further.

“He’ll have a rocket up his ass for about half an hour.” He told you. “Then, he’ll be fine.” Was the last thing he said before closing the door, leaving you to turn around and watch your four friends chase Pope through the front yard like an unleashed puppy. 

“WHOOOO!” Pope exclaimed, hands on the steering wheel of your Ford Bronco — driving down an empty road back to Freedman’s church just as the sun set and the street lights came on.

“Pope, you’re driving kind of fast…” Kie piped up from the backseat, in between Sarah and John B. JJ was in the passenger seat while you seemed to get booted to the trunk of your own car.

“Pope…” JJ started. “Last to judge, but I think you should slow down a little-”

“No.” He cut off the blonde. “That would definitely delay our arrival to the cross. We gotta get there.”

“Okay,” You piped up, shoving your face in between Kie and Sarah in the back seat. “As the primary driver and sole owner of this car, I’m saying you need to lighten up on the gas pedal, bud.” You advised from the trunk, wind whipping through your hair. “Why did we let him drive again?” You questioned. “And why is JJ in the passenger seat instead of me?”

“Because I said I’d rip your ears off.” Pope replied in a single breath.

“And because I fixed this piece of shit on wheels-”

“You call my car a piece of shit on wheels one more time and I’ll rip your ears off-” You warned, squinting at the blonde through the rearview mirror.

“Okayyyy,” JB spoke for the first time in minutes, interrupting the small dispute. “Pope, how’re you feeling?”

“Great.” The curly-haired boy smiled, continuing down the road at a constant, life-threatening speed. “I don’t know what JJ’s cousin gave me but I am movin’!” He exclaimed, taking one hand off the steering wheel to make a speeding motion with his free hand.

“We couldn’t tell...” Kiara smiled awkwardly, buckling her seatbelt.

“Okay, well, um, you’re going really fast right now.” John B tried to parent, leaning over the shoulder of Pope’s seat from where he sat directly behind him.

“Yeah, really fast!” Pope laughed, craning his neck to look back as he drove, the car swerving wildly between the two lanes.

“Woah!”

“Pope!”

You all panicked, grabbing whatever you could as the car continued to basically drive itself until Pope refocused his sights in front of him, speeding up the car to miles you didn’t know it had the capability of going. 

“God, is he driving slow…” Pope sighed, attempting to pass the car in front of you all by swerving into the wrong lane, paying no mind to the car coming straight at him. 

“You don’t need to pass-” Kie tried, sitting up straighter in her seat.

“Pope, if you crash my car-” You warned, gripping the edge of the backseat for stability as you slid around in the trunk.

“You don’t need to pass!” Kiara continued as the other car swerved into the grass just as Pope swerved into the correct lane, now in front of the car you were previously behind.

“Man, what an asshole. Am I right?” The boy in the driver’s seat scoffed.

“He was going the speed limit...” You huffed, straightening yourself out.

“We’re not gonna get to the cross if we’re dead, Pope!” JJ exclaimed from the passenger seat, holding onto the safety bar. The tires of your car screeched over the road, your headlights not focusing on one single thing for more than a second.

“We’re not gonna die. It’s our divine right to get that cross.” Pope dismissed, looking back as he spoke, the car swiftly making a sharp left.

“Pope, look at the road!” You screamed, watching helplessly as your car drove into the left lane before nose diving into the woods. Pope tried to make an attempt at turning the car which only made things worse, the side of the car slamming hard into one of the six-inch wide Oak Trees as the airbags deployed and your frame went flying over the side of the trunk, tumbling through the grass. The windshield shattered, leaving glass littered throughout the vehicle as you heard your friends groan in pain, the hiss of whatever was damaged under the hood sounding out in the woods.

You held your ribs in pain, rolling over a sizeable rock on your way down. 

“Y/N!” You could hear your name being called in the distance, the sound of glass crunching, your friends coughing, and one of the car doors closing ringing in your ears. The voice called out for you again just as you’d found the strength to roll over on your stomach and push yourself up onto your knees.

“I’m over here!” You rasped, coughing. 

It wasn’t long before the familiar sound of JJ’s heavy combat boots were heard crunching over branches and leaves, a warm hand finding home on your back as the other slid under your stomach, helping you stand. “Hey, you okay?” The blonde asked, turning your frame to face him as your hands grabbed his forearms.

“Perfectly fine.” You strained, stretching out your back a bit as the boy brushed hair and leaves from your face. “Are you okay?” You asked, your eyes finally zeroing in on him to find a small cut on one of his eyebrows as well as some red-splotching on his cheeks and forehead, most likely from the airbag.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He assured when your own hand reached up to brush your finger against the small cut, one of his hands ceasing yours.

“Is everyone alright?” John B weak voice echoed out into the woods, both you and JJ turning to watch as your friends all climbed out of the vehicle before making your way towards them.

“I think so…” Sarah replied.

“That is the last time you drive, Pope.” JJ reprimanded.

“Look at my truck...” You pouted, examining the destroyed windshield and the odd ways it was bent, not ignoring the steam emitting from the hood.

“One word.” JJ spoke. “Totaled.” He cringed. “Yeah, I don’t think I can fix it this time, princess.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to walk the rest of the way.” Pope ignored the damaged vehicle.

You all shared a look of confusion and bewilderment.

“...Dude-” Sarah tried, watching as Pope tried to walk away, shoulder brushing against JB’s.

“I’m going to get my cross.” He stated.

“Hey,” John B piped up, gripping Pope's arm to stop him. “Just relax for a second.”

“Get off of me.” Pope said, snatching his arm away. 

“No-”

“Move.”

“I am trying to help-”

“I am getting my cross.”

“You just crashed her car.” John B said as Pope managed to finally brush past him, walking aimlessly down the road as John B caught up. John B tried his best to restrain the boy once more, but Pope continued to brush him off, time and time again. “You’re gonna get hit by a car!” John B reprimanded, the sight of a huge semi-truck coming down the road going ignored by Pope, who was hell-bent on getting his family heirloom.

“Get off of me!” Pope yelled.

“Stop!” John B yelled back, Pope’s struggle suddenly ending when the truck passed, his dark-brown eyes stuck on whoever was in the vehicle. His eyes never left the vehicle and when it got far enough away from him and close enough to the rest of you, it only prompted the four of you standing behind to see what he was looking at...

Rafe and Renfield, Limbrey’s body guard, making direct eye contact with the six of you. Rafe was driving, a sick grin on his face as Renfield offered you all a salute. 

The six of you watched as the semi-truck continued down the road, standing by as it got smaller and smaller. But if they were driving back the way you all were coming, then…

“No…” You sighed, face and shoulders falling.

“...We gotta get back to the church!” Pope screamed, all of you looking at him. “Now!” He ordered one last time before he took off running down the road, the rest of you following.

YOU ALL WERE TOO LATE. And the cross was gone. Arriving at the church and seeing the cross no longer splayed out on the wooden floors was the biggest loss of the day. And no one said anything as you all piled into Kiara’s, freshly stolen, SUV — the only operable vehicle left amongst the group with The Twinkie being parked at Ricky’s which was too far at the moment and your car being completely totaled. 

If she got it back in time, he parents wouldn’t even notice it was gone.

“Oh, shit.” She cursed, slowing down as rapid flashing blue lights filled the car. “They found your truck.” She said, looking at you — you, JJ, JB, and Sarah squeezed into the backseat.

You all said nothing, watching as Shoupe approached the vehicle, flashlight in hand. 

“Good Evening, officer.” Kiara greeted, the driver’s side window already being rolled down.

“Sheriff.” Shoupe corrected.

“Sheriff. Yeah...”

“...Speed kills, huh?” John B spoke from the backseat, you nudging him in the ribs as he let out a soft ‘ouch’.

Shoupe just eyed each of you individually before speaking. “I pulled the tags.” He said, dragging out the sentence. “I know whose truck that is.” He said bluntly, eyes landing sharply on you and you cringed and offered a small wave.

“Sheriff…” Pope started from the passenger seat. “I just wanna say that this is all my fault. She had nothing to do with this. I take one-hundred percent responsibility.”

“Nothing to do with it, huh?” Shoupe pondered. “...The car’s in your possession kid. I have no choice but to take you home.”

Your face twisted at that. “...Uh, in case you forgot, I don’t really have one of those, so…”

“You do now.” He replied. “The Carrera’s,” He emphasized, eyes drifting towards Kiara whose attention was grabbed by the mention of her parents. “...Have ever-so generously opened their home to you. DCS went through your file and saw they were listed as your Godparents and they agreed to foster you. Right after they mentioned that their car was gone and the keys were missing. “

Well, that was quick. 

“I’m takin’ you home. The both of you.” He said firmly. “Or I can take you all in for leavin’ the scene of an accident.”

You and Kiara shared a look before silently agreeing with another and turning to Shoupe. “...Okay.” You both said simultaneously.

“Good.” The sheriff nodded. “Plumb?” He directed the female officer to remove you and Kie from the vehicle — the woman opening the driver’s side and back door. Kie exited the vehicle, looking down as she shut the door.

You spared your friends a glance before climbing over JJ’s lap to exit the car, one of the blonde’s hand finding a place on your waist, pausing your movements. Your eyes shot up to his and you held yourself up above him in the cramped space.

He didn’t say anything, just bored his sad, blue eyes into yours. You frowned pitifully and placed a soft hand on his cheek. “I’ll call you. Okay?” You said, tone hushed. He just sighed, eyes racing back and forth before caving in, nodding sadly. You nodded in a silent reply, leaving him with a soft kiss before climbing fully out of the vehicle, closing the door behind you.

“Come on,” Shoupe instructed you and Kie. “Let’s get y’all home.”

ARRIVING OUTSIDE OF THE CARRERA RESIDENCE FELT ODD. Or maybe it was being back on Figure Eight that felt the oddest. Or maybe it was the whole thing.

In the middle of the night, pulling up to Kiara’s home in the back of a squad car as Deputy Plumb parked the SUV in the drive way and Shoupe let you and Kie out of the backseat of his patrol car. You wondered if the rest of your friends made it back to The Twinkie by now — the absence of the SUV leaving them with no other choice but to walk back to JJ’s cousin’s house and get it.

You and Kiara watched in silence as the headlights on her parents vehicle went dead, Plumb exiting the vehicle and walking over to drop the keys into the girl’s palm and walk off, getting into the passenger seat of the squad car.

“Well,” Shoupe exasperated, hands on his utility belt as he moved to stand in front of the two of you. “Y’all gon’ inside, now. ‘S gettin’ late.” He said, nodding his head once. “Stay safe.” Were his parting words as he walked away, shoes scuffling against the concrete and he rounded the squad car, got into the driver’s seat and drove off, leaving you and a nervous Kie alone in her driveway.

The girl stared up at the house, shaking one leg and taking a deep breath. “Look, before we go inside…” She started, eyes on you. “My parents are probably gonna be super intense. I know it’s been a while since you’ve really seen them…so, I’m just warning you.”

You shrugged, glancing at the house before looking back at her. “Can’t be any worse than my previous living situation.”

Kie just scoffed lightheartedly. “Trust me.” She said, shaking her head. “You have no idea…”

Just then, a creaking sound in the distance grabbed both of your attention — heads whipping up to find Mr. and Mrs. Carrera standing in the doorway of the front door, both of their arms crossed over their chests as they stared down the daughter.

“It’s time for you two to come inside.” Her mother said bluntly, offering no other words. You and Kie spared each other one last glance before walking up the length of the driveway, up the small staircase to the front door before stopping in front of her parents.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” Mr. Carrera greeted from behind his wife to which you nodded awkwardly.

“It’s nice to see you, too.” You replied simply as the man stepped to the side, making room for you and Kie to enter the house. Kie went first, not even a foot into the door before her mother’s voice stopped her.

“Nuh-uh.” She said, holding a palm out but still not looking at Kiara herself. “The keys.” She prompted, curling her hand in on itself. Kiara complied quickly, dropping the ring of metal into her mother’s hand and proceeding to enter the house, you right behind her.

You can’t remember the last time you’d been inside. Even when you lived on Figure Eight, most of your time was spent at home or at Sarah’s. 

“Take a seat.” Her mother directed the both of you, the front door closing as she motioned for the couch in the living just feet away. You and Kiara did as you were told, walking over and taking a seat on the couch — her parents coming over and standing on the other side of the coffee table, right in front of the two of you. “There are two very important discussions to be had here.” Mrs.Carrera started, clapping her hands together. “Starting with you.” She said, pointing at her daughter.

“What you did tonight was…beyond unacceptable.” She began, hands moving wildly and blinking rapidly as she spoke. “Stealing the car?”

“I was bringing it back-” Kiara tried, voice small.

“It doesn’t matter, Kiara!” Her mother exclaimed, scoffing unbelievably and shaking her head. “Here you are, once again, making these stupid decisions against us, your parents, for some boys-”

“They're not some boys, they're my friends. Why can't you understand that-”

“Listen to your mother.” Her father cut in, fishing in his back pocket before pulling out what looked like pamphlet, letting it fall to the table.

Kiara’s eyes went between the paper and her father before picking it up — the words ‘KITTY HAWK’ etched into the front. “...What is this?” She asked, twirling the object in her hands.

“That’s your future, Kiara, if you don’t turn your shit around.” Her father said, pulling his lips into a thin line. 

“You’re joking, right?” She asked, voice wavering. “This is like one of those places where they kidnap kids in the middle of the night. Do you know how many kids die in these places? O-or kill themselves?-”

“No, it’s a program for troubled teens with behavioral problems.” Her mother inserted herself, hands on her hips.

“...So, now I’m a troubled teen?”

“What the hell would you call it?” Her dad asked, face twisting. “You disappear for days, Kiara, and then when you do come back to the house, it’s to steal my truck.”

“...I thought my friends were dead.” Kie spat, the room falling silent. “And you guys just wanted me to go back to school like nothing happened-”

“That’s not what we wanted.”

“-Like everything was fine, nothing about that is fine!”

“Nothing about any of this is fine.”

“I’ll do whatever you want!” Kiara pleaded. “Okay, I’ll pull double shifts or whatever. But I don’t want you guys to think I was wrong to help them. Because I wasn’t. I was doing what I thought was right. And I didn’t mean to do all of that to you guys…And I’m sorry.” She explained, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m sorry for sneaking out and skipping school. It was stupid and I…I’m sorry for going to Charleston. I’m sorry for stealing your truck. I-”

“Baby…” Her mother stopped her rambling, rounding the coffee table to crouch in front of her daughter, taking her hands in her own. “I know. Okay, I know.” She reassured. “We love you so much.” She told the girl before shaking her head. “...But sorry is not gonna cut it anymore.”

Kie’s face fell at her words, eyes drifting towards her father who stood firm in his spot — arms crossed over his chest. “Let me tell you what’s gonna happen.” He started. “No more sneaking out of the house, no more treasure hunts, and no more Pogues. Or you’re going to Kitty Hawk.” He said with finality before his eyes landed on you. “And Y/N, I know you just got here so this may be a lot, but these rules go for you, as well.”

“Yes.” Mrs.Carrera nodded, standing from where she was comforting her daughter to rejoin her husband. “We’ve cleared out a room for you upstairs, you’ll have your own bathroom as well. You’re welcome to work with us at The Wreck but that is completely up to you. Shoupe told us about your car when he got to the scene and if you’re okay with it, we’ll pay for you to get it fixed. Anything you need, you can ask us, don’t be afraid. We only ask that you just respect us, our home, and our rules.”

You understood their rules and expectations but you wondered if that was the only rule that went for you…What if you continuously broke them under their care? Would Kitty Hawk be held over your head, too?

“I completely understand and I appreciate it so much.” You said, trying to offer a polite smile. “Thank you for taking me in and I’ll do my best to help out at The Wreck.” You assured them. “But... I do have my dog, Marley, if you remember her. She’s at John B’s house…along with the rest of my stuff.”

The Carrera’s shared a look, seeming to have a silent conversation before turning back to you and Kie. 

“We’ll take you.”

“FIFTEEN MINUTES. ANY LONGER AND WE’RE COMING TO GET YOU TWO.” Mr.Carrera said from the driver’s seat of his SUV. 

“We got it, Dad.” Kiara sighed, opening her door and getting out, you following shortly after.

The gravel crunched under your sneakers, the porch light being the only source of light in the dark of night. You didn’t wait to make your way up the small staircase and to the front door, it already being unlocked due to John B’s lack in one’s basic sense of security. 

Walking in, you were immediately graced with Marley’s presence — not having seen the animal in hours. You bent down, scratching the top of her head before looking back at Kie. “I don’t have much.” You said. “I shouldn’t be long.” You assured, standing up to your full height and walking into the guest room of The Chateau where you kept most of your belongings — that were mixed in with JJ’s.

“It’s fine.” Kie shrugged, the girl waiting in the living room with her hands in her back pockets. “Even if you do, they’ll just blame me like they do with everything…” You didn’t say anything, just continued gathering your things — throwing them into your heavy-duty backpack and zipping up the bag, throwing it over your shoulder as you walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, picking up Marley’s bowls, toys, and food. “...Can I ask you something?” Kiara said, voice small.

You sat your backpack on the kitchen table, eyeing the Carrera girl as she fiddled with her fingers. “You can ask me anything.” You laughed, a slight look of confusion on your face.

“Do you hate me?” She asked, eyes pinching together like the question brought her physical pain. “‘Cause, you know, I wouldn’t blame you if you did. After what I did…”

“Kie.” You started, pausing in your movements and letting your hands fall to your sides. “I know we haven’t been the best of friends lately, or, friends at all…But I could never hate you.”

She simply scoffed, running her fingers through her hair. “You say that now…”

“Because it’s true. We’ll always be friends, even if-”

“That.” She spat, laughing, but you could tell there was no real humor there. “That is my problem. And I don’t know how you can’t see it.” She said, shaking her head as her sad eyes met yours. “Can you not see how much…pain being your friend is causing me? And I know it’s not your fault, I know that-”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, mildly offended. “Being my friend is causing you pain?” You asked her, eyes wide in disbelief. “Kie, you kissed my boyfriend while you were with Pope. And you expect me to act like nothing happened? What about Pope? Have you even apologized to him?” You reprimanded.

“You-”

 “I got kidnapped and drugged and all of sudden you have, what, some kind of epiphany about our friendship? Because up until then you were treating me like shit.”

“That’s not why I-”

“Then explain it to me-”

“I can’t!” She yelled, cheeks taking on a shade of red. “...Okay? I’m trying, I have been trying but I can’t. It’s like the words don’t match up or…or nothing checks out. None of it makes any sense.” She rambled, pulling her fingers as she paced on the spot. “It’s so much more complicated than you think and I feel like I should tell you but I could be ruining everything-”

“Just try.” You sighed, shoulders falling. “It’s just us here. We have a little over ten minutes before your parents come marching in. I won’t say a word.” You told her. “I promise, I’ll let you speak and I’ll listen. I just want to understand. I want to understand where our friendship went wrong.” You pleaded. “I miss you, Kie. But somewhere in this mess of what our lives have become, you and I fell apart and I can’t figure out why…”

“...I saw you.” She struggled out, failing to maintain eye contact as she spoke. “During John B’s memorial, I saw JJ kiss you.” She said. “And…I felt this, this pang of jealousy. And at first, I thought it was because things weren’t going great with Pope. But at some point, I realized it wasn’t that. So, I jumped to the next reasonable conclusion — that I liked JJ.” She sighed. “Seeing the way he looked at you, I thought maybe I wanted him to look at me like that. Y’know, maybe I had feelings for him and was just realizing it. That’s why I kissed him in Charleston.” She explained sadly, eyes finally meeting yours.

