#congregation chatter

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

I love learning ASL it’s so good. Makes me happy to learn it. I’m so glad my university has classes for it with professors actually steeped in Deaf culture.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

HORNY PRIEST JOHN PRICE

breeding kink, sacrilege (?)

john joined the church after leaving the military, though he never spoke much about what led him there. some men left war and found peace in quiet towns, in family, in distance. john, meanwhile, found himself in the shadow of the cross, searching for something he couldn't name.

he knelt, prayed, studied scripture— not because he'd had a sudden divine vision, but because he’d needed something to tether himself to.

he's never been one to talk about faith in absolutes. the young priests, fresh out of seminary, speak with a certainty that makes him envious. they talk of god’s mercy like it’s a thing they’ve held in their hands, like they’ve never doubted it for a second.

john doesn’t have that luxury. his hands have held a rifle, pressed down on wounds, ended lives.

what right does he have to stand in the confessional and tell a man his sins are forgiven when his own are still heavy in his chest?

he doesn’t let it show. not when he stands before his congregation, not when he delivers the homily, and not even when he listens to the confessions of those who kneel before him.

the words come easy. “god is love. god is mercy.” he says them with the confidence of a man who believes them. perhaps if he says them enough, one day it'll drive home.

he's decently well-respected in his parish. john speaks in measured tones, and listens with the kind of patience that makes people trust him. he’s rarely if ever unkind, never raising his voice even when the children at sunday school test his patience or when the older priests debate doctrine with a stubbornness he doesn’t bother entertaining.

the congregation admires him for it.

he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pocket, fingers brushing over the beads when he’s deep in thought. it’s an old habit, one he never lost even when he stopped saying the prayers as often as he should. late at night, when he can’t sleep, he walks the empty church, the only light coming from the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.

he runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the pews, listens to the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots, and exhales smoke into the dim air. it feels like a kind of penance, staying here long after everyone else has gone, keeping watch over something he’s still not sure he belongs to.

the first time you meet, it’s in the courtyard after sunday mass.

you’re new to the church. new to the neighborhood. moved in just a month ago, so he’s heard. he hadn't taken much notice at first— he rarely does. parishioners come and go, faces blending into one another over time.

but then he sees you. all wide eyes and bright smiles, the late-morning sun catching the warmth in your hair, laugh spilling out like a song. you shake hands with mrs. calloway, nod attentively as she chatters on about her garden, and there’s something about the way you tilt your head, the way your lips part in quiet amusement, that makes something ugly and raw twist in his gut.

john shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking.

and yet.

you catch sight of him, and your smile brightens, something open and eager in your face as you step forward. “father price.”

your voice is softer than he expects. sweeter. a fact not good for his health.

he nods. “you’ve settled in well, i see.”

“i have. everyone’s been so kind.” your hands clasp in front of you, fingers tangling. “i wanted to introduce myself properly. i should have done it sooner, but-” you shake your head, sheepish. “i guess i was nervous.”

nervous? of who— him?

he watches the way you glance down, the way your teeth catch the plump of your lower lip, the slight shift of your weight from foot to foot, and something slow and molten pools in his stomach.

and then, unbidden—

i want to fuck her mouth.

the thought slams into him. his fingers curl, blunt nails pressing into his palm. john's throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck, shame dragging its claws down his spine.

he schools his expression, keeps his voice level. “there’s nothing to be nervous about.” a beat. his gaze lingers on your lips a second too long. “i hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

your eyes meets his then. for a moment, he swears you see it. the crack in his composure, the way his restraint stretches thin around you like fraying rope.

but then you just smile again— so fucking gentle— and bid him a polite goodbye before slipping back into the crowd.

he exhales, tries to control his breathing, before turning on his heel and heading inside.

it doesn’t get better after that.

oh no. in fact, it only gets worse.