“It was a shitty thing, I know.” She scolded herself, hands waving wildly. “Kissing him to figure out my feelings while you two had something going on wasn’t cool, I know that. I hate myself for it. Because it was pointless.” She swallowed. “...I didn’t…feel anything. I kissed him and I felt nothing. And it didn’t hurt my feelings when he pushed me away and told me he didn’t see me that way. And I was so angry at myself but confused, too…” She said, almost like she was working out her thoughts as they left her lips. “Because if I didn’t like JJ, then why couldn’t I stomach the sight of you two together?” 

You listened as she spoke and you were glad you were finally getting her side, truly. But the direction this was going…

“...And then, seeing you in Barry’s trailer. That’s when everything fell into place.” She said, a stray tear rolling down her cheek. “Seeing you like that made my entire world stop. I wanted to be the one to scoop you up and hold you and tell you everything would be okay. And my heart shattered when I realized that I couldn’t, not in the way I wanted to.” She confessed, taking one weary step in your direction. “I know it’s a weird way to come to a conclusion like that, but…I think that’s when I realized I wasn’t in love with Pope or JJ.” She said, shaking her head. “...I’m in love with you. I don’t know when it happened or how or…why…” She confessed, voice wavering.

“And I’m sorry.” She cried, wiping her eyes. “For being such a bitch and ruining our friendship over something so stupid. Because I know that it’s too late and even if it wasn’t, even if you weren’t with JJ — you and me would never be anything. And the thought kills me every time.” You didn’t know what to say, standing completely still and listening to her talk. Although, you weren’t sure if you were listening. 

Your longest best friend was standing less than a foot in front of you, telling you how she was in love with you. 

“So, if you hate me, I understand, okay?” She cried harder, pressing her hands into her eyes.

“I don’t hate you.” You finally spoke, voice flat and small as you made no move to comfort her. You didn’t know how. Would a hug make it worse? Would the touch of your hands on her skin make things better or worse? “Kie, I-” You stuttered to find a response. “I don’t know what to say…or do. Do you want a hug or…?”

There was no right way to go about this, you realized. You’d caused each other so much pain over the last few weeks — knowingly or unknowingly, justified or unjustified, it was all the same.

The brown-haired girl just shook her head, wiping her eyes clean. When she made eye contact with you, her eyes were red and slightly puffy as she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, please, don’t.” She requested, voice breaking. “It’s my fault.”

Your face fell at her words, taking a single step in the girl’s direction. “Don’t say that.” You said softly. “You did some shitty things, for sure.” You laughed lightheartedly. “But…you can’t control how you feel. You can’t dictate who you love…”

You words only made her face twist further in sadness. “...I never wanted to hurt you.” She sighed sadly, eyes filling with tears once again. You simply gave her a tight-lipped smile of pity, gently taking one of her hands in your own.

“Neither did I.” You assured, your own voice wavering when the loud honking of a horn came from outside — the both of you jumping at the loud noise.

“Guess our time’s up…” Kiara spoke, avoiding your eyes once more as she let her hand fall from yours as she turned towards the door. You nodded to yourself, taking a breath and grabbing your bag from the table and securing it before throwing it over your shoulder once more, whistling for Marley who met you swiftly at the command.

Kiara opened the door, the Golden Retriever bolting out of the house and to the SUV, wagging her tail as she waited for you to open the door. You walked out of the door silently as Kie held it open, letting it close behind herself as you both walked back to the car, shoes crunching once more as you swiftly turned to face your friend, stopping her in her tracks.

“I…” You stuttered. You didn’t know what you wanted to say or planned to say. But you felt like you should say something. But no words would come out. 

Kie just offered you a sad smile, patting your shoulder. “It’s okay.” She said to you. “I’m happy for you. Honestly, I am.” She spoke, voice low seeing as you standing right next to the vehicle with her parents inside. “You’ve been through so much and you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who makes you happy. And JJ is that person, not me. I can see it your eyes and his — you’re meant for each other. And one day, I’ll be fine with that.” She said, not waiting for you to speak as she went around the other side of the car, getting in.

You stood in silent contemplation for a few moments before snapping back to reality — opening your door for Marley to jump in as you threw your bag to the floor and jumped in, shutting the door as Mr.Carrera drove off, the radio playing lowly.

When did your life become such a mess?

IT WAS THE NEXT MORNING AND YOU WERE LISTENING TO MUSIC AS YOU STRAIGHTENED OUT YOUR BED SHEETS. You’ll admit, it was nice to have your own room again and have some normality as a teenage girl. 

Some…

You and Kie hadn’t said more than two words to each other since last night — those two words being ‘good morning’ as you awkwardly passed each other on the way out of your rooms and downstairs to join the Carreras for breakfast. 

The meal was awkward but mildly comforting. It was nice to feel part of a family again, even if deep down something was telling you this picture-perfect act wouldn’t last long. 

You heard Mr. and Mrs.Carrera loud and clear — break their rules and it’s Camp for Cuckoos. 

After breakfast, you’d freshened up and started to put your room together. Mrs.Carrera had generously gone and bought you a bed set, some new clothes, and even some small decorations to make the place feel less empty. She even went as far as to buy Marley, who was sunbathing in the middle of your floor, a new, much less worn and tattered, bed that was sitting in the corner of your newly furnished space.

Even if it was only temporary, you figured you could get used to this. It was still in the early hours of the morning as you played interior decorator — your music pausing on your bluetooth speaker as a call came through.

Picking up the device, a smile spread on your face from ear to ear as you answered. “Hi, Blondie.”

“Good mornin’ to you, princess.” JJ’s voice broke through the other end. “You sound wide awake. That’s a first.” He said, the sound of wind whipping by coming from his end.

“And you don’t sound like you’re home.” You pointed out skeptically.

“I’m never home.”

‘Y’know what I mean…” You pressed, sitting on your bed and rubbing your hand over the soft blanket. 

“I’m with Bree, right now and we, uh, may need a little assistance, if you will.” He told you, voice sounding nervous even through the device.

“...What’s wrong now?” You asked.

“Well, uh, Rafe’s got the cross and Pope latched onto the back of his truck and went God knows where and Rose has Sarah and she’s taking her to some loading dock.” JJ explained quickly, hearing both boys curse as John B took a sharp turn, you assumed. “So, the two of us can’t really do this by ourselves but John B here is determined.”

You bit your lip in contemplation — breaking the rules on day one?

...Seemed pretty on brand.

“I’ll be there soon.” You assured before hanging up the phone. You stood in thought for a few moments, opening the Find My app on your phone to see how far your two friends were, trying to mentally decipher whether you could get away with just sneaking out or if you’d have to sneak out and sneak your car keys which were sitting on the counter downstairs…where Kie’s parents were.

A quick request from your location to JJ’s told you that without your car, the estimated distance would jump from a forty-five minute drive to a three-hour walk. You sighed and peeked out of your window. To your surprise, the Carrera’s SUV was gone, leaving only your freshly fixed Ford in the drive way, looking cleaner than ever.

A small smile of relief spread on your face as you quickly exited your room, skipping down the steps and heading for the kitchen only to find Mike and Anna downstairs — Mr. Carrera testing new recipes to add to the menu down at The Wreck while Mrs. Carrera cleaned up the dishes he left behind.

Both of the adults turned to you at the sound of your feet skidding to a stop. 

“Good morning, again, Y/N.” Mrs. Anna smiled at you, dropping dishes into the sink. “Are we in your way? Did you need something?”

Your mouth gaped like a fish until you settled on a smile. “No, just…came down for a snack.” You lied, both of them sending you a polite smile in return as they returned to paying you no mind. Eyeing the arrangement of small chip bags conveniently placed next to the dish that held all the keys, you padded across the kitchen, noisily grabbing one of the bags to mask the jingling of the keys before shoving the metal in your pocket and heading upstairs.

Your face twisted as you ascended the staircase — if the Carrera’s were downstairs, where was their car?

Allowing your intuition to guide you, you skipped the door to your room to stand in front of Kie. A twist of the knob and a push of the door told you that the brown-haired girl who wasn’t occupying her room was responsible for the missing vehicle outside. You wondered where she went before remembering you had her location as well.

Closing her door softly, you pulled your phone out once more to see that she was driving in the middle of the woods. How long had she been gone and where was she going? Pinching your fingers to zoom out, you could see she was closer to Pope than any of you, that realization answering your question.

With the turn of events this morning was taking, you wouldn’t be in this nice house much longer before you and Kie were being shipped off to Kitty Hawk.

Entering your room, you closed the door gently and threw the bag of chips on your bed. Trotting over to the window, you lifted the glass and screen — the familiar North Carolina breeze hitting you as you did. You looked back at the bedroom door one last time, feeling bad for having to ruin something good. But these were your friends. Your family. Helping them wasn’t a question.

Tiptoeing onto the roof and closing the window, you quietly made your way down to the driveway — getting into the driver’s seat and quickly driving off.

“WHAT IS THAT?” You could hear John B’s hushed voice as you got closer to the sound you were emitting. “Dude! Turn that off! Why are you ringing?” He reprimanded his blonde friend as you approached the two of them from behind from where they were hiding behind a family of crates and boxes.

“It’s Y/N, I don’t know why she’s pinging me-”

“Hi.” you said quietly, standing in between your two best friends as they jumped at the sound of your voice. You tapped the button on your phone to stop JJ’s from making noise.

“Jesus!” JJ whisper-yelled, both boys sighing as they looked at you.

“You should find a better way to announce yourself when we’re on important missions.” John B told you, steading himself.

“Well, having your location doesn’t really help when your in a junky ass shipyard.” You sassed, shooting a grimace at the boy which he returned in full.

“We said the pinging was for emergencies only.” JJ told you, putting his phone on silent and shooting you a playful glare.

“It was!” You said, hushed. “I couldn’t find you and I had to hop the fence. What is this? A private dock?.”

“Guys,” John B grabbed your attention. “I think that’s their ship.” He said, pointing at the large boat the dock members were anchoring.

“Wait,” JJ started. “The Coastal Venture…” He thought to himself. “Dude, I know that ship. My dad did legs on her last summer, it’s a total tramp steamer. I worked on her in port…”

“There’s the cross.” You added, referring to the wooden crate being lifted with a pullet system — what look like Rafe with two unknown men standing and watching as they pulled it up.

“God, I hate that guy…” John B whispered as he eyed Rafe from afar. You couldn’t agree more. “There she is.” He piped up, eyes drifting to the side — Rose and Wheezie walking behind Sarah, who was being escorted roughly towards the ship. “Guys, we gotta come up with a plan.” John B urged to the two of you.

“I know.” JJ said. “We’re working on it.” He continued as your eyes scanned the ship, thinking of possibilities.

“Hey,” You cut in. “If we can get over that barge, we can go over. We’ll have to get in the water, though.” 

“Then we’re gonna be sitting ducks-”

“Howdy.” Kie’s voice startled the trio of you, her and Pope’s footsteps coming to a stop as they appeared behind you three.

“Whoa!” JJ exclaimed, whipping around before realizing it was just his two friends. “I was about to stab your eyes out…How’d you guys even find us?”

“Geo-located your phone.” She said simply. You made brief eye contact with the girl before you both looked away, the action not going unnoticed by your observant boyfriend but he seemed to settle on saying nothing.

“Yo, Pope. You okay?” John B asked, a hand on the boy’s shoulder as you all looked at him — covered in dried mud and dirt and specks of blood. “What happened?”

“Rafe, round three.” Pope whispered, voice raspy.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Again?” JJ said angrily.

“This was a tie.” Pope told the blonde, calming his boiling rage. “Is that the cross?” He asked, eyes on the wooden crate across the shipyard. He sounded so focused and determined.

“Yeah…” You answered, sighing. “And they’re holding Sarah hostage.”

“We gotta get on that boat.” Kie worried, hand on her forehead.

“First, we gotta get past the Goon Squad.” JJ pointed out a crowd of workers and guards that would surely kick you all out.

“We gotta move.” John B urged, the four of you walking forward before he looked back and saw that Pope was going the opposite direction. “Pope, what’re you doing?”

“I have an idea.” He held out a cautious palm. “Just trust me.”

“No-”

“Trust me and go.” Pope called, walking away. “I’ll meet up with you guys.” He said before disappearing. But something was screaming at you to follow him, to not leave him alone. So, in the middle of your running, you quickly turned and headed the opposite way.

“Hey!” JJ called, eyeing you wildly. “Where are you goin’?” 

“To help Pope.” You told him, never faltering in your steps. “He’s not thinking straight and it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone. Just go, okay? We’ll meet up with you guys.” You urged him before turning away and following Pope’s trail.

You arrived to the boy just in time to find him unscrewing the tops to a family of propane tanks. “Pope.” You whispered, creeping up to him to avoid being seen. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Creating a distraction.” He told you bluntly, stepping away once at least three of the tanks were hissing — the gas being released as he stood back, pulling a gun from his pocket. 

“Jesus-!” Your eyes went wide, immediately stepping forward and grabbing the weapon from his hands. “I’m not going to ask questions about how or why…” You said, referring to the gun as you pushed him back with a firm hand on his chest. “But, Pope, you’re already caked in dirt and shit.” You pointed out. “...But, you are the brains of this shit so if you think causing an explosion will help us get on that boat, then fine. But you’re not getting whiplash after fighting.”

Turning away from the boy, you cocked the gun back — aiming it directly at the tanks.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine, Pope.” You breathed, glancing back at him quickly. “We’re gonna get your cross.” You assured before refocusing your sights and pulling the trigger, barely having time to register your actions before you were blown back by the explosion, you and Pope landing on your backs as smoke filled your airways.

“Oh, shit…” You coughed, pushing yourself up as you heard a marching band of feet coming your way. “Pope, c’mon, we gotta go.” You urged, helping the boy up as you both ran from the scene and to your friends.

You both fell to a stop in front of the three of them, breathing heavily as you dropped the gun to the ground.

“What did you do?” JJ asked, worried, crouching down in front of you and brushing hair out of your face.

You just coughed before laughing and tapping the brim of his hat. “We were playing with guns.” You smiled, one last cough leaving your lungs as the blonde rolled his eyes and helped you up, fighting the smile growing on his face.

“You’re a dork.” He scoffed, placing a small kiss on your lips.

“Pope, what was that?” John B asked, helping up his friend. 

Pope just ignored his question, pointing to The Coastal Venture. “Look. That’s container’s going on the ship. We can get in that way.” He told the five of you — John B wasting no time in charging for where Pope had pointed, the rest of you following.

Pope leaped into the back of the shipping container without hesitation, JJ being the first to speak up. “Hold up,” He urged, looking up at the curly-haired boy in the container. “Did you think this through?”

Pope didn’t even seem to think before answering, tone blunt and short. “Yes. This is the plan.”

“That’s a trap right there. You see that right?” JJ asked, pointing to the other shipping boxes. “We can’t get out once we get in-” The blonde panicked, John B stepping forward and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” He started, looking JJ in his eyes. “You guys don’t have to come, alright?” He offered, briefly glancing at you and Kie as well. 

“Right.” Pope agreed, nodding his head at the three of you. “This is our fight.” He told you all — referring to himself and John B.

You, Kiara, and JJ shared a weary glance before JJ tossed his hands out and tilted his head, eyes on yours. “P4L?”

You glanced nervously inside the dark, tight space, cringing — were you claustrophobic? Because that’s what it felt like. Looking back at JJ, a groan rose from your throat. “P4L…” You exhausted, turning and sticking your hand up for Pope to help you up into the container — followed shortly by JJ, then Kie, then John B.

“Guess it’s better than boarding school…” Kie pondered, pulling her lips into a thin line.

The five of you bolted to the back of the container, crouching hiding behind the contents of the space. You and your friends watched, holding your breath, as a man came by and swiftly inspected the container with a flashlight before seemingly deciding nothing was amiss.

“Okay, she’s good to go. Lock her up.” He patted his hand against the metal.

Your breath shuddered as the men sealed the space shut, leaving you all with dim light and humid oxygen. Metal clanked and engines revved as you felt the container begin to sway — you were being lifted onto the ship. It was such an odd feeling, so much so it made your stomach turn in the oddest of ways — JJ taking notice and intertwining your fingers with his.

You shot the blonde an appreciative smile before looking straight ahead to calm yourself. 

The five of you groaned as your heads and backs hit the walls of the container as it touched down, letting out breaths of relief.

There was no telling how this was going to play out or end, for that matter.

But hey, P4L, right?

next chapter>

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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[tothosewhoyearnforit]

stress relief - itzy yeji

-word count: 3245 words (longest to date :D)

-the yeji fic from many weeks ago. i finally finished it. i have something special that's nearly done. (i promise this time. it was a collection of spare time over a few months)

-dom!yeji, aggresive blowjob, riding, doggystyle, sweaty sweaty sweaty, facial

The stale stench of the air conditioned office clung onto you as you entered the bar.

Being in the bar was the last place you’re supposed to be this month. After just receiving a promotion at your workplace, the workload placed on you gradually kept snowballing to a point of no return. But you couldn’t just give up. Well, first of all, you really needed this job. It paid well, now that you had the promotion. Furthermore, times are changing, there really isn’t very good job stability now and getting fired and being “free” was not to be an option. 

You should’ve been at home, working and completing the reports due next Monday and getting ready for the presentation on Wednesday. Then taking note of all the shipments and settling the deal with the customer from Italy. But eh, it was a Friday, one night wouldn’t hurt right ? 

Or so you thought.

Three quarters through your drink, at around what was probably 11pm, a show begins.

The lights were cut for a brief moment, before spotlights focused onto the pole in the middle of the room. And out comes 5 gorgeous vixen clad in jet black costumes. Then, the music cues. 

Guess who loves you, naya na.

It’s a really, really catchy song and it made the atmosphere super stiff, as if all five of the women were demanding attention and silence as they performed. 

Do I show you? Noya-no.

Okay, this is actually really good music. And good lord those women are gorgeous. 

Ajik time-i anya nan

Jom deo gakkai jom deo gakkai geureoda gapjagi ssak

The choreography too, jesus christ.

But in particular, one of the women is catching your eye. The way her luscious firey orange hair, jewelry embedded within, moves in perfect tandem with her body, which by the way, is absolutely killing it. Every single dance move, to the smallest body pop, is quite literally perfect. Flawless. She’s wearing a sleeveless top and it’s really turning you on. Her arms are so gracious, and you’d love to feel them all over your body. Her collarbones and neck, they’d look so much better with your lovemarks on them. And the little bit of breast peeking out from the top. It’s more than enough to get your heart racing, and you take another sip of your icy cold drink to properly brace yourself for whatever they have left in store.

Imma steal it mameul humcheo

You are gonna love me.

That’s absolutely incorrect. You’re more than loving them, you’re fucking captivated by them.

Gyeoljeongjeogil ttae ippareul deureonaeneun type 

And suddenly, the orangehead takes the stage. 

The lyrics become an absolute blur to your ears as all your mind is fixated on is the absolutely stunning woman. God, she fucking looks like a cat too. Those damn fucking eyes are so… succubus like. And after twirling her fingers in your direction, she suddenly does a slut drop, squatting while spreading her legs apart. Now your eyes are staring at her milky thighs that are on full display under the spotlight. A million things are running through your mind right now, and none of them was related to your work life in any sort of way.

You’ll never know.

Her left thigh moves,snapping you out of your momentary hypnosis and your eyes quickly dart back up and you see her staring at you, a smirk dashed across her face. 

The rest of the song plays on but your mind is now playing that same slut drop moment over and over again. Eventually, the song ends and all 5 of the women are panting, sweat starting to collect at their foreheads. They retreat behind the stage quickly and the rest of the club goes on like the performance of their lives didn’t just happen. 

.

.

Give or take 10 minutes, you are on the way back from a toilet trip. At your table, you are greeted with a very much welcome surprise. The same fiery haired girl is sitting in the seat opposite of yours, watching you make your way back to your seat. 

“Hey there oppa.” Her voice is a knife full of confidence, laced with venom. 

“H-hey. Nice performance out there.” You grab your drink again, needing a punch of ice to hide your nervousness. But it’s so hard to maintain composure, especially when your eyes are looking at everything but her own cat eyes. 

“I know. You clearly enjoyed it. Or rather, you enjoyed me.”

“Was I really that obvious?” That was definitely the alcohol talking. You would have said something like “Sorry” or “I didn’t mean to.”, but no, you were playing the fool, like an absolutely rizzless bastard.

“My group has 5 members, yet every time I moved position, your gaze was glued onto me.”

“Well, you are really, really hot.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Bring the glass to your mouth again, shit. It’s fucking empty.

“So, what’s a young office worker doing in our bar?” She asks, elbows on the table, her head supported by her cupped hands as she leans in. 

“Well, to be fair, I walked in thinking it was a regular bar. I just needed a drink to take my mind off of work.”

“Are we not a regular bar? Anything special about this bar?” She asks, clearly trying to poke at you, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

You take another awkward sip of your drink, which was just melting ice at this point.

The conversation continues hazily and you guys chat for what must be hours until the distance between both your faces was probably the size of your drink.

“Can't imagine how stressed you must be.” Her right hand falls into your left, fingers tracing your forearm as she whispers. “Want to get out of here? I’ll get rid of all your stress for you…”

Ah, an offer you couldn't refuse. Now that’s some business I don't mind getting done right now.

“Say less… Um, I didn't catch your name?”

“Name’s Yeji. Don't worry oppa, you're gonna be moaning my name all night.”

And in a flash, you're both out of the club and in your car. You don't waste a single second. Foot on the pedal and you're on the streets of Seoul, zipping past the buildings of the city. 

Yeji, in the meantime, has other plans.

She takes your hand, and places it on her thigh. You can feel her gaze, waiting to see what your next move is. Were you gonna retract your hand and focus on getting home quick and safely? Or were you gonna start the study of Yeji’s body right then and there?

Obviously the latter.

Your hand roams around the silky smooth skin of hers. Pinky occasionally dipping into the gaps in her pants and rubbing against her inner thigh. You hear Yeji suck in a deep breath, the horniness evidently getting to her.

Fuck, fucking red light!

You seize the opportunity to look at Yeji, she’s now grinding against your exploring hand and you can't help but sneak a finger into her pussy. 

Green light. And your foot is back on the pedal. Finally, you reach the last turn into your apartment.

As soon as you get out of the car and into the elevator, Yeji pounces on you. Your hands catch onto her thighs for stability. Your lips crash against one another, her teeth biting your lower lips. 

Ding. Elevator door opens.

Door. Open. Bedroom. Bed.

No time to even register a logical sequence of actions. You toss her against your bed. Yeji is now a panting sweaty mess, but it doesn't matter. She looks even more gorgeous with the thin layer of sweat across her skin. Collarbones, arms and armpits glistening with sweat. You pin her hands above her head and nibble on her neck. Then, tongue out, you start collecting the sweat, from her armpit, across her chest and then from the middle of her neck to behind her ear, where you whisper, “You taste fucking amazing.”

“I know.”

You reach behind and pull down the zipper leading right to her tailbone, then help the foxy girl out of the one piece top. You pause for a moment to take in the sight before you. A smoking hot dancer is lying on your bed in nothing but a strapless bra and a thin black thong and some knee high boots. Yeji’s body is fucking picture perfect. Tight midriff, perky breasts, juicy thighs, not to mention her pretty face.

“Let me put on a show oppa. Just for you.”

She gets off the bed and you take her spot on the edge of the bed. Yeji turns around and takes off the bra, placing it on the ground next to her. Then, she bends over, putting her perky ass on display for you as she pulls off the lacy thong from her slender toned legs.

“You know, I should charge extra for this performance.”

You wouldn’t mind paying any amount to see this performance if you were being honest. 

“Boots on or off oppa ?”

“On.”

Yeji then smiles, tosses her thong onto your face, allowing you to grab a deep whiff of her sex. In front of you, Yeji is back in her slut drop position, but this time it’s even more erotic because she’s wearing nothing but the boots. Her pussy is on full display as she spreads her legs open, with just a little bit of hair going down the middle.

“Fuck, Yeji…” Your cock was throbbing within the confines of your pants with her tiny little strip show.

“Told you you’d be moaning my name.”

Yeji then straddles your lap, looks into your eyes while unbuttoning your shirt. 

“Let’s get all that stress out of your body, oppa. Think about nothing but me, okay?”

“You don’t even need to ask Yeji-ah.”

You pepper her neck with kisses as she peels your shirt off. She then lowers herself, hands grazing across your body, down to your pants which she pulls down. Finally free, Yeji purrs when she sees your length. 

“Wow, it's huge, oppa. Can’t wait for it to be deep inside my pussy.”

She gathers some spit on her hand and uses that same hand to stroke your cock, taking a cold fingertip across your sensitive tip each time she reaches your head. Each swipe across sent you nine realms ahead. It wasn’t clear if it was the alcohol or Yeji’s pure skill at this, but all you could hear was the loud hammering of your heartbeat. Or maybe that was the lewd sound of her saliva being spread over your length. Then, after spontaneously deciding that your cock was ready for the onslaught that was to come, Yeji pushes both your legs off the ground and onto her shoulders and lets the front portion of your cock rest in her mouth. Your balance is shifted. You’re now staring at the ceiling, stimulation after stimulation speeding down your nerves from your cock to your brain. You feel her mouth bobbing up and down on your length, her skillful tongue working its way across its veiny landscape. You try to will yourself to get up to watch the spectacle happening before your eyes but the pleasure drags you the fuck back down and all you can do in response is let out weary breaths and sinful moans while your toes curl and leg muscles spasm. 

And your cock isn’t even all the way through.

Yeji plunges her head down like a vulture diving into the carcass of a dead buffalo, and you feel that sharp nose of hers bump into your pelvis. The sudden action takes you by surprise and, from god knows where this submissiveness came from, you arch your back and let out a sound that you swear to never to make again. You feel saliva coating your nutsack now but when Yeji slowly removes her mouth from your cock, letting the cool wind graze your cock, all you want to do is beg Yeji to put your cock back inside her mouth. But that need not be done, because as you have a brief moment to register the influx of sensations, she hungrily goes back down onto you. Her prey. You would kill to see her eyes right now, staring straight into your own as she watches you submit to her. But then again, from the amount of noise you were making, it was pretty evident that she had you in the palm of her hand. It was just twice. Just twice that the whole length of your cock was engulfed by her mouth, but it drived you to the absolute edge and you felt like your first load was about to come.

“Fuck, Yeji. I- I- I’m gonna fucking…”

Maybe you shouldn’t have given her the verbal cue. Because just as you feel the gates of heaven about to open, she quickly withdraws. The feeling of the climax fading away throughout your crotch. You look at her with a face of discontent, displeasure and anger.

“Can’t have you busting so soon,” she says, chuckling to herself as she climbs over your vulnerable naked body after kicking off her boots, rubbing circles on her slickening pussy. “I'll let you cum deep down my throat some other time.” 

She climbs over you and hovers above your crotch. Grabbing your stimulated, twitching cock in one hand, she lines it up with the folds of her pussy and in one fell swoop, with no prior warning that she was going to go all the way down in one shot, she sits on your pelvis, practically impaling her pussy with your cock. 

“Anggh! Fuck!” A sharp, shrill moan of pleasure erupts from her mouth as her ass rests on your pelvis. Your hands wondrously find their way to her toned sweaty thighs, grazing the muscle on it in pure wonder and amazement. 

“You’re so fucking hot Yeji ah, and so freaking tight!” The fiery redhead doesn’t say a word, but she continues the ride. Hands on your pectoral muscles, Yeji displays her body isolation skills learned from dance. Her gaze fixes onto yours once again as she moves her hips up and down and you can only imagine what her ass looks like as it does this motion. But imagination always becomes reality when Yeji is around. The sexual chemistry between the two of you is just perfect, or maybe Yeji just knows what you so desperately want but is too shy to voice out. She turns around, her hands resting on your legs this time as she does the same vertical wave motion with her hips once again. Her beautiful butt is like a hypnotic pendulum, your eyes fixed on the gorgeous peach in front of you, it’s just irresistible to slap. And so you do. 

Slap! 

“Angh!” Crimson locks of hair get flung up into the air as Yeji throws her head back in response.

You bring a palm down on the flesh and watch how it ripples in response, a red handprint faintly appearing at the spot that was struck. Such a goddamn vixen. Is the only thought that runs through your mind, perhaps the only thought that has been running through your mind the entire night as soon as you laid your eyes on the foxy woman. Her pulsing butthole intrigues you as her hips work their magic, and you can’t help but take your index finger, and slowly slide it into her puckered hole. As your finger snakes its way in, her anal walls clamp down on it until your whole finger up till your knuckle has been engulfed. 

“Holy shit! Just like that oppa! Stuff both my holes up!” 

You withdraw your finger and this time, using both your index and middle finger, you embark on yet another tight fit into her anal cavity. Yeji’s hips start to slow down as she reaches the pinnacle of her stimulation. 

“Fuck-ah! Cumming!”

Her body convulses violently and you feel her muscles contract around your submerged fingers and your cock. You give her alluring buttcheeks another firm slap that echoes throughout the darkness of the night and watch as she slowly climbs off of you.

“You haven’t cum yet oppa…”, she whines, still in her lustful trance. “And my pussy is still yearning for a good pounding.” She wiggles her hindparts in front of you in a doggy position, spreading her pussy lips for you to see. You line yourself up behind her, give that gorgeous ass of hers another firm slap before sending your cock back into its rightful embrace. 

“Oh fuck…” Your cock’s reentering of Yeji’s tight pussy is like getting back into the swimming pool after being exposed to the cool air for too long. Warm. Wet. Refreshing. Her vaginal muscles are still so full of vigor despite having just came, almost as if they were desperately trying to wring you dry. Her scarlet nails dug into the bedsheets as you picked up a steady pace of thrusting your hips. From the back, you bunched up her fiery hair into a makeshift ponytail while your other hand rested nicely on her hip.

“That’s it! Fuck me harder! Use me as your fucking stress relief toy oppa!” That entire dialogue was more than a green light to you. Tightening your core to its limits, you picked up the pace, slamming your hips ever so desperately, with Yeji letting out a raspy moan with every smack that reverberated throughout the night. 

“Holy- Angh! FUCK! I’m gonna cum oppa! I’m gonna fucking cum!” Yeji cries out. Her pussy constricts around your cock for the second time of the night, this time an erotic geyser of squirt ensues, covering your thighs in her slick. Your own orgasm starts to surface. Pulling out of her pussy, you flip Yeji onto her back and climb over her. You point your cock at her and aggressively jerk yourself off to the finish line. 

“That's it. Cum for me. Cover me in your cum oppa. Paint your slut in-”

Yeji is interrupted by streaks and streaks of cum erupting from your cock in what must be your biggest orgasm to date, painting her sharp features, her chin, nose and eyes. The sweaty, panting mess sticks out her sharp tongue in an attempt to collect some food samples. 

“Oh, fuck… Yeji ah.” is all you manage to squeeze out as the last drops of your semen land on her face. 

“Gosh, you sure came a lot.” 

You collapse beside her, both of you sweaty messes. “What can I say? I had a lot of stress pent up inside me.”

Yeji gets up, and walks away from the bed. You still lay there, utterly spent, watching her hypnotizing body sway from left to right.

“Where are you going?”

“To the shower you dummy.”

A brief moment of silence follows as you are unsure of how to reply. Do you join her? Maybe she’s tired and doesn’t want round two.

But your thoughts get interrupted as she makes the choice for you.

“Oppa, are you not joining me?”

Suddenly, your body is full of vigor once more as you imagine the two of you soaped up together in the shower, feeling each other and exploring more of each other’s body. You excitedly hop off the bed and scurry to the shower. It was going to be a long, long night.

[blog-o-meter]

Absolution - Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader

warnings: self-discipline, caning, unprotected sex, girl i honestly don’t remember what else tbh those are just the big ones

required listening: Sanctified by Nine Inch Nails; Discipline by Nine Inch Nails

a/n: this is a first draft, so I’ll come back and change any mistakes or errors. I literally haven’t written a fanfic in over a year I think so this was mostly for my own enjoyment, if you happen to also enjoy it — awesome! Also I’m uploading this from mobile so sorry for any formatting errors!

I listened to Father Mayhew’s sermon intently. He spoke with fervor, with energy, that the other priests could never quite grasp. Father Mayhew’s thunderous voice echoed through the chambers, but he could just as easily speak as softly as a whisper. How he managed to hypnotize me with just the way he carried himself was something to be studied.

“Now, let us receive the body and the blood of Christ, our savior,” he called out to his congregation. As his eyes fell upon me, a covert smirk grew on the corner of his lips, acknowledging me with a gentle wink.

I grew flustered, rarely used to being greeted in such a manner by a man so….

Like clockwork, I, along with another nun, stood up from the pew and approached the table of chalices, eucharists, and communion wafers, grabbing the chalice of wine carefully with both of my hands — my palm at the bottom and the other on the stem. Making my way over to the father, I bowed before him and presented to him the blood of Jesus Christ.

Father Mayhew towered over me, like a lion before a lamb. His dark eyes glistened against the glowing haze of the chalice, but his gaze never faltered away from me. His expression was stoic; neither corner of his mouth breaking into a smirk. In my time that I’ve known Father Mayhew, during communion is the only time I’ll ever see him quiet and assertive yet gentle. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one to quiver before him.

He grabbed the chalice from my hand, our fingers brushing against one another, and took a sip of the wine, wiping the rim of the cup with a cloth. A second nun stood next to him with the silver bowl of wafers — the body. He grabbed one, mouthing an “Amen,” before placing it under his tongue. He then turned to me and quietly said, “Sister?”

I stood in front of him, my hands in prayer. Father Mayhew carefully lead the chalice of wine to my mouth. My lips parted slowly as he tilted the cup toward me. I took a small sip, but still, a tiny drop managed to miss my tongue and linger on my bottom lip, ever so slowly making its way toward my chin. Right when I was about to lift my wrist to wipe it away, Father Mayhew beat me to the punch, using the edge of his thumb to wipe away the rogue drop. His warm finger slowly lined the contour of my lip, my stomach jumping at his touch.

I tried so hard to not break our eye contact but I grew so nervous and shy that I had to find security in glancing over to anything else except Father Mayhew’s eyes.

I watched his big hands reach into the bowl for the Eucharist. He held the small, beige wafer in front of my eyes, “The body of Christ.”

I meekly said, “Amen,” looking down at his robe before slowly opening my mouth to receive the body of Christ.

Father Mayhew led his fingers toward my face and carefully tilted my chin upward, forcing me to look right at him as he inserted the body into my mouth, resting it on my tongue. “Amen,” he repeated in a low voice.

I quickly did the sign of the cross and retreated to the pew, lowering the kneeler under the bench in front of me and resting my knees against it. Usually, I’d pray for my family back home — my parents, my grandparents, aunts, cousins, and siblings — but this time I prayed for myself. I was ashamed of the wicked thoughts trickling into my brain. Lord, please wash away the filth harbored in my thoughts and my dreams. I thought the more I tightened my eyelids, the better my prayer would be answered.

After mass, Father Mayhew and I stood by the doors to the church, saying goodbye to the congregation. I politely smiled at every parishioner as they left, shaking the hand of anyone who offered theirs. “Thank you for attending,” I’d occasionally say. I’d also occasionally glance over to Father Mayhew smiling at his parishioners, giving them a strong handshake. Sometimes I’d find he was already looking at me, which triggered my attention to return back to the parishioners.

After everybody had left, I made my way over to the pews to fix any stray bibles that were left on the benches. I’d carefully put them back in the wooden holder, all evenly spaced and evenly counted. Row by row, I took my time, not in any particular hurry.

The sound of echoing footsteps making their way closer and closer made me curious. I looked up and saw Father Mayhew standing at the end of the row, waiting for me to get to the end. There weren’t any stray bibles in that particular row, so I made my way over to him.

“Hello, Father,” I respectfully bowed my head to him, but only ever so slightly. I reserve a full bow only for mass.

He smiled, “Incredible mass, don’t you think, Sister (Y/N)?”

“They’re all incredible,” I replied. “Much more engaging than the ones back home, I’d say.”

The father smiled and glanced down at his red boots before his gaze fell back on me, “That’s right. Today marks two years since you’ve come to California.” He was quiet for a beat, “Are you going to celebrate?”

I stumbled on my words. I actually wasn’t planning to do anything special, except my usual routine. I nervously laughed, “Oh, no,” I shook my head, “It’ll just be another day for me — journaling and such.

He smirked, stepping closer and leaning his mouth toward my ear, “May your journal be blessed by your thoughts, then,” he whispered.

His low, soft voice was like a spark to the gasoline in my body. He stepped back and gave a gentle smile before walking away. I stood there, paralyzed and catching my breath.

Immediately, I abandoned my task and retreated to my room. I rushed through the hallways and through the courtyard, impure thoughts racking my brain the entire way. The moment I reached my room, I closed the door behind me and locked myself in, free to heave in peace.

My mind was in a flurry. I couldn’t stop hearing Father Mayhew whispering to me; I couldn’t stop replaying the moment his fingers brushed mine; and I certainly couldn’t stop replaying the moment he wiped away the wine from my lip.

I must get rid of these thoughts. I must get rid of these thoughts.

The chest in front of my bed stared at me. I walked past it and made my way towards my record player, a vintage wooden box. It was an elaborate thing — one given to me by my mother for my 13th. One would assume I’d have a collection of records to reflect such a setup, however, I was only ever an owner of one 7-inch single, and that one single was a very formative one.

I retrieved the 7-inch from its sleeve and quickly placed it on the platter, carefully hovering the needle over the record and pressing play. Sleep Walk by Santo & Johnny loudly started to play through the speakers, so loud I could barely feel my own heart beat.

I closed my eyes at the sound, already feeling some soothing but not enough. I turned my back and stared at the chest, slowly approaching and kneeling down before it, steadying my breathing. I opened the chest and retrieved something personal wrapped tightly in cloth, unraveling it to reveal my journal, a single pen, and a black rubber exercise band.

I grabbed the hem of my dress and pull it back, placing my thighs through the rubber band and opening my journal to the next blank page. I took a deep breath before I grabbed hold of the pen and began to write, one sentence at a time.

May our lord absolve me of my sins.

As soon as I finished writing the period, I slipped my hand between the skin of my thigh and the band, pulling it away from my leg as far as I could before releasing my grip and letting it loudly snap at my thigh, quietly groaning at the lingering sensation, watching the area of impact turn bright pink before proceeding to write.

How can one lust over a man of the cloth?

Another yank of the band — SNAP.

I have found my path toward faith, yet I am none the wiser.

SNAP.

My love should not be directed toward any man, especially one who stands in His place.