because you linger. you stay. you join the congregation, sit near the front every sunday, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lips parted slightly in quiet reverence as you listen to the sermon. you bite your lip when you concentrate, tuck your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, shift in your seat just enough to make his mind wander places it has absolutely no right to go.

and it haunts him.

creeps into his thoughts when he thinks he's already run far away from it. slips into his head when he least expects it. a slow, insidious thing, winding around his ribs, sinking its teeth into the softest parts of him.

john finds himself getting lost in his imaginations more and more as the weeks pass by. it starts with something simple. something small.

you, in his kitchen.

the space is yours as much as it is his now— he hardly steps foot in it unless you usher him in, your hands on his arms, guiding him to sit, to rest. the scent of warm bread and roasted meat fills the house, seeping into the wooden beams, the stone walls. the windows are cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying with it the scent of the fields, the distant bells of the church.

you hum as you work, a quiet little tune under your breath, flour dusting your fingers, smudging along the curve of your cheek. you’re barefoot, the hem of your dress skimming your ankles, your apron tied neatly at the back. domestic. wifely. His.

"you’re spoiling me, love."

you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him where he sits at the table, his elbows braced against the wood, his chin resting on his hand. john hasn’t even touched the sermon notes laid out before him, hasn’t even opened the book he’d planned to read. no, his attention has been on you— watching you move, watching the light catch on your hair, watching the way you fit so perfectly in his home.

"you work too hard," you murmur, turning back to the stove. "someone has to take care of you."

the words sink into him, low and warm, wrapping around something deep in his chest.

you do take care of him.

you set a plate before him, still warm from your hands, and press a kiss to the top of his head, your lips soft against his hair.

you fold his robes neatly after they’ve dried in the sun, pressing your hands over the fabric like a prayer. you pluck a stray thread from his collar before mass, your fingers deft and careful, your brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

you brush his hair back from his forehead when he sits too long at his desk, rubbing slow circles at his temple, your fingers easing away the weight of his work.

and in the evenings, after the dishes have been washed and the fire burns low, you climb into his lap with a soft sigh, tucking yourself against his chest.

"long day?" you ask, your fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt.

"mm." john presses a kiss to your hair, lets his hands settle at your waist, palms warm through the thin fabric of your nightdress. "better now."

and it is better, with you here, with your warmth seeping into his, your breath brushing his throat.

he wants all of it. the soft, easy domesticity. the routine of waking to you curled beside him, of pressing sleepy kisses to your bare shoulder before dragging himself out of bed. of watching you move through his home with the comfort of a woman who belongs there.

and, god help him—

john wants to fuck you too.

until you leaked him, until his seed dripped down your thighs, making a mess of soft, perfect skin. wants to bend you over his desk, press your face into the worn wood, break you open on his cock until you sobbed for him, begged him to fill you. he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

he wants to whisper filth into your ear, his breath hot— gonna fill you up, love. gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days. you want that, don’t you? want me to breed you like the needy little thing you are?

he wants to press his fingers into your mouth, make you suck them clean before shoving them between your legs, fucking them into the soft clutch of your pussy until you cried for him.

and when he finally sinks his swollen cock inside you— he’d make you feel it.

john wants to fuck you raw, grind his hips against yours, keep you pinned beneath his weight, stuffed full of his cock. he’d press a hand to your belly, feel himself inside you, make you watch as you take a cock too big for you.

and when he’d spill inside you he wouldn't stop. oh no— he’d fuck it deeper, press his fingers to your swollen clit, make you come with him, make your body take every last drop of his seed.

because he wouldn't just fill you. he’d breed you. over and over, until you couldn't keep yourself up, too boneless to thrust back into him, too full to take any more.

but he was a man of god.

and men of god did not shove their sweet, willing parishioners over their desks, did not drag their teeth down soft skin, did not slap needy little cunts until they were wet and dripping.

they did not fuck desperate little things in church pews, in quiet confessionals, did not fist their hands in soft hair and shove pretty mouths onto their cocks, did not whisper filth between gasped-out prayers.