SNAP. The pain was beginning to sting badly, each strike more painful than the last. The pauses between the punishment and writing became longer.

I beg for forgiveness, hoping that God will take this burden from me, that He will cleanse my thoughts.

SNAP.

God, give me strength.

SNAP.

My session of discipline would continue until the record player repeated the single three times before the needle retreated by itself, and by then, my legs would have been in so much pain that I could barely feel them and I would’ve forgotten the impure thoughts.

As the room fell into silence, I heard the quick shuffling of feet outside my door. I quickly placed everything back in its right place and rushed to my door, opening it to find out if anybody was lingering outside. I found the hallway empty, only the wind blowing through the open windows and swaying the sheer curtains around.

I closed my door back up and put away the items back into the chest and turned off the record player, slipping the 7-inch back into its sleeve and resting it on the shelf below.

I lifted my dress to see that I had drawn some dots of blood, all of them along where the rubber band landed in a straight line across both of my thighs.

To further cleanse myself, I grabbed my shower caddy from the cupboard and made my way to the floor’s bathroom.

After my scalding shower, I lingered in the bathroom doing my nightly routine — brushing of the teeth, brushing of the wet hair, applying lotion all over, and putting on my silk slip. I carefully and precisely folded my habit, gathered my items back into their caddy, and walked back toward my room, my hair leaving the occasional drip of water behind on the floor.

When I walked into my room, I was surprised to find Father Mayhew sitting on the chest at the foot of my bed. “Father?” I questioned.

He turned his head and smiled, standing up, “Forgive me, Sister. I didn’t think you’d be getting ready for bed so early in the night.” His gaze into my eyes faltered, slowly falling to look at my slip.

I grew shy, hiding behind my wet towel. I tried to pull down my slip to avoid him noticing my bruised thighs, “No, forgive me. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“No apology necessary,” he spoke softly, his words almost melding together.

I trembled, partly because I was still humid from my shower but also because Father Mayhew was making his way closer to me one slow step at a time. He couldn’t have been making his way any slower. The memory of today’s mass flashed into my mind. It was all torture.

I cleared my throat, pushing away the thoughts, “What can I help you with, Father?”

Father Mayhew was quiet, studying my face. He stepped aside and motioned to the chest, “I’d like for us to talk,” he grabbed the wet towel from my hands, “Please, sit.”

I followed his instruction, awkwardly holding my arms as I walked toward the chest and sat facing him, hugging the bed post next to me.

I watched him close the door and open the towel completely, “I noticed you were somewhat distant in today’s mass — distracted,” and placing it over the back of the wooden desk chair. He turned around and walked toward me, speaking carefully, “Is everything ok?”

His concern seemed genuine; I could see it in the slight furrowing of his brow. Nonetheless, I felt nervous under his eyes, shifting my body on the chest. “Everything’s fine,” I spoke softly, though there was a little tremble in my voice. I had hoped he didn’t catch that.

He nodded slowly, stepping closer again, his eyes never leaving mine. “We all have distractions, Sister,” he said, his voice dropping to that same low, intimate tone he had used earlier in the day.

I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond, so I looked away, unable to meet his gaze any longer. “Forgive me for my behavior,” I mumbled, my hands clutching the bedpost beside me.

He placed his hand under my chin, lifting it so I could look at him, “Everyone’s thoughts stray once in a while, (Y/N),” he spoke gently, “but it’s important that we know where to return our attention,” he smirked, almost… devilishly, dare I say.

His words seemed innocent enough, but the deliberate pace of them combined with the way her stood over me, holding my chin… it left a knot in my stomach that I don’t think will untie itself any time soon.

Father Mayhew stepped back, giving me space, though his presence still filled the room. “Tomorrow, I’d like to assign you a task,” he said, his tone more neutral now, though the subtle shift did nothing to ease my discomfort. “The relics in the sacristy need attention. They haven’t been properly cleaned in some time, and you have the most delicate of touches,” he smirked and flickered his eyes downward for a brief moment, then back up to meet mine. “Maybe a bit of quiet reflection could ease your mind.”

My heart pounded in my chest. I forced a smile, standing slowly, hoping he would take the hint and leave me to sleep, “Of course, Father. I’ll take care of it.”

However, as soon as I stood, I found myself too close to him. I could almost smell the cologne under his chin. I couldn’t have him in my room any longer; all that he did and spoke only made my mind race even more. I glanced around the room, slipping past him and making my way toward the door.

He turned and nodded, that faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth again. “Good.”

I opened the door, holding it open by the doorknob, still nervous.

He walked past me but immediately stopped in the door way, backing up and leaning into my ear, his eyes darker in the dim light of the room. His deep voice sent goosebumps through my everything, “Don’t worry, Sister. You’ll find some of the relics will quell your mind.”

He pulled away and didn’t wait for a response, not that I had one, leaving me in the doorway. I stood there frozen in place, my breath shallow and uneven. His words echoed in my mind, their meaning heavy, yet veiled enough to be explained away. But the lingering sensation of his touch, the way his presence filled the room, was impossible to ignore.

Despite my prayers, which have become almost daily now, it seems the Lord was testing me even more. I closed the door to my room and climbed into bed. The more I tried to brush away the echo of Father Mayhew’s voice in my head, the more I couldn’t fall asleep. I could still feel his warm hand on my chin. The image of his smirk replayed in my mind.

I tossed and turned, facing toward my nightstand. I couldn’t stop thinking about Father Mayhew seeing me in my nightdress. Any woman that hadn’t taken her vows would have wanted him to grab at her right then and there. She would’ve wanted him to move his mouth down to her neck and whisper sweet nothings to her skin. He’d tug at her nightdress, slipping his hand under the silky fabric and…

I couldn’t fight the thought any longer. I turned to the photo of Jesus Christ on my nightstand and whispered, “I’m sorry,” before pulling the photo down and slowly slipping my hand under my nightdress.

I woke up suddenly in the morning, not remembering falling asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls of my small room. My body felt heavy, as though weighed down by the thoughts and… dreams of the night before. That’s when I realized that my hand was still inside my underwear. I lay there for a moment, my heart pounding as memories of Father Mayhew flooded back into my consciousness—his touch, his words, the way he made me feel. Shame crept in once more, settling like a heavy blanket over me.

I sat up slowly, my body stiff from the tension I had carried through the night. I glanced at the photo of Christ on my nightstand, face down, as if hiding from my guilt. I hesitated before reaching for it, my fingers brushing the edges of the frame.

“Forgive me,” I whispered again, though the words felt hollow.

I washed and dressed quickly, slipping back into the comfort of my habit. As I made my way to the sacristy, where Father Mayhew had assigned me my task, my mind raced with conflicting thoughts. How could I focus on prayer and penance when my heart and body were so thoroughly confused? I had come to this life to serve, to dedicate myself to something higher. But now, everything felt tainted by the desires I was struggling to suppress.

The sacristy was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and old wood. The relics gleamed faintly in the soft light, their golden surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust. I gathered the cloth and cleaning supplies, kneeling before the altar as I began my work.

For a while, the silence brought me peace. I focused on the repetitive motion of wiping the relics clean, letting the rhythm of my hands lull my thoughts into something more manageable. I admired the bead and embroidery of some of the clothing, awed at the craftsmanship.

I finished dusting off the holy clothing, wiped down all the chalices and processional crosses, and tidied the tithe baskets. The only thing left of my task was to organize whatever was in the big wooden armoire at the end of the room.

I approached the dusty armoire curious, having never opened it before. I pulled at the delicate golden handle to find it stubborn like it hadn’t been opened in a long while. With more force, I busted it open, speechless to find a collection of vintage wooden canes all in display.

They were all unique, some skinny, others more ornate, some longer, others shorter. They all had one thing in common, though — they weren’t for walking. They were all too thin to support a person’s weight. These were whipping canes.

My heart raced as I took in the collection of canes. I hesitated, my hand hovering over one of the canes. It was slender, polished, with intricate carvings along the handle. I felt a pull, a strange mixture of fear and fascination. My fingers grazed the cool wood before I quickly pulled my hand back as if burned.

Suddenly, the memory of Father Mayhew’s words from last night surfaced again, “You’ll find some of the relics will quell your mind.” Was this what he had meant?

Something compelled me to reach and hold one in my hands, admiring its quality and design. My knees felt weak.

I heard the distinct sound of familiar footsteps behind me. I froze, my heart skipping a beat. The heavy footsteps were deliberate, echoing through the stone hallways. I wasn’t quick enough to place the cane back in its rightful position before Father Mayhew entered the sacristy.

“Sister,” Father Mayhew’s voice called out softly, calm yet commanding, “What did you find?”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, “I managed to get the armoire open.”

He slowly approached me, the sound of his footsteps louder with each step. Finally, he stood behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. “Yes, it’s very old,” he chuckled quietly, “We have no use for them, so they might’ve collected some dust.” He grabbed the one I had from my hands, dragging his fingers across its length, smacking it against his open palm, “Intricately made, aren’t they?”

I gulped at the sight of him whipping his own hand. It was like an image straight from one of my dreams. “Very,” I spoke quietly.

Father Mayhew’s gaze lingered on me as he twirled the cane slowly between his fingers, the air thick with unspoken words.

“Do you like it?” He asked, quickly glancing down at my lips.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful,” I answered, staring at his fingers play with the cane.

He smiled, “Why don’t you keep it?” I stood frozen. I wasn’t sure what to say, but that was fine because Father Mayhew opened my hands with his and placed the cane on my palms. “You’ll find a use for it.”

His words seemed to pierce through the quiet of the sacristy, stirring something deep within me that I had been trying so hard to bury. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I just stood there, my fingers trembling as I clasped the cane in my hands.

His eyes held mine for a long moment before glancing down at the cane in my hand. I felt trapped—by him, by my own thoughts, by the confusion swirling in my chest.

“I—” I started, but the words failed me. What could I say? That I already have my own device for self discipline?

Father Mayhew smiled faintly, an unreadable expression crossing his face. He closed the doors of the armoire. Then, turning toward me, he placed a hand on my shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of my habit.

“There is no shame in needing guidance,” he whispered, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable authority.

I couldn’t look at him, my head bowed as I tried to steady my breath. His hand remained on my shoulder for a moment longer. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back.

“My door is always open if you need it — guidance.” With that, he turned and walked out of the sacristy, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving me standing alone amidst the relics and the whispers of my thoughts.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my body trembling as I looked back at the closed armoire. The sight of the canes was still burned in my mind, as was Father Mayhew’s touch, his words, his presence.

That night, I kneeled before the chest in my room, Sleep Walk already playing. However, this time I didn’t feel ready to use the cane Father Mayhew had given me. It didn’t feel like it was mine yet; it still felt like it was his and his to use only.

I stood up and stopped the record player, walking over to my armoire and grabbing my shower caddy and nightdress.

had been so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t realize a week had gone by. I spent nights restless, regretfully touching myself to the thought of Father Mayhew during some of those nights. I made sure to punish myself after, though, I still hadn’t found the strength to use the cane.

That restlessness continued during mass. I wasn’t paying attention, which I hope didn’t offend Fagher Mayhew, as I usually am the most attentive in all the masses, but I just couldn’t face him. I sat on top of my hands and stared down at my thighs, thinking maybe if I could just slip away and do a quick routine of self discipline that my mind might clear. But I fear the moment I walk into my room and see the cane on top of the chest that I might freeze again.

The image of Father Mayhew holding the cane in his hand — it was simply too much for my mind. It was driving me crazy.

Father Mayhew had to call on me twice before I realized it was time for communion. I snapped my head up at the mention of my name leaving his mouth. He looked at me confusedly, his brows furrowed before discreetly pointing at the chalice. I was like a deer in headlights, however, some autopilot kicked in and I followed his order.

I grabbed the chalice and scurried over to him, bowing down and presenting him the blood of Christ. He seemed irritated at my lack of focus, his brow still furrowed as he took a sip from the chalice and wiped the print of his lip with a handkerchief. “Amen,” he quietly whispered as he grabbed a wafer from the nun next to him and placed it on his tongue.

He then turned me to me, any gentleness in his eyes that he had currently wasn’t present. He grabbed the chalice, holding it in front of me. “The blood of Christ,” he spoke.

I nodded my head and lead my lips to the cup. He tilted it toward me, and I only expected to take a sip but he tilted it further. I was caught off guard, almost coughing at the bittersweet taste. He retreated the chalice and wiped my lips for me before grabbing a wafer and holding it in front of me. “The body of Christ,” he whispered.

I gazed into his eyes, “Amen,” I quickly whispered.

I opened my mouth slowly and watched him hold my chin as he lead his other hand with the wafer into my mouth. He gently placed the wafer over my tongue and closed my mouth for me, smiling.

After mass, I was sure to keep my distance from Father Mayhew. I didn’t join him in sending off the parishioners by the door, choosing instead to help fix the bibles. I went row by row, as usual, until the very last parishioner left. I heard Father Mayhew’s steps grow closer, more assertive, until he reached me.

I slowly looked up at him, scared to meet his eye. Before he could even open his mouth, though, I spoke. “Father, I’m sorry for not being as present today,” I stumbled, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you during your sermon. It’s just…” my eyes flickered down, “the distractions seem to be more unavoidable this day.”

He was quiet for a beat, “Then, I guess we’ll just have to clear that mind of yours,” he spoke assertively. “Meet me in my room in an hour.” He turned to walk away, but he stopped himself, looking away from me as he spoke, “and bring the cane.” He continued walking, his robe floating in the air.

I watched him walk, gulping the knot in my throat away. I stood frozen, the weight of Father Mayhew’s words pressing down on me like a sledgehammer. My thoughts began to spiral into a mess, my breath hitching as the reality of his request settled over me.

An hour.

I made my way to my room, locking myself in and kneeling in front of the chest, rocking back and forth as I prayed, prayed for an entire hour. Though, I could feel my words didn’t have the same weight to them.

The cane taunted me, ominous. I knew what Father Mayhew was asking of me. The church doesn’t allow such… discipline anymore. It’s antiquated, so they say. However, I find my routine calms me — the repeated snaps of the band against my skin, being able to physically see my punishment instead of just reciting so many Hail Marys or Our Fathers as they direct in confessionals.

The thought of Father Mayhew being at the other end of that discipline… it sent shivers throughout my spine; it made my stomach tighten, and it made me want to squeeze my thighs together and… no. I shouldn’t be thinking that. However, I couldn’t deny that a part of me was waiting for the hour to pass by as fast as possible.

I glanced at the clock. In fact, time did pass by quickly.

My hands trembled as I stood up and towered over the chest, my eyes locked on the cane as I reached for it. As soon as I held it in my hands, I could feel the weight of Father Mayhew’s hands on the other end. How could something so light feel so heavy?

For a moment, I considered not going. I considered staying in my room, hiding away, but deep down, I knew that wouldn’t solve anything. In fact, I think it would make Father Mayhew even more irritated with me.

And so, I gathered my composure and made my way toward Father Mayhew’s room, which was on the second floor, gripping the cane so tightly that I might’ve been strong enough to snap it in half.

As I approached the stairwell, to Father Mayhew’s floor, I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. Each step I took echoed through the space, the sound of my own footsteps unnerving me. The hallway leading to his room was dimly lit, only the evening sun flickering through the trees outside the window. The closer I got to his room, the more I wanted to run back to mine.

When I reached his door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over the wood, but the thought of his voice, the warmth of his hand, pulled me forward. I knocked softly.

“Come in,” came his voice, low and smooth.

The door creaked as I pushed it open. Father Mayhew stood by the small alter in front of his window, facing out into nature in nothing but his black pants and red boots. I was frozen in the doorway.

His body was intimidating. Not to idolize a human, but his big, sculpted biceps made him look like a god. What mostly caught my eye were the stitched scars adorning his back like a collage, some old, some new. I had never seen them before. Somehow, they made him seem more endearing to me.

He didn’t turn when I entered, his hands tightly clasped behind his back, though I could feel the shift in the air. The tension was palpable.

“Would you mind closing the door?” he asked quietly, finally turning to face me. His eyes were unreadable, dark in the candlelit room.

I swallowed, nodding as I stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind me. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. I hid the cane behind my back, hoping he’d somehow forget what he asked me here for, though I knew that was impossible for him to do.

Father Mayhew walked toward me, his movements slow, deliberate. He stopped just in front of me, our bodies so close that I could smell the eucalyptus body wash coming off his bare shoulders, still damp from a shower.

His gaze was intense as his eyes trailed down from my eyes, to my lips, to my chest, then to my hands. He saw I was hiding them behind my back, so he slowly reached out to my arm, tracing his fingers down to what I was holding — the cane.

He wrapped his hand around mine; I exhaled at his touch, which was warm and dominant. He slipped the cane away from my hands and looked down at me. “I trust you know why I asked you to bring it,” he spoke quietly.

I gulped, nodding my head. He stepped away, giving me room to catch my breath. He held the cane lightly, his gaze never leaving mine as he paced slowly around me, the sound of his steps echoing in the small room. I felt vulnerable in his presence. Again, I was the lamb and he was the lion.

“There’s something sacred about discipline,” he said, his voice soft yet authoritative. “It cleanses the soul, purifies the mind. But it’s not just physical. It’s spiritual.” He stopped behind me, the cane brushing lightly down my entire spine, an intense tickle that made me tremble. “Do you understand, Sister?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the sensation of the cane against my back made it difficult to focus. I nodded again, “Completely,” I whispered.

“Good.” His voice was gentle now, almost tender, though the intensity of the moment remained.

He circled around me once more, finally coming to a stop in front of me. He lifted the cane, dragging it lightly up against my stocking, lifting a bit of my habit. His eyes perked up when he saw the bruises along my thigh. “I see you’ve already begun your penance.”

There was something about the way he seemed to relish in the discovery, something that made me feel both exposed and understood.

“Tell me, Sister, how do you discipline yourself?” He questioned. His words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate.

I didn’t know how to answer him. Every bruise on my skin had been an attempt to atone for the thoughts, the feelings I couldn’t control. But now, standing here with him, I wasn’t sure if they had absolved me or if they had only deepened the shame.

“A rubber band,” I meekly answered. I don’t know what it was that I simply couldn’t ignore his questions. I had to tell him, like I wanted his validation.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to lift my chin so that I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Do you find that the discipline eases your mind?”

“For a moment,” I mumbled.

He stepped back, waving the cane around as he talked, “Until you have to discipline yourself again.”

I nodded my head. He did understand me. How could he not? Clearly, he also does his own penance. He absolutely understands what it is to feel like your mind is betraying you.

He exhaled a deep sigh, choosing his words carefully and he gazed at the tip of the cane, almost mesmerized. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “what you need isn’t more discipline, but someone to help your mind find its way back. Like I told you before, my door is always open for guidance.”

His words stirred something deep within me, a mixture of fire and fear. I wanted to believe him, to believe that he could somehow lead me back to the light. But the way he touched me, the way he looked at me—it felt anything but pure.

“Father Mayhew,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

He caught my nervousness and softened his expression, “We’re here to guide each other, (Y/N).” He walked toward his altar and moved his kneeler to the foot of his bed.

I watched his bare muscles flex as he carried the heavy object, setting it down as gently as possible. He grabbed the Bible beside the window and reached out for me to grab it, patiently waiting. I sheepishly reached out for it and looked down at the leather-bound book, admiring its softness.

He pointed to the kneeler with the end of the cane, “Kneel.”

Carefully, I clutched the Bible in my hands and approached the kneeler, slowly lowering myself onto it and placing the Bible down in front of me. My feeling of nervousness shot up a billion times higher the moment Father Mayhew wasn’t in my line of sight anymore. I could feel him loom over my shoulder, the cane in view of my peripheral.

“Open it to 1 Corinthians chapter 10 verse 13,” he commanded, but not unkindly.

My breath caught in my throat at his request, and for a moment, I hesitated. But something in the quiet power of his presence, compelled me to obey. I flipped the book open, dragging my fingernail along the thin pages, skimming through until I found the passage.

“Read it,” he spoke, his voice unfaltering.

I swallowed, steadying my breath, and began to read aloud, my voice soft and trembling. “No temptation has overtaken you,” my entire body shivered as Father Mayhew dragged the tip of the cane along my spine, lifting my habit and fisting the excess cloth with his large hand. I closed my eyes at the feeling of both the cold air caressing my behind and the fact that I knew Father Mayhew was looking at my choice of underwear — a lacy black pair attached to my stockings, “except what is common to mankind.”

As soon as I was about to continue reading, I felt the cane whip against my butt, a nice, cold sting across both cheeks. I breathily yelped, not expecting him to cane me mid passage reading.

The feeling, the sting… it was thrilling, much better than the sting I receive from my rubber band. Though, I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is from having Father Mayhew be the one to punish me. Yes, it hurt, but it wasn’t painful. It was just right; it was perfect.

I looked back at him, half intimidated, but mostly to see what expression he had on his face. He had closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, breathing heavily. He rested his hand on my shoulder, rubbing the edge of his thumb back and forth, soothing himself. He opened his eyes, locking his gaze to mine, “Continue.”

I turned back to face the open Bible, picking up where I left off, “And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.”

The high pitched thwip of the cane cutting the air gave me a split second to brace for its impact. I groaned and clutched the edge of the kneeler, breathing heavily. Father Mayhew was also breathing heavily; I could feel his warm breath barely reach the edge of my ear. Lord, forgive me for thinking that I don’t want it to end.

“Continue,” he ordered.

I prepared myself to finish the final line in the passage, clearing my throat, “But when you are tempted…” I paused for a second, composing myself, “he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

THWIP.

The last whip stung the most. I whimpered out through my teeth, feeling Father Mayhew’s hand tighten around my shoulder. While resting my cheek to his hand, I reached for his fingers with mine, slowly weaving my fingers between his. He traced his hand along my neck, composing himself. How I wished his touch had lingered a little longer.

The silence that followed felt thick, as though the air between us had grown heavier. Father Mayhew stepped toward the alter and gently placed the cane across the table. With his back to me, I watched it rise and fall slowly as he breathed, collecting his thoughts. The faint glow of candlelight cast shadows across his body, giving him an almost ethereal presence. I stayed kneeling, gripping the edge of the Bible, unsure of what was expected of me next.

“Did our session… satisfy you?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with something deeper than mere authority.

It was a question with layers, one I knew exactly how to answer. My cheeks flushed with heat, I spoke, “Yes, Father.” It was the most honest answer I could give.

Father Mayhew turned toward me then, his eyes softer, though still unreadable. He approached slowly and knelt beside me, his closeness once again sending that familiar shiver up my spine. His hand reached out to rest on the Bible beside my hand, his fingers brushing ever so slightly against the edge of my palm. He held my gaze, and for a brief moment, I saw something vulnerable in his eyes, something that made my chest tighten.

Father Mayhew’s hand tightened on the Bible, his knuckles white. He stood abruptly, turning away from me as if he needed to regain control. His sudden distance left me feeling exposed, as though the air between us had shifted once more, but this time, it felt cold.

“You’re dismissed,” he said, his tone clipped, though I could hear the strain in his voice. “Go back to your room, Sister. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I didn’t move immediately, the weight of the moment still pressing down on me. Slowly, I rose from the kneeler, my knees stiff from the strain. As I turned to leave, I glanced at Father Mayhew one last time, hoping for some kind of explanation in his eyes, but he kept his back to me, staring at the flickering candles on the altar.

A couple of weeks pass.

In the morning, I took an early stroll, believing it might satiate my hunger better than a simple bagel. I also thought it prudent to reflect away from the church, without the tempting thought of Father Mayhew in the vicinity.

I quietly hummed, as I hovered my fingers over the tall grass and bushes. Flashes of being in Father Mayhew’s bedroom popped into my head. The Apostle Paul was right; He, God, did provide me with a way out of my temptation — my session with Father Mayhew. I only wish he wasn’t so cold toward me when it finished. I thought it would’ve brought us closer together.

In fact, he had been a little distant ever since. He’d only approach me when he absolutely needs to, usually to tell me about the week’s events or what needs to get done. Of course, though, he’d break that pattern whenever he found that I had done something incorrectly, calling me to his room for another caning session. This ebb and flow of our situation would continue for weeks.

The way he gripped my shoulder, the warmth radiating from it when I pressed my cheek against the back of his hand… the sting of each striking of the cold cane…. I could still feel Father Mayhew’s breath behind my ear.

It was wrong to think, but… I enjoyed every second of having him discipline me. Nobody could make me squirm like he does, and I’m sure he enjoyed watching me do so.

A shiver ran through me, not from the cold, but from the vividness of the memory. The way my body had reacted to him was unmistakable. It wasn’t just the pain, though that had been sharp and real, but the intimacy of it, the way he had wielded control over me so effortlessly. I’d never imagined I would enjoy something like that — the powerlessness, the submission. But in his hands, it had felt like I was offering up something sacred, something he alone could understand.

I stopped beside a tall bush, its leaves brushing against my fingertips, and sighed deeply, taking in the view before retreating back to the convent.

As soon as I arrived, I went up to my room, placing the flowers I collected in a porcelain vase, carefully separating each of them so they could be displayed properly.

“Pretty,” I heard behind me.

I jumped, startled at the presence of somebody standing at the doorway. Of course, I knew who it was. I turned around and clutched my Virgin Mary pendant. “Oh, Father,” I caught my breath, “I didn’t expect to see you until today’s mass.”

He was in his black priest garb, hands clasped behind him. He smiled, stepping into my room and closing the door behind him. He approached me, standing close and reaching his hand out. I thought he was reaching for me, but I watched his hand reach further and gently caress the wild sunflowers, “How was your walk?” He grabbed a stem and pulled it toward his nose, sniffing it before putting it back.

I hesitated to answer. “Introspective,” I replied quietly, smiling to myself. I crossed the room, feeling Father Mayhew’s eyes on me, “Is there anything I can help you with?” I approached my dresser and nervously tidied the objects on top.

“Not right now,” he spoke intimately. He slowly stepped toward the center of my room, standing next to the wooden chest.

I turned around, unafraid to look him in the eye anymore, “Perhaps, later,” I softly spoke, hoping he’d read between the lines.

His eyes looked toward my bed, his fingers trailing the edge, “Yes, maybe.” It was like he was teasing me, purposely letting the silence linger.

He crouched down a bit over the wooden chest. I, thinking he would be curious enough to open it, lunged forward before stopping myself when he sat down on top of it. He saw I had hesitated in my action, motioning me toward him with his hand.

I inched closer. He looked at the contour of my legs and waist, taking a deep breath. He hesitantly reached his hand out to my thigh, slowly dragging his fingertips up and down my leg. “Don’t come to mass today,” he spoke, almost as if he was thinking out loud.

I was confused at his request. “Father, I’ve never missed a day.”

He nodded his head and sighed, gripping the side of my thighs with both of his hands. He studied my body; there wasn’t a single inch he didn’t look at. I cautiously lead my hand up to his head, slowly moving it towards his hair, curious to see if he’d reject my hand. It was already styled in his usually slicked-back manner, so I was careful to not ruin it. I felt him shiver under my touch, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw.

“You’re a distraction,” he whispered.

I was offended by his words, pulling his head back by his hair. I looked down at him unmercifully, “I am not the distraction, Father.”

Father Mayhew’s breath was caught, taken aback by my sudden power. For a moment, there was something wild in his eyes—surprise, yes, but also hunger. I had never seen him like this before, vulnerable and open. His lips parted slightly. He wanted to maintain control, to keep the facade of the untouchable priest. But right now, beneath my hand, that mask was slipping. It was intoxicating.

“Then what are you?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.

His question hung in the air, daring me to answer.

I leaned in, my breath brushing against his face, and whispered, “Justified.”

His grip on my thighs tightened, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. For a second, I thought he might pull me on top of him, s, but instead, he let out a shaky breath and let his hands fall away from me, resting his forehead against my stomach. His back fell up and down as he breathed, “(Y/N), you…” his voice trailed off. He had never said my name without Sister being attached to the front of it. “You turn me into someone else.”

“Something we have in common, then,” I quietly said, running my fingers through his hair, slightly tugging when I reached the back of his head.

I felt his hands grab at my waist, pulling me in closer to him. My breath quickened at his touch. He trailed his finger tips from my ankle all the way up to the hem of my habit, sliding his hand under my dress and finding the edge of my underwear.

He had never reached there before. Usually when he disciplined, all he’d ever do was just pull up my skirt or dress, but not once did he ever touch my underwear. My leg quivered under his touch, but I didn’t want to fight it.

He pulled down my underwear, letting them fall to the floor. The room, usually so calm and familiar, now felt charged, as though it were holding its breath along with me. The cool air hugged every one of my crevices, a feeling I’d describe as… freeing.

I, then, felt his fingers move to the back of my knee, lifting my leg and placing my foot next to him on the chest. I let out a breathy exhale, tightening my grip on his hair.

He paused, his forehead still pressed against me, his breath hot against my clothes. For a moment, I thought he might stop, might pull away, retreat back behind the walls of his priestly composure, but instead, he tightened his grip around my thigh, his fingers pressing into me with a kind of desperation that thrilled me.

"Tell me to stop...” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, yet his hands betrayed him, pulling me closer still.

A small part of me knew that what we were doing was dangerous, reckless. But in that moment, I didn't care. I couldn't. All I could think about was the way his hands felt on me, the way his body seemed to melt against mine as he gave in to the desire.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my chest. My hand moved to the tip of his chin before I even realized what I was doing. I forced him to look me in the eye. Applying pressure to the situation, I said, “I don’t want you to.”

That was all it took. His control snapped, and before I knew it, he had pulled me onto his lap and ripped the habit off my head. He tugged at the buttons of my shirt, pulling them apart to expose my chest. His lips brushed against my collarbone, hot and urgent, as his fingers traced patterns over my thighs.

His touch was electric, sending a wave of heat coursing through my body. I gasped softly as his lips found the nape of my neck, his kisses desperate and hungry. Father Mayhew's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts as his hands roamed, exploring every inch of exposed skin.

The fabric of my habit bunched in his grip as he pulled me tighter against him, the line between priest and penitent completely obliterated.

I tilted my head back, surrendering to the sensation of his mouth on my skin, the heat of his body pressed against mine. It was a collision of opposites — his restraint, now unraveling, and my control, which I had never truly wielded before. Every kiss, every touch, was a betrayal of everything he had vowed to uphold. And yet, it felt like liberation.

As I unbuttoned Father Mayhew’s shirt, I watched his hands find his belt, and in one swift motion, he unbuckled himself and unzipped his pants, pulling them slightly down and pulling his hard dick out. His eyes, dark with a mix of desire and conflict, locked with mine, and for a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of hesitation. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something far more primal.

He inserted himself into me, immediately letting out a deep moan and digging his hands into my hips while burying his head into my neck. I sharply exhaled feeling him inside me, arching into his touch, his breath hot against my skin.

I looked down at myself slowly bouncing on top of him, unable to fathom this was really happening. The fiction I made up in my head, one I thought was fleeting, had come true — I was fucking the priest.

As we moved together, a heady mix of pleasure and power clouded my mind. His hands on my body, the way he breathed my name — it felt like a prayer, like he was asking for mercy.

He grabbed my waist and guided me, having me ride him faster. As I moaned out Father Mayhew’s name, Charlie, he leaned in and kissed me on the lips, devouring me whole. The taste of his lips sent me into a frenzy. In my head, all I could picture was all of the times I had looked up at him, at his lips, when he gave me the communion wafer and he’d say an ‘Amen.’

As I continued the fast pace, he pulled away from my lips, squinting his eyes and parting his mouth open. “(Y/N),” his voice trembled as he bucked his hips further into me.

As soon as I thought he would cum, he grabbed me by my hips and flipped me onto the bed, my back shivering at the cold sheets below me. He held my hands apart as he thrusted as powerful as he could. It made me go wild, arching my back and moaning as quietly as I could, but it just felt so good I couldn’t keep quiet.

The harder he pushed into me, the more my words became breathy. I couldn’t even get his name out anymore, my words turning into guttural moans the moment I’d manage to spit out a, “Char-“

He lowered his mouth down to my breast, licking one while pinching at the other. That was enough to get my dam to break. I clutched his back, digging my nails into his shoulder and completely forgetting about his wounds.

He had hissed into my ear at the pain, but to him, it was a sensation that had allowed him to cum inside me. He groaned into my ear, breathing deeply as he came and digging his head into the crook of my neck and embracing me with his arms.

The earth stood still. We held each other in that position for a few moments until we both caught our breaths. He removed himself from inside me, his juice dripping out of me like melted ice cream. He buried his face into his hands, deeply sighing. Had he regretted our indiscretion?

He stood over the bed, removing his hands from his face and watching me in a calculating manner. He spoke in a low tone, “Do you have a towel?”

Tired and vulnerable, I weakly pointed over to the cupboard behind me. As he walked around the bed, I flipped onto my side, looking over to the picture of Jesus Christ on my nightstand, which I was too caught up to turn it away.

Father Mayhew walked back around toward me, already having wiped himself down and fixed his pants. He folded the used, red hand towel inward and sat down next to me, carefully flipping me toward him and motioning for me to open my legs. I hesitated. He gently grabbed my leg and pulled it toward him. He slowly wiped away the bodily fluids at my opening, almost studying my anatomy, like he was cleaning some fragile thing.

I twitched at each soft stroke of the towel against my sensitive skin, looking away to avoid looking into Father Mayhew’s eyes as he cleaned me. He finished up, sitting in silence as he folded the dirty towel inward and inward again. I studied him. I desperately wanted to know what turmoil was going on inside him. It felt like I was staring into a deep, dark ocean.

He took a deep breath and stood up from the bed, looking down at his feet with his back toward me, “Don’t come to mass today,” he spoke softly again before walking out of my room.

I was speechless. This feeling of anger and worthlessness bubbled inside me. How could Father Mayhew do something as intimate as this then leave me alone in the room, naked, when I am in just as much uncertainty of this thing as he?

I made my way over to my record player, standing over it trying to fight back a tear. I quivered as I reached for the 7-inch, removing Sleep Walk from its sleeve. That feeling of uneasiness grew inside me as I placed the record on the platter and pressed play.

The sad hums of the steel guitar echoed through my room as I walked to the wooden chest and kneeled. I opened the chest and retrieved my journal, the single pen, and the black rubber exercise band.

Already knowing my routine, I placed my thighs through the rubber band. This time, though, I didn’t bother to start writing before beginning to strike myself, not holding back.

The loud snaps sounded like clockwork, rhythmic and borderline hypnotizing. I fought tears with each snap of the band against my thighs watching the area of impact become inflamed and nearly bloody.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

By the end, my legs were bleeding. However, I still wasn’t satisfied. It didn’t feel the same as when Father Mayhew would cane me. I felt empty. He was missing.

As the room fell into silence, a feeling of guilt lingered in me. I stared at my closed journal, feeling badly that I had skipped such an integral step. Before the feeling could grow, I grabbed the pen and opened it to the next blank page, writing one singular sentence.

He is my sin and my saving grace.

With that, I closed the journal and wrapped everything together, placing it inside the chest.

I followed Father Mayhew’s instructions. I didn’t go to today’s mass and neither did I go to mass the day after. Some of the nuns would question me in the hallway about my absence. All I had to say to them was that I had a little bit of a fever and didn’t want to get any of my fellow sisters or parishioners sick. In fact, those two days of mass that I missed, I spent buying the morning after pill and chugging gallons of vitamin C. I wasn’t taking any chances.

As the third day approached, I had to return to the routine of my duties. The absence was becoming too noticeable, and despite my inner turmoil, I knew it would raise further suspicions if I stayed away from the church any longer. I dressed in my habit, wrapped my hair neatly, and made my way to the chapel for the morning mass.

Walking through the halls, I felt different. Each step echoed through the convent, the familiar sights and smells now tinged with a sense of secrecy. The nuns smiled warmly at me as I passed, their kindness making my chest tighten with guilt. If only they knew….

The chapel loomed ahead, its tall doors standing like a gateway to judgment. I paused, hand hovering over the cold wood before finally pushing it open. The moment I stepped inside, I felt a wave of tension roll through me. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the soft murmur of prayer echoing off the stained-glass windows.

And there, at the front of the altar, was Father Mayhew.

His presence dominated the room, even though he was kneeling in prayer, his head bowed in what appeared to be a display of humility. But I knew better now. I could still feel his hands on my body, his breath against my neck. My heart pounded in my chest as I found a seat near the back, trying to avoid his gaze.

The mass began as usual, his voice carrying through the chapel with the practiced cadence of a man who had done this a thousand times before.

As Father Mayhew spoke from the pulpit, I sat in the pews, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. The morning light streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of color across the stone floor, but I could barely focus on the beauty around me. All I could see, hear, was Father Mayhew.

“Temptation is subtle,” he said, his eyes scanning the congregation, though I could feel them linger on me for just a moment. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze, my pulse quickening.

“It disguises itself as something innocent, something that feels right in the moment.” His words were heavy with meaning, and I knew the entire room could feel the weight of them, but only I understood the truth behind them.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the rosary in my lap, trying to steady myself. I felt like everyone around me could see it, could sense what had happened between us. Every word he spoke seemed aimed directly at me, a private message hidden within a public sermon.

“To face temptation is to confront the deepest parts of ourselves, the parts we keep hidden, even from God,” Father Mayhew continued, his voice quieter now, almost pained.

Every word he spoke felt like a blade cutting through me, each sermon and prayer now layered with the weight of our sin. My heart pounded in my chest. The memory of his touch, of the way we had crossed that forbidden line, flooded my mind. I could still feel the heat of his body, the pressure of his lips against mine, the sharp contrast between the holiness of this place and the sin we had committed within it.

As his voice filled the chapel once more, I forced myself to look up at him. His face was composed, but there was a darkness in his eyes, a shadow of guilt that mirrored my own. He wasn’t just preaching to the congregation. He was preaching to himself, trying to wrestle with the same demons that haunted me.

I felt a lump rise in my throat as he finished. “Let us not be deceived into thinking that we can hold fire to our chest and not be burned.”

The words stung, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I wanted to believe that what we shared wasn’t wrong, that it could somehow be justified. But hearing him speak like this, hearing him talk about temptation and guilt as if he were naming every sin we had committed, I knew there was no escaping it.

The silence that followed his “Amen” was suffocating. I kept my head down, gripping the edge of the pew as the service went on, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of the congregation’s voices.

When it came time for communion, I hesitated. The thought of approaching him now, after everything, was almost unbearable. Yet, to refuse would be to refuse Christ. I needed to act as if everything was normal, as if I wasn’t silently screaming beneath the surface.

When it was my turn, I made my way to the front, my hands trembling slightly as I held them out for the Eucharist. Father Mayhew’s eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop. His expression was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand shook as he placed the wafer on my tongue, a gesture that now felt tainted, laden with unspoken tension.

“Body of Christ,” he murmured, his voice tight.