they did not spend their nights with their heads buried between trembling thighs, devouring the taste of sin, holding squirming bodies still as they licked deep, sucked hard, forced sweet, innocent things to come against their tongues.

they did not rut into them like beasts, gripping soft wrists, pinning them down, owning them with every brutal thrust. they did not press their hands to swollen bellies, fill their women over and over until their bodies were wrecked, too full of come to take another drop.

men of god did not fuck.

but god forgive him, he would.

all those thoughts come to this moment, this night—

john finds himself alone under the dim glow of candlelight, sitting on the pews, head tilted to the cross.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, like penance for the filth curdling in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks, far too loud in the sacred silence, but he doesn’t stop.

can’t.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale feels like it scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, as though the very air is punishing him for the thoughts festering in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks softly in the quiet, a sound far too loud in the sanctity of this space.

the leather gives way, and his cassock feels suffocating now, the fabric too heavy against skin flushed with heat. his fingers slip lower, dragging the waistband of his pants down his hips with shaky, desperate movements until he’s free— finally free— from the painful confines of his underwear.

his cock springs forward, already hard in his hand, flushed dark at the tip, the skin tight and aching. a bead of precum glistens there, catching in the flicker of candlelight like something obscene in the house of god. he wraps his hand around the base, his grip firm but not enough to ease the pressure coiled in his gut. the heat of his palm sends a shudder rolling down his spine, breath hitching as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the slick wetness down the length.

his cock is long, veins pulsing along the shaft, the kind of thick that demands attention. his foreskin still covers the swollen head, slick with the evidence of his own arousal, precum smearing against the soft skin of his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth as he wraps his hand around the base, fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the steady throb of blood pulsing beneath his grip.

his balls hang full and tight, pulled close with need, the skin sensitive to the faintest brush of fabric. every movement is torment, the soft rub of his cassock against his bare thighs sending a shudder through him, making his hips jerk forward, seeking relief.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his foreskin back to expose the flushed, leaking head, then rolling it forward again, savoring the sensitivity. his thumb swipes through the slick wetness pooling at the tip, smearing it down the length, adding just enough glide to make his fist slip easier over his cock.

his grip tightens, dragging the pleasure out like a prayer he’s too ashamed to speak aloud. the church is silent around him, the air thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, but all he can think about is you.

on your knees before him.

john sees it so clearly, feels it like it’s already happened. the way you’d sink down, your eyes looking up at him through thick lashes, expectant. your soft lips parted just enough for your tongue to wet them before stretching around his cock. the thought makes his stomach clench, his fingers twitching as he strokes himself tighter, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head before he pulls it back again.

you wouldn’t be able to take all of him at once. he knows that much. He’s too thick, too long— your jaw would ache just trying, your tongue pressing firm against the heavy weight of him, struggling to make space. the first inch would be easy, maybe even the second. but when he pushes deeper, when his tip nudges the back of your throat and you gag, just a little, he knows he’d lose whatever control he has left.

he swears he can see it— your fingers curling against his thighs, the little choked noise you’d make when he holds you there, when his cock throbs against your tongue. your throat would flutter, swallowing around him, trying to adjust to the stretch. and oh, god, the way your lips would look wrapped around him, swollen with abuse and slick with spit and precum. john nearly loses himself at the image alone.

his hips jerk forward into his own grip, chasing the fantasy, breath coming through the vaulted ceilings of the church. he’d guide you through it, hand buried in your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes. gentle, at first. Letting you set the pace. But then when you get too comfortable, when you start to tease, pulling back just to trail soft kisses along his length— he’d snap.

he’d pull you down, bury himself deep in the hot sleeve of your mouth until your throat clenched around him and you whimpered against his balls. his other hand would cup your jaw, feeling the bulge of himself pressing against your cheek, watching as tears bead at the corners of your eyes, shuddering from the effort of taking him.

he wonders if you’d try to pull away, fingers gripping his thighs in a silent plea. would you struggle? would you whine? would you let him break you like this?

john groans, his grip tightening almost painfully. he pumps himself faster now, the obscene slap of skin against skin filling the empty church. his balls are drawn tight, aching with the need to spill, and in his mind, he’s not coming into his own palm.

he’s coming down your throat.

you’d swallow, wouldn’t you? just for him. he can see it— his cum thick on your tongue, your lips parting to show him before you close your mouth and swallow it down. maybe a little would escape, dripping down your chin, and he’d swipe his thumb through it, pressing it back to your lips.