“Amen,” I whispered.

I returned to my seat, trying to calm the storm inside me as the mass came to an end. The final blessing was given, the congregation slowly began to rise, their voices mingling in quiet chatter as they prepared to leave, but I stayed rooted to the pew.

As the last of the parishioners filed out of the chapel, I looked up to see Father Mayhew watching me from the altar. His gaze was intense, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the lectern. There was something raw in his expression — anger, shame, perhaps even longing — but he quickly turned away as some of the parishioners approached him at the lectern.

Some unknown force possessed me, picking up my legs and leading me towards Father Mayhew’s bedroom. I don’t know what it was that brought me there; perhaps my subconscious thought it was time for a conversation.

When I got to his room, I closed the door behind me. What caught my eye, though, was the small, red hand towel Father Mayhew had used to clean me was neatly laid out on top of his bed. I walked closer, my steps quiet and light, brushing my fingers against the towel. It was hard and dry, not washed.

I walked to the chair in his room and sat down, patiently waiting.

About an hour passed before I heard the door knob rattle, the door swinging open. Father Mayhew was taken aback by my presence in his room. “Sister, what are you doing here?”

He closed the door behind him, carefully walking across his own room, mindful of his movements. He sat on the bed opposite me, studying my demeanor.

I gathered all of my strength to say, “I like how you make me feel.” I glanced down at the floor, then back up at him to find him surprised by my words.

He sighed, tangling his fingers together, “Our indiscretion was a momentary lapse of judgement.”

“Momentary?” I questioned. “Was it momentary when you touched my lips after every sip of a communion wine? When you’d order me to your room?” I stood up from the chair and walked over to him, “It was never momentary, Charlie.”

The use of his name in a context outside of sex startled both of us, and I saw the flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. For a moment, we froze, the tension between us unbearable. I could feel the pull, the same magnetic force that had drawn us together before. But this time, it felt different. This time, it felt like we were standing at the edge of something dangerous, something we couldn’t come back from.

“I don’t regret it,” he spoke, my voice steady, despite the whirlwind of emotions. “But we can’t keep going like this.”

“And why not?” I asked, caressing his cheek, kneeling before him. “Deuteronomy chapter 11 verse 26,” I recited, “‘See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse.’”

He moved my hand away, standing up and walking toward the altar by the window, “I don’t feel guilty for betraying our vows. I feel guilty about the fact that I don’t feel guilty about it at all. That’s why I’ve tried to keep my distance.”

Charlie stood at the window, the light casting shadows across his face as he stared out in silence. His confession hung in the air like incense, heavy and cloying, filling the space between us with the weight of what we had done. I could see the conflict tearing him apart, the pull between his duty and the desire that neither of us could deny.

I rose from the floor, walking slowly toward him, my hands trembling. “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His eyes met mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. For a moment, I thought he would push me away again, would end this before it could go any further. But instead, his hand slowly rose to my cheek, whispering, “Then God help us both.”

In that moment, the world seemed to fall away, and everything we had been fighting against—the guilt, the fear, the shame—melted into the background. There was only the two of us, bound together by something neither of us could fully understand, something that felt more powerful than any vow we had taken.

I stepped closer, resting my head against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my fingertips. We stood there in the stillness, our breaths mingling, the weight of the world on our shoulders.

He led his hand to the cane in the center of the altar, tracing its edges and holding it in his hands. He opened my hands and placed the cane in them. It felt heavy in my hands, like it was carrying all of the secrets Charlie and I carried.

As I looked down at the cane, I felt his hand caress my cheek again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I want us to switch this time.”

The words hung in the air between us, sharp and unexpected. I stared down at the cane in my hands, its weight seeming to grow heavier as his meaning settled over me. My breath hitched as I processed the shift, the power he was offering me, the reversal of roles.

I looked up at him, uncertainty swirling in my chest. “You… want me to?” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the silence of the room.

He stepped closer, his gaze intense, unwavering. He brought his lips to my forehead, giving me his blessing. “(Y/N), you are my punishment and my absolution.” His fingers brushed mine where they gripped the cane, his touch sending a familiar shiver through me.

Slowly, I nodded, accepting the responsibility he was placing in my hands. The cane felt cold, foreign, yet somehow fitting as it passed between us. I could sense the anticipation in the air, the tension thick enough to cut. This was a different kind of surrender, one where both of us stood on equal ground, where both of us would be tested.

He took a step back, his breath steady but his expression revealing the storm of emotions beneath the surface. His eyes never left mine as he took his shirt off and grabbed the kneeler, placing it in front of his bed and lowering himself to his knees, his hands resting at his sides in a posture of submission. It was a gesture I never imagined I’d see from him — the man who had once wielded authority over me now kneeling, offering himself up to the consequences of our shared transgressions.

I stood there, my grip tightening around the cane as I stared down at him. The gravity of the moment pressed down on me, but there was no going back now. What lay ahead wasn’t about punishment or power — it was about understanding.

I took a deep breath, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements. The room was silent, save for the faint creaking of the wood beneath my feet. Charlie remained still, his body tense but unmoving, his back exposed and vulnerable. The act of holding the cane, of standing over him with the authority he had once held over me, was overwhelming in its intensity.

I lifted the cane, my pulse racing, and brought it down with a soft, controlled stroke against his back. The sound was barely audible, more a whisper than a crack, but his body tensed beneath the impact. A breathy moan escaped him, his fingers curling into the wood of the kneeler.

I paused, searching his body for any sign of regret or doubt, but he remained composed, his eyes closed in silent acceptance. He wasn’t asking for punishment; he was asking for release. I struck him again, a little harder this time, the cane leaving a faint red mark on his skin. The tension in the room thickened, the intimacy of the moment deepening.

As I continued, each strike a measured and careful act, his breathing became more ragged, his body trembling ever so slightly beneath the cane. I knew I could stop at any time, that he wouldn’t ask for more than I was willing to give, but in this shared ritual, there was something cleansing — something that felt like a confession neither of us could voice.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, I lowered the cane, my hand shaking as I released it. I stood behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. He nuzzled his cheek into my fingertips, kissing them slowly. Eventually, his kisses grew hungry, turning his head and kissing my hand then moving his mouth up my arm. He pulled me down by the arm and sat me down on the bed.

Charlie’s kisses grew hungrier, his hands moving over my body as if claiming me once again. His lips traveled from my hand to my arm, then up my neck, before finally returning to my mouth with a fervor that made my head spin. There was no hesitation now, no second-guessing. He knew what he wanted, and so did I.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, feeling the heat between us build to a fever pitch. His body pressed against mine, the weight of his desire palpable, his hands wandering with an urgency that mirrored my own.

The cane lay discarded on the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment. What had begun as an exchange of control had now become something else entirely.

I could feel the muscles in his arms tense as he positioned himself above me, his breath hot against my skin. The room seemed to shrink around us, the world outside fading into nothingness as we became lost in each other.

There was no room for doubt, no space for guilt or hesitation. The vows we had taken, the lives we had promised to live-none of it mattered in this moment. All that mattered was the way he made me feel, the way l made him feel.

His hands roamed my body, finding every curve, every dip, every place that made me gasp. I responded in kind, my fingers tracing the lines of his back, the ridges of his muscles, the places where I had struck him with the cane just moments before. There was a strange poetry to it all, the way pain and pleasure intertwined, the way power shifted between us with each touch.

I whispered, my voice steady and certain, “I want you."

Charlie looked into my eyes, his expression soft but resolute. "You already have me."

He wasn’t holding back like he was before, but even then it felt so good. This time, it felt even better. I helped him unbuckle his pants as he ripped off my vest and shirt. Our hands couldn’t get enough of each other’s bodies.

As I kissed his shoulder and trailed my way to the corner of his jaw, I could feel his fingers tugging at the underwear under my skirt. He quickly pulled both of them off, tossing them next to the cane on the floor.

He pulled himself back, admiring my body like this had been the first time we’d done this. Suddenly, I grew shy, joining my knees together. He pulled himself out of his underwear and massaged my legs open.

Charlie entered me in one fluid motion, and we both gasped, my back arching as I met his thrusts. There was no gentleness now, no restraint — just the unrelenting drive to lose ourselves in each other.

The sound of our breathless gasps filled the room, mingling with the faint echoes of the world outside—distant, irrelevant. It was only the two of us now, our bodies intertwined, bound by the weight of everything we had done, everything we had become.

“Charlie,” I moaned into his ear.

Hearing his name escape my mouth had triggered him into tightening the grip on my hips, his pace quickening as he pulled me closer, deeper. As the pressure built, my nails dug into his back as I clung to him, both of us lost in the moment.

And then we were both there, teetering on the edge before the dam finally broke. The release was explosive, a rush of pleasure so intense it was almost blinding. We cried out, his name on my lips, mine on his, as the world seemed to shatter around us.

In the aftermath, we collapsed together, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, our hearts pounding in unison. The silence that followed was heavy but comforting, like the calm after a storm. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, his body still pressed on top of mine as we lay there, both of us trying to catch our breath.

For a long time, neither of us moved. The weight of Charlie’s body on top of me was comforting. His hand trailed down the side of my body trying to find my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, and in that simple gesture, there was more understanding, more connection than any words could have conveyed. He was in no rush to leave this time, which I thought showed some acceptance of this entire thing.

He rolled his body over to the space next to me, pulling me on top of me and laying my head on his chest, kissing my forehead as he dragged his fingernails up and down my back. It was all soothing.

I closed my eyes, listening to Charlie’s heartbeat under my ear. “What does it all mean now?”

Charlie continued to drag his fingers repeatedly, taking a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath me. For a long moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if he was searching for the right words, or if he even had an answer at all.

“It means,” he finally whispered, his voice low and tired, “that we can’t go back.” He sighed, his fingers pausing their movement. “The guilt, the shame, they’ll never go away. But this… what we have…” He trailed off, his hand tightening slightly around mine. “It’s real. That’s what I know for sure. More real than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the weight of them pressing against my chest. There was truth in what he said, but it didn’t ease the gnawing uncertainty in my stomach. The gravity of what we had done—and what we were doing—felt overwhelming.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked softly, my voice barely audible against the backdrop of our shared silence.

Charlie shifted beneath me, his fingers resuming their soft strokes against my skin. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of his own confusion. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Despite everything, despite the sin, the broken vows, and the uncertainty that lay ahead, there was something undeniably powerful in the bond we had forged. Something that went beyond right or wrong, beyond the confines of our faith.

For now, that had to be enough.

“I’d like to give you something,” I whispered. I stood up from the bed, still without clothes, and walked over to the chair, reaching for that all too familiar wrapped box. I walked back over and sat down next to him. Charlie sat up on the bed, curious. I unwrapped the journal carefully to reveal the deepest part of my soul.

He inspected the journal without opening it when his eyes fell to the rubber band. “This is how you discipline yourself,” he thought out loud. “And this…?” He asked as he opened the journal, skimming through the words, “Your confessions.”

“I want to surrender myself to you, Charlie,” I spoke softly.

He set everything aside and kissed me. Bare, he walked over to the drawer near his alter and opened it, pulling out a flog. My breath hitched at the sight of it. I had no idea this is what he used to discipline himself. He walked back over to me and sat down, wrapping my hands around the flog.

“I surrender myself to you, too, (Y/N),” he whispered.

I studied the flog, looking at every knot at the opposite end of the handle. This flog held every one of Charlie’s secrets and confessions, and he had given it to me. It felt like a holy artifact in my hands. After having seen Charlie act somewhat distant for some time, with the exception of right now, I felt honored to finally be let in.

I set the flog aside and gave him a passionate kiss, falling into an embrace and lying back down on the bed. I pressed a kiss to his chest, closing my eyes as exhaustion began to pull at me.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear was grounding, a soft, comforting pulse that seemed to synchronize with my own. There was a weight to everything that had happened, but in this moment, I allowed myself to be suspended between reality and whatever this was.

The future loomed uncertain, with questions that would demand answers soon enough. But for now, there was only the present—his body against mine, the warmth of our shared breath, and the heavy stillness of the room. For now, we were absolute.

[latenightdaydreams]

Hello! Ik this is random but do you ever plan on doing a pt 2 to priest konig and nun reader?

I can! I love horny and sadistic Priest König with Nun reader that can't say no.

Priest!König x Nun!Reader Part 2 (fem)

Part 1⛪, Part3

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw fem/afab, religion, disrespecting religion, virginity loss, kinky sexual acts

.

.

König grabs you harshly by the back of your neck and pushes you over an altar in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. His hand grabs your veil and pulls your head back to look up at her. You look at her dead eyes, seemingly looking back at you. The altar room was small and only lit with the lights of candles.

With his free hand König begins to pull up your habit. He pulls it up and exposes your legs in a pair of black stockings and you are wearing a black thong, just as Father asked you to. His large hand caresses your ass before spanking you. You let out a small yelp as he spanks you hard, your ass stings. You wiggle your ass as you're forced to gaze at the Virgin Mary still.

“Tell me what you want, Sister.” His hand rubs over your ass before slipping down and rubbing your slit through the thin narrow fabric of your thong.

“I want to suck your cock.”

“You don’t want me to fuck you?”

“I- I can’t”

“Why not?” He moves the fabric to the side and begins to rub his finger between your folds, getting his fingers covered in your arousal.

“I’m a virgin, my body belongs to Christ.”

When you became a nun, you gave up your right to pleasure. The lord owns your body and time and you have to live your life to serve him.

“Stand and undress, keep your stockings, veil, and thong on.” Father König steps back and watches as you undress. Your cross chain that you’re about to put down gently gets snatched by Father. He places it in his pocket. “You’ll get that back later.”

You don’t argue and just continue to undress. Once done you stand before him in your veil, your black stockings, and thong. The candle light reflecting off of you makes you look simply stunning.

“Turn around.”

You turn without question. Again, you’re facing Mary, you look at her until König comes up beside you and reaches past you to the wall where a crucifix was hanging. Father looked at it in his hands before looking at you.

“Bend over the altar again.”

You look confused but bend over as he asked. He walks behind you and pulls your head back again, your veil and hair balled in his hand. You find yourself looking back into Mary’s dead eyes.

“Your body belongs to Christ, ja?” He begins to rub the solid wood against you, rubbing your clit making you twitch.

“Yes,” you moan.

“Then he should be the one to take your precious virginity.”

“No,” you begin to wiggle your butt as König begins to move the crucifix up along your folds.

Father König slips the crucifix into your tight entrance and you moan out in pain. König lets out a pleased sigh as he watches your reaction. Your hands reaching out and grasping the edges of the altar. The pain was surprising, you couldn’t wait for it to pass.

Father König pumps the crucifix in and out of your virgin cunt, a small trace of blood left on the wood. He watches as you squirm and begin to moan, enjoying getting fucked, just as he thought you would.

You close your eyes to enjoy the pleasure when König pulls your hair harder.

“Thank her for her son. Thank her for him fucking you.”

At first, you’re embarrassed that he would recommend that, feeling so taboo to sexualize Christ; but this does feel fucking amazing.

“Thank her or I stop.” Father says pulling your hair tighter.

“Thank you, Mary for Jesus.”

“More,” König groans.

“Thank you for Jesus!” You moan out loudly.

“Dirtier, thank her!” Father shouts.

“Thank you for Jesus, he feels so fucking good. Thank you, Jesus, for fucking me.” You go off as you feel as if you’re about to cum.

Father König quickly pulls the crucifix out and your legs get weak. “Stand.”

You stand and turn to him.

“On your knees, open your mouth.”

You drop to your knees and open your mouth. He looks at the blood and creamy pussy arousal left behind on the crucifix before beginning to guild it into your mouth. He slowly begins to lower it into your mouth. You gag slightly and he slaps your breast.

“Take it.” He says sternly.

His other hand moves to the back of your head and holds you in place. He continues to slide it down your throat until his arms stop you. He leaves you like that for a short while as you choke on the cross and taste your virgin blood.

“Stand, don’t take it out.”

You stand as he says. Your eyes watering from gagging on the crucifix. He fishes under his robe into his pockets and gets out simple clothes pins. He walks to you, cupping one of your breasts before pinching your nipple by placing the clothes pin on it. Your small whimper of pain muffled by the cross. He does the same to the other breast.

“Schön…” He takes a moment to look at you, now a new woman. His woman. He tugs at the clothes pins before once again grabbing your veil and pushing you to bend over the altar, but this time he presses your face into it.

König holds your head down as he bends over to see your pussy. Small traces of blood still linger.

“Is your pussy sore?” He asks to let go of your head but you keep it there.

“Yes,” You respond as you hear him rustling with his clothes.

“Good, I’m about to make it worse.”

Part 3

[pedriache]

idk if you’re hispanic/latino buttttt i NEED a pedri fic based off the song la santa by bad bunny (if you don’t know spanish you can just translate it and it’ll work jst fine) tyyyy i loveee ur work 🫶🫶

La santa — Pedri Gonzalez.

Pairing: Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

Summary: You weren’t supposed to fall in love with Pedri, but it happened nonetheless. You knew what you were getting into when it all started and you both knew despite nothing ever going further than casual, you would always come running back.

Word count: 710

Disclaimer/s: Slightly Suggestive (?) , angst

A/N: OOOOH this song is lowk girl i’m nodding my head thank yew. i also really had no clue how to go about this .. i actually hate it so much sorry this was so bummy

Pedri was dressing quickly. Too quickly. You knew you shouldn’t have even proposed the idea of taking the relationship or… whatever you could call it, further. He always got jumpy when you’d ask for him to stay even a few extra minutes.

You leaned back against the headboard, a frown planted tightly against your lips as you watched him zip up his jeans. “Jesus christ, Pedri. It was a simple suggestion! You’re acting like I told you I was pregnant.”

The mans eyes widen as they shoot in your direction, “you aren’t.. pregnant. Right?” That elicited a loud groan from your lips.

“Oh lord.” You rub your temples before looking back to him. He still wore the same expression, nearly making you laugh as you shake your head. “No! I am not.”

“Thank God.” He huffs, reaching for his t-shirt.

You chew on your bottom lip, suddenly annoyed. “You know what? This has to stop. For good.” He continued dressing like you weren’t even speaking, so you add, “I’m serious.”

Pedri sighs, tugging the shirt over his head. “You said that last week, last month, and matter of fact, two days ago. You know damn well it’s not stopping.” His lip twitches at the corners, a smug grin forming ever so slowly.

That just furthered your annoyance because, unfortunately, it was the truth. It also pissed you off because if he’d just take you seriously and stayed away, you wouldn’t crawl back to him every time.

You’d tried to stop sending him that text or responding to his, but you were weak. Your resistance only lasted about five minutes before you caved. You simply couldn’t stay away from Pedri.

“It’s different this time, and you know it! I can’t wait around for you to feel—“

“Woah!” His hands shoot up, stopping you mid sentence. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Your lips clamp shut and your arms cross over your chest. “Well—“

“Cariño, you know it’ll never be reciprocated. You knew this the second we started the whole thing! Cut the lovey dovey act, I don’t need you doing that because I don’t know how to reciprocate it.” He finishes his rant, running a hand over his face as if the whole conversation was one big inconvenience.

Pedri leaned against the wall a few feet from your bedroom door, antsy for an escape yet also not wanting to leave you pissed off at him.

“This was only meant to be a fun thing.” He adds once the silence became deafening.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you frown. “Why though? Why is it such a terrible concept? You care about a lot of things, a lot of people, why would it be so different?”

His eyes dart to the door, he really needed to get out of here. “You know why. Just.. let’s keep this going and you’ll get over it, no? Why are you trying to mess with something thats fine just as it is?”

You were desperately trying to ignore the way your stomach churned at his words. The more he talked, the more you felt your heart sink. You knew damn well there was no changing Pedri and you most definitely knew better than to even have a sliver of hope.

“You’re right.” You finally force out, “no, yeah. I’m sorry I even thought about it.”

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. Pedri heard it loud and clear and he almost felt guilty. Almost. But at the end of the day, he’d told you how he felt about relationships at the beginning of it all. He knew and you knew, exactly where he stood.

“I’ll see you when I get back from Sevilla, okay?” Pedri sighs, pushing himself off the wall.

Not daring to look at him, you stay quiet for a moment. A weak attempt at pushing him away, but you were just that. Weak.

“Yeah.” You huff, “make sure you lock the door on the way out.”

Pedri lifts one hand as a parting gesture, but you don’t return it and he leaves anyways. He leaves you feeling like an absolute idiot because you know when you get the text that he’s back in town, you’ll be waiting right where he left you.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, specific or all.

DTS , @halfwayhearted , @spidybaby , @gadriezmannsgirl !

[hawkins-losers]

yesss we want the elvira x eddie

This has been on my list since season 4 came out... Forgive me for writing it 2-3 years later (how long has it been since season 4 came out? Feels forever ago)

Happy spooky season! I miss writing for these characters

—

In girl world, Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it. 

Early in October, you decided to test the waters by making Eddie watch a movie with a character you had been thinking of dressing up as this Halloween. Witches were always your favorite, but you wanted to see his reaction first, see if he would like it. 

Although you doubted this character left any men unbothered.

Your dress was a little risqué, the deep plunging neckline making the girls shine. It took a few trials and errors to get the makeup right, but you finally got it and made your way to Eddie’s house. His jaw was going to drop. 

When he opened the door and saw the Mistress of the Dark standing there, he nearly choked. ‘’Jesus Christ," he breathed, the sight making blood rush south.

A smile of satisfaction bloomed on your lips. ‘’My appearance is kind of a shock to everybody.’’

Eddie quickly pulled you inside, not wishing for his perverted neighbor to use you as material to rub his cock and saggy balls. Those tits were his to stare at and touch and suck…and fuck.

‘’Are you trying to kill me looking like that?'' He lets out a low whistle as his gaze continues to roam over your figure. 

You leaned in closer, letting your voice drop to a sultry purr. ‘’I thought of wearing her spider bra with the tassels, but figured that might actually kill you on the spot.’’ 

Eddie’s eyes darkened, and a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. ‘’The spider bra?!’’ he repeated, vividly remembering the specific scene from the movie where Elvira wears it. ‘’Fuck.’’ 

‘’I even practiced the twirling she does with it,’’ you added, a wicked glint in your eyes.

Eddie groaned. ‘’I’m gonna have that image in my head all night…’’ He moved closer to you and gently placed his hands on your hips as he looked down at you, a smirk on his lips as he imagined you in the spider bra. ‘’Do we have to go to Harrington’s party?’’  

He would much rather stay here and have you to himself. The costume could stay on, he can work around that.

‘’Of course we do, we promised Steve we’d be there,’’ you said, taking Eddie’s hands off your body so he wouldn‘t try to convince you to stay in. ‘’And I told Robin I would help her with Vickie. I can’t let her down.’’

Eddie groaned once more. He felt like a child who got told ‘no’ after asking if they can get dessert before supper. 

‘’I didn’t say we can’t find a room at Steve’s and have some…fright-night fun.’’ 

Your voice was laced with a suggestive promise, which made the corner of Eddie’s mouth curl in anticipation. ‘’Now, you’re talking, Mistress of the Dark,’’ he breathed, leaning in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

But before he could kiss you, you slipped from his grasp and took a step back. ‘’Where’s your costume? Steve said it was mandatory.’’ 

Eddie, still in his regular band tee shirt and jeans, held up a Michael Myers mask and pointed at a lump of blue on the couch. ‘’Here.’’ 

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you gave him a once-over. ‘’Your work mechanic overalls and a Michael Myers mask? That’s the lowest effort one’s ever made for a Halloween costume,’’ you scoffed, shaking your head. 

A creative person like Eddie could have done so much better. A few weeks ago, he talked about being Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. He would have looked damn good as a rugged ranger, with a sword and medieval warrior attire. Maybe then you would have agreed to skip Steve’s party. 

He rolled his eyes. ‘’Oh come on, it’s not that bad. Michael Myers is a classic, babe.’’ 

Halloween and its antagonist were a cult classic, but costume wise, it was unoriginal. There’s probably going to be at least three other Michael Myers at the party. 

‘’If by classic you mean a very common and lazy costume, I agree.’’ You grabbed the overalls and pushed them at Eddie’s chest. ‘’Now, hurry and put it on. I need to get there before Robin starts to drink and the word vomit gets unstoppable.’’

—

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3  @cursedandromedablack  @Slashersimpfor  @savagejane1   @wh0reforbucknasty   @eddiemunson-slut   @slvdsjjk  @hehehehannahthings  @dreamdancers-world  @eddiemunsonbby  @notbeforelong  @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog  @tatespillows  @alwayslexii  @lilygreennn   @milkiane  @imahomeslice  @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re  @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick  @wandamaximoffs-deadchild  @horrorstreet  @rmeddar123  @pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys  @luvmybbies  @chloepricesgrafitimarker  @inluvweddiemunson @i-like-trains @kittenfrostt @simp-for-slasher @m-rae23 @kenzi-woycehoski @amberputh  @sea040561 @wayfaring----stranger @amberputh @starstruckspring @nluvwitheddiemunson @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @kiszkathecook @Original_babababoo @kittenfrostt @yourfavdummy @kenzi-woycehoski @violetsleftfist

Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang @fourlokiss  @eddiemattress  @ghoulishlygrey   @paola-carter @bubsonnobx @pauldanoswifereal @ofherscarlettwitchways @kiszkathecook  @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19  @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @jenlouvre @bonked-beyond-belief2  @tvserie-s-world @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @chrisxevans-seb @satinselenite @thikkiesixx  @jennilynn63  @nia-um  @welcometohellfirw @strangermarvelgirl @sugar-simz @fandomloversvaries @miakatharinaa  @julsss321 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess  @Minksblog @soph69420world  @ameliakf13 @nancewheelersworld @parasadic-blog @nluvwitheddiemunson @veniceb1tch88 @ali-r3n @Luv.eddie @stephylovesmayahawke @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetheart-im-the-boss @jusstdreaaming @hoeformunsonandhargrove @buckyswhxre @tomspidertingle @stormyparker @thechoiceslookgrimm @ilikechocolatemilkh @bbylyneth @bobafettsleftglove @princesseddie @yourfavdummy @xbreezymeadowsmunsonx @rosaliesrealwife @munsonswhore86 @eddiescvmslvt @slightlyvicked

[jclovely]

THE BODY OF SHIRI BIBAS WAS RETURNED YESTERDAY....🙏🇮🇱🙏

THE PEOPLE OF GAZA ARE ALL MONSTERS WHOEVER RAPES, MUTILATES, BURN, TORTURES CHILDREN OR ANY ONE DO NOT DESERVE TO LIVE.

6 MORE HOSTAGES RELEASED TODAY.

THIS MORNING MANY OF US ARE REPULSED BY WHAT WAS DONE SINCE OCTOBER 7TH IN ISRAEL, THERE IS JUDGEMENT COMING FOR GAZA AS THE LORD STIPULATED IN ZEPHANIAH CHAPTER 2. THEY WILL BE NO MORE.

NEWS FROM THE FORENSIC REPORT OF SHIRI, ARIEL AND KFIR BIBAS SHOWN THEIR DEATH WAS DONE 1 WEEK AFTER THEY WERE KIDNAPPED, ALL OF THEM CRYING AND THESE MONSTERS COULD NOT TOLERATE THEM, ALL 3 WERE STRANGLED WITH BARE HANDS AND THEN STONED AFTER BEING BUTCHERED TO COMPLETELY DISFIGURE THEM. THE DOCTORS WHO DID THE AUTOPSIES SAID THEY NEVER SEEN SUCH MONSTROSITY. THEY PREPARED THE OUTCOME THAT NOVEMBER THEY LIED DID NOT KNOW WHERE THEY WERE THEN MADE THE EXCUSE THEY WERE KILLED BY AN IDF ROCKET. PLEASE SHARE THESE NEWS SO THE WORLD KNOWS WHO THE GAZANS ARE .....MONSTERS.

Amen.

📯👑📯

🇮🇱👑🙏

🙏💖🌺🦋🕎✝️👑🇮🇱🕊️📯

[hihhasotherfixations]

John Price headcanons sfw & nsfw P2

Part 1

Here’s some more of my headcanons for this man. They’re a but all over the place, apologies. But enjoy :3

Sfw:

While he himself is not religious, he was brought up in a Christian family.

Speaking of his family, he unfortunately doesn’t have a very big one. He has a father he barely talks to and older sister. His mother passed away from cancer when he was still a lieutenant and because of it, when he got promoted to captain there was no one around - his sister was caught up and stuck with work. It was not a good time for him. Instead of celebrating his accomplishment, he was alone and stricken with memories and grief.

His dad was incredibly strict growing up and Price’s relationship with him is still very strained to this day because of it.

His late mother was very adamant on not swearing and while he tries to uphold that, he’s also been in the military for 19 years. And sometimes (very often) the danger or his men become too much. This has caused him to adopt swearing even though he tries so hard not to. One of his most used swear words however is ‘jesus- fuck’ as it’s become almost a habit to swear with jesus christ, though he always catches himself last moment and tries to divert from swearing with the religious man’s name and says fuck instead.

Price can’t ride a bike. And I don’t mean a motorcycle, he’s fine with those - really good even. But an actual bike? Man can’t do it. Do I say this purely because I find the thought/image of Price on a bicycle cursed? Yes, yes I do.

Price finds it hard to say ‘no’ to the 141 when it comes to small and inconsequential things. Due to this, there was a time where for over a month, the 141 walked into his office, asked him to doodle a cat and then left without a word. And yet he did so every time, confused but content enough whenever they waddled off with their doodle. What he didn’t expect, was to show up on Christmas morning to find a blanket strewn over the couch in the rec room - it’s print being littered with every small cat he had doodled. It is now one of his favourite things.

Not a headcanon but I wanted to let the world know: Price has a tiny birthmark on his nose and it is the most adorable thing in the world. (Thankfully I’m seeing more people bringing attention to it >:3) Because of it, if you repeatedly kiss his nose for that reason? To kiss the birthmark? He’s gonna get really flustered really quickly. Not much will bring this man to a stop mid order-giving, but that would shut him up real quick ;3

He does not like singing but you can often catch him humming when doing something such as cooking or cleaning. He doesn’t really realise he’s doing it so don’t point it out! Otherwise he’s gonna be conscious of it and you won’t hear it for a month or two.

Terrible at golf. Gaz once took him golfing cause he thought that’s something Price enjoyed/was good at. It in fact turned into Price getting frustrated and nearly obliterating the golfbal with how hard he hit it. He gave up after that.

This is more logistics that I keep for myself but Price was in the British army for 4 years before he moved to enlist in the SAS.

Loves, loves, loves playing with your hair if you let him. Sitting/cuddling on the couch? His fingers are touching it in some way. Kissing? His hand is keeping your head near his via the back of your neck and his thumb will be rubbing back and forth over the hair there.

Pretty sure 90% of people share this headcanon but good LORD his sneezes. They are loud and you can hear him from across the field. He then proceeds to shrug it off like they’re nothing.

Man has the sharpest and loudest finger whistle and 100% uses it on his men to get their attention. Both the 141 and the soldiers he reigns over as captain. It’s a noise ingrained into every single person who has served with him and will get them to shoot straight and pay attention instantly.

This is a little more niche. But this man sucks at almost every game except for survival games. FPS? Absolute shit, will get maybe one bullet to hit before dying. Horror? While he doesn’t jump at the jump scares, if he is being chased by a monster or a killer, you can almost guarantee he will die. But survival games?? Give him the forest (kinda) or Subnautica to play and this man will absolutely tear it up. You can leave him for an hour or two and when you come back he’ll have crafted a base and be halfway through the game.

This includes Minecraft. Kinda. Man is an absolute god at building, but do not send him into the mines. You will see a message pop up of him falling into lava or dying by mobs every 5 minutes.

Basically any game where he’s not in constant danger, he’s fine.

Avid peanut butter enjoyer.

If Price were to ever have children, he would try very hard to give them the childhood he never had. He would not deny those kids of anything. They want to go outside in the rain to play in the mud? Alright, let him get the raincoats, he’ll wash the dirty, muddy clothes later (he is 100% out there with his kids, splashing them or letting them push him into puddles).

In the same vein, he would try very hard to separate work and life. Sure he might need to get stern sometimes and tell the rambunctious rascals off, but he tries very hard to do so in his dad voice, not in his captain voice. It would still happen sometimes though and he’d feel absolutely awful. Especially if he makes his kids cry because of it.

One of his favourite songs is Escape by Rupert Holmes (The piña colada song). You can oftentimes hear it and songs like that softly playing in his office while he’s doing paperwork.

Not really a headcanon and don’t ask me why, but this donkey is giving me Price vibes: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJV6o5cB/

While he smokes cigars, he’s not at all a chain smoker. Usually saves them for moments where he feels he earns them (after a mission, completing paperwork he really didn’t want to do etc), high stress, or when he’s really craving one.

In a similar topic, he hates cigarettes. Tried one when he was younger, hated it and instead unfortunately took over the cigar habit from his father (when said man was home). Because of this however, he can’t stand to smoke with Laswell. She tries sometimes - cause while she’s trying to quit, it’s hard - but Price only allows it if she’s upwind from him, blowing her smoke away from him.

He stubs his toe SO often. Don’t get me wrong, when out on the field, every step is calculated and precise and you will never in your life see him slip up. It’s a different matter entirely when he’s on leave or just around base though. His body doesn’t need to be on edge 24/7 anymore. Which means that if you’ve served under him, you’ve heard him curse out a door for daring to stand open in the way it did. When he’s at home with you? Double so. He tends to walk around without shoes at home - logically so. Which means his poor toes meet cupboards, table/chair legs and doors a bit too often. He’ll swear less when at home tho, more… take-a-deep-breath-to-control-the-rage kind of reaction.

For the love of god, call him pretty. It’s just- it does something with him. He’s heard handsome, rugged, manly, weathered, etc. And don’t get me wrong, if you call him any of those? Pride bursts through his chest and he’ll make sure to repay you in kind. But if it’s just you and him on the couch, leaned into each other, the tv softly playing? Just a quiet moment? And you call him pretty? It heals something in him.

Has once overheard soldiers insulting/mocking his facial hair and definitely made them shit themselves when he appeared behind them with his full 6”2 (188cm) buffed up captain stance - arms crossed with the most vicious glare you can even imagine. Also definitely made them run until they dropped and then do it again or gave them toilet duty for a month. It also definitely wasn’t only one time he overheard someone.

He’s an absolute history buff. At one point he seriously considered to become a history teacher but at that point he was too far into his military career. He didn’t feel like he could leave his men. It also felt like he’d have wasted years of his life and going back to school wasn’t really on his ‘want to do�� list at that age. So instead he opted he’d be of better use to the world right where he was.

If you allow him to infodump however? He will absolutely tell you the most random facts. Disturbing ones too. He just wants to tell you cool facts, its a way of showing love :)

Quality time often consists of him sitting beside you while you do whatever. He’s either reading a book or doing a puzzle, if he can he will have one hand on your thigh, absentmindedly rubbing it while his mind is elsewhere (its a bit hard when he does puzzles with one hand, but he makes it work)

In the vein of those puzzles, he absolutely LOVES them. If you come home with a newspaper saying “I got this for you!” and show him the not-yet-made puzzle, he will absolutely fall a little bit more in love with you every time. That’s his form of you coming home with roses for him.

Ridiculously good at crosswords. Very rarely has to look up an answer. He also tends to ask you out loud. Not per se to actually ask you though. It’s more of a way of thinking out loud. “What’s a six letter word for a cloud formation in space? …Nebula, thank you.” And then just moves on without you ever having said a word, not even realising he does it.

He always feels guilty when leaving you for long periods of time due to work. Tries very hard to make up for it, even if you assure him he doesn’t have to.

He does things while on missions that he is not proud of. He does not tell you any of the more inhumane things he’s done because he’s terrified it’ll change your perception of him.

These moments haunt his every moment however. Sleeping and awake. You are his only escape.

He is not proud of a lot of things. But the 141 is one of them.

Kyle is one of the most prominent ones. From when he found him in Piccadilly to the elite soldier he is today, Price is incredibly proud of who he’s become. Though he’s also very worried for the danger he’s put the younger man in by dragging him into this world.

Price also makes sure to look after Ghost. Strangely enough, he feels almost responsible for what happened to Ghost despite him having nothing to do with it. Because of it however, he feels very protective over the man and tries to treat him the best he can.

Soap is someone who he sees a lot of himself in. So he always tries to push the man to be better than he was. Price sees the potential Soap has in furthering his military career and if the moment came to it, he’d recommend the man for a promotion in a heartbeat. Soap is someone he always trusts in.

He has a lot of scars on his body from his years of service. If he feels you run your fingers over the scar and you ask him about them, he’s okay with telling you about how he got it. Even if he spares the details sometimes.

Lastly, if Laswell and her wife ever got a child, Price would 100% be the favourite uncle and regular babysitter whenever he’s off deployment.

That’s it for the regular headcanons again :3 Please respect the banner and onto depravity.

Nsfw:

Whenever he’s making out with you, he LOVES having a hand on your throat. Not to squeeze. Never to squeeze. He does not like the thought of choking you at all, brings bad memories. But he is addicted to the thrum of your heartbeat underneath his fingertips. The submission that comes with it as you let him hold a place so vulnerable while he attacks your lips.

Doesn’t have to be during sex either. You two can be cuddling on the couch and he’ll gently pull you in by your neck or throat and press his lips into yours. Or push you up against the wall by it when you greet him as he comes home. Just let him hold you and move you like that.

Fingerprint bruises. Oh my god he properly leaves them whenever you two are having an especially… passionate night.

Don’t get him wrong though! He’ll kiss the bruises and apologise after, even if seeing them sends a flutter down his spine. Loves walking up to you and slotting his fingers right over the marks, careful and appreciative as his hands fill up the spots.

Man loves biting and nipping any place of you he can reach. Have I mentioned how much he loves leaving his marks on you? Hickeys and imprints of his teeth e v e r y w h e r e. (Won’t go above the collar if you don’t want him to)

Depending on how okay you are with it, he’ll definitely bite hard. He’s holding you in a mating press, kissing you to hell and back and when his hips start to stutter, when that telltale spark begins to come up, he’ll divert to where your neck meets your shoulder and bite while fucking the last few strokes into you, muffling his groans and noises of pleasure into your skin.

He has once broken skin while doing it, he felt absolutely awful after it. Immediately after coming down from his high and realising what he did, he went to go get the med kit from the bathroom. Naked and sweaty, he waddled away and back, concern and guilt as he disinfected the wound and dressed it, pressing a million apologies to you.

While it is rare to get him to actually fully give the reins to you and be submissive, when he does, call him by his honorifics still. Praise him with them. “You’re doing so good for me, captain” , “Are you feeling good, sir?” Whisper things like that in his ear and he’ll be whining and desperate for you like never before.

Man has a raging breeding kink. Will absolutely fill you up as many times if he can. Just the sight of seeing his cum leaking out of you instantly gets him going for a second round. The possessive side of him comes out thanks to the thought of you walking around with a piece of him inside you.

I don’t know if I mentioned it in p1 of this but he’s an absolute aftercare KING. Literally won’t want you to do anything. He’s cleaning you up with a towel first and foremost, gentle and careful - especially if he was a little rougher that day. After that, if you’ll let him, he’ll run a bath or shower for you and gently wash you himself. Kisses, cuddles and clean sheets are all in his service.

[jade-len]

bad svsss fanfic/au idea: random marriage/guidance counselor transmigrates into PIDW, sees the absolute mess of lord luo bingge and his harem, goes "jesus fucking christ", and makes bank.

and like. they're probably not even that good of a counselor. it's just that people lack any sense when it comes to bingge, and since he's the emperor, that means pretty much everyone. also because therapy doesn't exist. i'll give them some credit though, whatever they hell they're doing works.

now, while sqq and sqh are having a grand ol' time in SVSSS with their husbands, this random, average counselor has to deal with being in the care of lord luo bingge. no wife beam. no anything. all they have is some basic empathy and common sense people just tend to lack in here for some reason.

it's even worse considering the fact that they've arrived after luo bingge completed his plan and became the hailed demon emperor. now, while they've never full on read the entire thing, they've heard enough from a close friend who has kept up with it to know the main character is the literal embodiment of the cycle of abuse and heavy unresolved issues. like, it got to the point where they started to unironically use luo bingge as an example of how to not deal with conflicts and trauma.

really, how could people like bingge? seriously, it's just another edge lord main character with way too many glamorized issues and abuse. red flag! (hey, who the hell is peerless cucumber and why does he keep defending binghe? lord, have mercy on these impressionable young men...)

so, after being kidnapped taken in by bingge and his wives after the bunch claimed that they were a "wise man" or whatever (all they did was offer some basic relationship advice to some poor woman, who turned out to be ning yingying, who told the other wives, and it just spiraled from there), they were deemed "special" and given their personal office and a room! hey, better than being on the streets in this god forsaken hentai-ish world, i guess.

quickly, a routine was established. one that, especially, consisted of luo bingge outright ignoring them. which, they weren't complaining about!

wake up, eat, meet with multiple of the wives, spend their hard earned money on delicious delicacies, meet with more wives, sleep, repeat. the most interaction they had with the demon emperor was him ordering them around, but even then, that was uncommon. it was, surprisingly, easy to fall into the rhythm of this undoubtedly odd life. you're upset that lord luo hasn't spent much time with you? maybe you can ask! the other wives are being annoying? remove yourself from the situation. you're upset that lord luo has so many other wives? oohhh... yeah. uhm.

luo binghe only tolerated them, they knew that. and they're sure that, if not for multiple of his wives insisting on keeping them, they'd be dead for even daring to be so "intimate" with them. a little bit of a shock, if they do say so themself. like, insecure much (something that they'll probably never get used to is the fact that bingge built an entire little village for his wives, though)?

but that's not the most shocking thing, oh, no.

it's this.

"i- i tried.. i tried to take the.. hiic-- other.. other shizun w-with me.." lord luo binghe, the powerful, almighty demon emperor, trembles and sobs. "b-but he! he wanted to-- s-stay with that.. stupid, inferior version of my- hic- self.."

despite the mountain of gold they're getting paid in, is it really enough to deal with this? probably not. will they get killed for witnessing luo binghe's vulnerability? perhaps. is he a dictator, the embodiment of the cycle of abuse, and a crazily vengeful bastard? definitely.

"it's-- s' not.." his voice breaks. something else inside of them probably does, too. "..n-not, hiic- fair."

should they feel bad? they shouldn't. he's hurt much too many people. isn't it a little late? can he even be redeemed? because, they are absolutely not here to try and "fix" him.

and yet.

"can you breathe, lord luo? deep breaths, don't focus on anything else but me, okay? i'll do it with you too. can you do that for me? there, there. you're doing a very good job, do you know that? here, when i'm upset, sometimes i like to do something called, '5-4-3-2-1'. i promise it'll help, binghe. would you like for me to do this one with you too?"

they can't help but think about a small, lonely boy on qing jing peak.

. . .

after that, bingbing slowly starts to come around and develop an actual bond! cool!! he just,,, can't believe only his wives were granted the "wisdom". how foolish was he?

"i know i'm only a mere human, but i can tell that lord luo is... masking things. you can put that away for now, okay? i promise, everything you say here will be confidential information, and it'll never leak... no no there's no enemy spies here-"

"i'm not even going to question this. you go back there right now and deal with it yourself if you cannot respect me or the other clients. aka, your wives."

"no, it's not stupid. this is how people help themself, and it's okay if you want to do it. as long as it doesn't hurt you or anybody. it helps, and that's all that matters."

"oh? one of your wife confronted to you about it? i'm glad to hear that, she's doing well, i see. i'm also happy that you're listening too, really."

"yes, and when something like that happens, you--- no- don't pull out xin mo now. what did we say about that? good job."

"here, can i touch your hands, binghe? there we go. when you're unsteady, you feel the need to pick at your skin, correct? well, let's try a few different things to keep those hands busy! it must be quite stressful being an emperor. how about we start with crocheting! it's quite popular back at my hometown."

"your mother sounds like a wonderful woman, lord luo. hey, how about you take a small break and visit her, okay? you want me to come with you? of course, it'd be an honor."

and thus, the story of the poor transmigrator counselor continues on with luo bingge added to their schedule!! this could be read as romantic or platonic lol. but i was thinking of this as luo bingge obtaining his first actual friend. it takes a long while due to bingge's... bingge-ness, but eventually it all works out lmao

[10yrsyart]

the Lord Jesus is coming quickly!

"For the Lord Himself will come down from Heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet of God. First, the Christians who have died will rise from their graves. Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air." (1 Thessalonians 4:16-17)

Jesus, the Son of God, gave His life and shed His blood for the payment of your sins. by acknowledging your sinful nature, and trusting in Him as the only means of salvation, you're included in this event! For Jesus promised in John 14:2-3, "There are many rooms in My Father's house (..) I go to prepare a place for you (..) When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so you will always be with Me where I am."

God poured out His wrath for our sins onto Jesus' body on the cross; once and for all time (Hebrews 9:28). Therefore we the Church, as the Body of Christ, cannot be here to experience God's Wrath again (1 Thessalonians 5:9). the Tribulation that is coming is the time of God's Wrath; a testing period for those still covered by their sin (Isaiah 26:20-21). but He promised He would take His followers out of the way before it comes (Revelation 3:10). we will be taken to the safe places He has prepared for us.

the time is much sooner that you think! please turn to the Lord while there is still time, He loves you and has done EVERYTHING necessary to provide salvation for you. the Tribulation will be the worst time in human history, and God desires that no one go through it. listen to the still, small Voice that is calling you to repentance. He is calling you home!

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

Okay this is really irritating so i need this to stop happening: "Oh I am a Christian but I don't believe in like the bible or anything; I just follow the teaching of Jesus. But like, whether Jesus was God or rose from the dead or was even real at all, doesn't really-" Stop.

STOP. This is not Christianity. You are not Christian. Christian comes from "Christ" and it is the Christian belief that for Jesus to be the Christ and the Ben Adam (Son of Man/Humanity) is form him to be both human and divine. If you think he was just some moral teacher you're a fool whatever, that's fine, it's fine. BUT DON'T CALL YOURSELF CHRISTIAN!!! There is a separate thing: Jesusism or something like that. Call yourself a Jesusist (not Jesuit) or whatever. Not. Christian.

You are not Christian if you disregard the Tanakh, or Paul, or if you cannot affirm the Nicene Creed. I am not an elitist, just a gatekeeper :). Leave my religion alone.

ALSO. If you are a hater, a supporter of oppression, or otherwise concerned with controlling people's lives, also STOP CALLING YOURSELF CHRISTIAN!!! We have words for those things now. Words like "patriarchy" and "white supremacy". And if you think your Christian because "I am American! And Christianity is the religion of America!" No. No no no no no. America is Babylon. Actually do some study into Christian Political Ethics and you will find (in both the first and second testaments) criticism of many of America's policies. A country that murders innocent people cannot be called the country of Christ. It can be called the City Where Our Lord Was Slain. Stop just being a racist and misogynist and a nationalist and then claiming it's because you're religious. Cause you're not.

I will go Frederick Douglas on you so quickly do not freaking try me (Frederick Douglass wrote an awesome piece on the religion of America and how it was not the religion of Christ. #new favorite prophet)

[scribblestatic]

Baa baa.

Note: I'm switching from using "martial aunt/uncle" to the Chinese pronunciation, which is kinda inconsistent to what I was doing before, but it be like that.

----

Tian Chui's head cracked, teeth breaking and biting through his tongue. The top of his skull caved in, blood covering the sheep's face.

Immediately, the demon went still, his body flopping limply onto the ground.

The disciples and demons all stood in shock. Luo Binghe, who lost his footing at being pushed aside, looked up from the ground with wide eyes.

Blood dripped and spread across the cracked floor. The large, mystical ram raised its head and shook it, blood splattering on the ground as it fell from its wool. It then opened its eyes, the huadian somehow standing out in the midst of the red covering its face, green eyes vibrant and gleaming with anger.

It quietly moved, still facing the demons, and stood in front of Luo Binghe, putting its body between the two. Lowering its head, it made a clear threat to the other side—

Try that again and a bludgeoning death awaits.

Binghe's eyes widened, his fatigue fading in an instant.

"Shizun..." he whispered.

'Well done, my disciple,' he said back in a voice only he could hear, still facing their enemies. 'You were exemplary.'

Inside, Shen Yuan was in quite the state.

He just murdered someone, but it's okay! It's a dog-eat-dog world, and they'd threatened his little lamb—even a bull kills to protect his herd. In a xianxia setting, death happens daily!

But Jesus Christ, the guy's head exploded on him! He has blood dripping down his face! He wants to clean up immediately! It smells so terrible! He has blood all over his face!! He was expecting it to hurt the demon of several thousands of years, but not to pop his brain like a cherry!!

Scary! Why'd that happen?!

Also, what even is a xianxia??

Because of his worries, he didn't realize he'd so easily called Binghe his disciple with possession, making the young man's heart grow three times bigger for his Shizun.

With everyone frozen in place, shocked by the turn of events, a strong burst of spiritual energy breaking through the rest of the barrier to block the cultivators from leaving startled them all back into action.

"Liu-shishu!"

"Liu-shishu exited seclusion!"

"Bai Zhan Peak’s War God has exited seclusion, see if you demons dare to be arrogant anymore!"

As the man clad in white and grey landed down, sword in hand, Shen Yuan had an epiphany.

Oh! It's the pretty man! The one he saved alongside Shen Qingqiu—who was very confusing, all things considered. Anyway, so he was a peak lord as well! Fascinating!

The peak lords should take better care of themselves!! What was this?! Having qi deviations left and right. Aiyah! Stressing a mere prey animal out the way they did!

Liu Qingge, as though hearing his thoughts, shot him a look, though Shen Yuan kept his head low and horns aimed. However, the look was quick, and he instead turned toward the demons, flicking his sword out to the side.

If anything, considering how close they were standing, it almost looked like Liu Qingge was protecting him alongside the disciples! Nice pose, nice pose!

On the other side, Sha Hualing grimaced, immediately acknowledging there was no way to succeed. It was one thing if they were only facing Shen Qingqiu, but the War God of Bai Zhan Peak would've likely been reason to flee by himself. Facing them both would be suicide.

“Everyone, today was my miscalculation. There will be time for goodbyes in the future! Let’s go!”

Liu Qingge laughed then, cold and humorless.

“Coming and going as you please. What big face you have."

From there, it was a bloodbath not too unlike the one Shen Yuan took. Sword energy rained down from the sky, killing demons like flies as they tried to flee. The disciples of other peaks also jumped into the fray, killing the ones lagging behind as Sha Hualing led them off the mountain as quickly as she could.

The mood brightened immediately, though there were still several injured cultivators, and perhaps a few dead that they had yet to learn about.

Not having to put his guard up, Shen Yuan huffed, raising his head. He managed not to stumble when familiar arms wrapped around his neck, face burying into his wool.

'Aiyah, Binghe, you're going to lose face.'

But, of course, his sticky lamb didn't care, continuing to hug him until he calmed down. Shen Yuan felt his wool get wet there, knowing the boy was crying. Ah, what active tear ducts he has! He's young and needs guidance, of course.

Speaking of which...

With everything calming down, Luo Binghe stood and wiped his face just as Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge turned their attention toward them.

Hahh... Shen Yuan knew the risk he was taking, revealing himself to a peak lord. Now, revealed to two of them? There was no running back to Qing Jing Peak now.

"What is this."

Luo Binghe turned toward the Bai Zhan Peak Lord, already bristling at the tone with which he referred to his teacher.

"He is Shizun." Said Shizun shifted on his hooves, nudging Luo Binghe pointedly. "...answering Liu-shishu."

"Shizun, you say," Shen Qingqiu hummed, eyes narrowed behind his cracked fan. "It seems you lack an understanding of respect, Luo Binghe. I don't recall this animal feeding, clothing, or educating you."

Shen Yuan worried for a moment at the feeling of anger he felt flash from Luo Binghe. However, he managed to temper his commentary.

"Begging your forgiveness, Shen-shifu."

...

Shen Yuan closed his eyes and lit a candle for himself in his heart. He was definitely going to get slaughtered.

---

Proclaiming that he was a potentially dangerous spiritual beast, Shen Qingqiu had Shen Yuan bound in a halter. Upon finding the old, fading tattoo marking him as a sheep from Xin Ya, he waited alongside the disciples he had hold onto him for the other peak lords to return, presumably to ensure he went back accordingly.

Of course, Luo Binghe protested the entire time. Though he had been ordered to return with several other disciples to Qing Jing Peak, he suddenly popped right back up when Yue Qingyuan and the others returned. He begged for Shen Yuan's life to be spared, citing how he had killed a demon that tried to kill him and also knew how to speak, though only Binghe could understand him. Shen Qingqiu scoffed at the idea, but otherwise said little to refute his claims.

The other peak lords seemed to look at Binghe with some pity over his mental state until it was confirmed he had, indeed, dealt the final blow on a demon—a strong one at that. If he'd done that, he likely had to have some cultivation, though a speaking beast was, as of that time, generally unheard of.

Strangely, Liu Qingge was the one to assert that the peak lords should decide what to do with the ram in a meeting rather than simply return him to Xin Ya and end it there. Xin Ya's Peak Lord seemed put off by this, considering Shen Yuan clearly had a tattoo from his peak and was, therefore, his property. Binghe quickly stepped in and begged the peak lord's pardon to discuss more about the sheep, who stood quietly with a bloodied face that the disciples holding him were still quite wary of.

Although seemingly miffed about it, even Shen Qingqiu agreed that a discussion was in order. Yue Qingyuan, having a notorious soft spot for his second-in-command, agreed to wait.

That was how Shen Yuan found himself back in a stable—different from the one he was born and raised in, but a stable nonetheless. Due to concerns about his potential spiritual acuity, protective wards were put around his area, ensuring he at least wouldn't be able to escape unnoticed, if he was strong enough to break through at all.

His pen was set up apart from the rest, so he at least was alone. Still, he could hear the bleating and calls of the other sheep nearby.

...Excuse me, sisters, but this Shen Yuan is not all that handsome or available. Sorry, but I can't see you as attractive! For some reason, it feels like bestiality despite us being the same species!

Having his face cleaned by Xin Ya disciples, he was now decent, sitting loafed on a bed of hay. The stable was clean, but it didn't smell the same as the bamboo groves and forests of Qing Jing, nor did it smell of the shavings and sap of the woodshed where he and Binghe slept. So, although he tried to rest, Shen Yuan found that he couldn't.

So, he decided to try meditating instead.

As he did, sitting quietly, he heard the light footsteps of Xin Ya disciples approach.

"...Is that the one?"

"Yes, the one that escaped to Qing Jing Peak."

Ah, is this one of those petting zoo situations? I'm not in the mood to be touched, thank you. I'm thinking about how to bust myself out of here and you're distracting me.

"Pssst...Sheng Huan. Sheng Huan."

Close, but that's not my name.

"Are you sure that's the same one?"

"I'm positive. Shifu saw the old tattoo on him, though it's faded off a lot."

"Faded? They aren't supposed to fade."

"Yeah, that was weird. Still, it's on that sheep. That's Sheng Huan."

"It's not answering you, though."

I'm not asleep. I just don't want to talk right now. And save for, like, one person, you keep calling me an 'it'! I'm a 'he', thank you!

"It got huge... It's bigger than the other males by quite a bit."

"Do you think what the Qing Jing disciples said was true? That it can use qi?"

"I mean, it did kill that big demon..."

Getting a bit frustrated by them talking about him like he wasn't there, Shen Yuan opened his eyes. Giving anyone the side-eye was a tad difficult as a sheep, considering his eye placement, so he turned his face toward them. His qi meant he didn't have the blind spot in front that his less spiritually inclined counterparts had, so he was able to watch as the three Xin Ya disciples gazed at him and started becoming unsettled.

"It's looking at us..."

"...Let's go."

Two of the children began going away, but one stayed a while longer. A female disciple stared at him in mild awe. She was more homely in a world with Luo Binghes and Liu Qingges, with wide brown eyes and a slight gap in her two front teeth, her hair pulled into two plaited braids.

"...It really is you, Sheng Huan," she said, smiling, her eyes bright. "I know it is. You look at me the same way he did."

She rested her arms on the gate before pointing at herself.

"Do you remember me? I used to bottle feed you all the time. You used to waggle your tail so much when you drank, hehehe..."

Shen Yuan had quite good memory. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more her face became familiar. However, he wasn't about to acknowledge his embarrassing past! He was just trying to suck up to her to get fed! He was a grown ram, now, why would she remind him of something so silly?

"You grew up so beautiful," she sighed, resting her head on her arms. "I hope all the animals I raise in the future get to look as pretty as you."

She stared at him for a while as he gazed back. Eventually, Shen Yuan turned away and closed his eyes again, shifting to loaf more comfortably. Unlike the others, her presence wasn't much of a bother.

"...I hope they let you live, Sheng Huan. Even if you aren't on Xin Ya anymore, I hope you live, and live well."

They sat in silence for a while longer before she moved, getting up and leaving the stable.

Well...being raised partially by her hadn't been so bad. She made sure the milk was sufficiently warm for each feeding, and she cleaned up his enclosure, mindful of his strange fastidiousness. After all, what kind of lamb complained over his bedding not being just right?

Although she was taught to not grow too attached to the animals, he remembered her being scolded for naming them quite often. Sheng Huan...now that he thought about it, yes. He remembered being given such a name. It wasn't his, but it was a name.

The effort she'd put into his care was more than he could've asked for as a prey animal, farmed for slaughter.

'...Thank you,' he thought, addressing her in his heart.

Because he was facing away, he didn't notice that she turned around suddenly, eyes wide with shock. He didn't see the way her gaze lit up with glee.

That night, Xin Ya disciple Cai Niu slipped away from her peak, going to find Luo Binghe, the boy who her Sheng Huan protected.

-----

Note: 蔡妞 - Cài Niū - Surname Cai + girl

Picrew Images of Cai Niu

My thanks to @maetheellen for making the Picrew I used

Many thanks to @reelrollsweat for making the Picrew