“messy thing,” he’d murmur. “but you took it so well.”

the thought sends him over the edge.

his hips stutter, cock jerking in his grip as his orgasm crashes over him, hot and sudden. cum spills over his knuckles, , dripping onto the cold stone beneath him. his breath comes in harsh, broken gasps, his thighs trembling as he rides out the aftershocks, his vision hazy with the force of his release.

and when it’s over— when he finally stills, his body spent, his mind heavy with guilt— he drags his gaze upward.

The cross looms above him, watching.

if this is damnation, he’ll sin again.

[entelodante]

Wyrms come in a lot of different flavors in Abattoir land, so we're starting with the Sweep variety! More info found BELOW!

Containing some of the largest species of Wyrms, Sweeps are distinguished by their mouth placed ventrally on the proboscis, needle-like teeth, all 8 limbs used for locomotion, and a swollen hind gut. Sweeps are typically some of the most hardy Wyrms in the wastes, able to continue to move at all temperatures. They thrive at a range of about -100 to -160 degrees Fahrenheit, but are unbothered up and to around freezing point. They ARE more vulnerable to the scalding rain more typical to the Southern areas of their range. If they get to hot they swell up and can burst, so they typically try to stay Northernly! Honestly the best weather prediction you can find nowadays is these guys stuffing themselves full of ice and snow before a storm rolls in.

But! We've got a varied bunch here so lets get into the SPECIFICS of these Annelids! I've got a small sample just to show off some of the basic types you'll encounter.

Sleek Wanderer These guys are found in the remnants of the great plains, which are now vasts expanses of snow and ice. Sleeks are primed to spend their lives enduring the biting winds of their home as they snuffle their way through the ground cover. They move especially slowly, often a single step for every sweep of their mouth! Being in such a barren home, they don't really worry about too much going on around them. Assuming you don't bother them too much you can touch them or even ride one and it wont pay you any mind. The only time they get a little aggressive is when brooding, then they may try to strike. Though it isn't anything you could not leisurely side step.

Whistle The noisiest of the bunch, these guys are known for the iconic whistling noise they make during the uh.. digestion process. They live in warmer areas and eat a lot of plant matter so they tend to have a more swollen gut. On the smaller side of things though! And a LOT quicker than other sweeps, they WILL turn and slash you if you startle them. Still not fast enough to meaningfully chase a human, but they got some reach on em! They typically run into humans a bit more as they also like to congregate around the exteriors of Abattoirs to eat the plants that grow there.

Grimacing Chatter The most BEAUTIFUL of the sweeps, these guys like to curl up their 'lips' and expose their teeth down to the roots. Their teeth are mobile as well, used to shift through the snow and dirt for food. The sound of these teeth clattering against each other is a signature of these big beasties. Probably for the best as these fellas are EXTREMELY aggressive! They are the Southern most variety of sweep, dealing with a wide range of predators by flailing their head towards any perceived threat. If you get caught in their maw they WILL start to chow down on you, never a missed meal with these guys!

Eastward A sweep that enjoys the spoils of a sanguine Atlantic! Eastwards are so named because they are usually always facing that direction, nibbling at the snow and ice to feed on any blood that blows in on the breeze. They begin their lives spawned by the blood sea and will spend the first half of their lives walking away from the ocean. The second half of their life is spent walking back towards it! Once their they are back at the shore, they are able to withstand the heat drifting up from the sea by sweating profusely. They keep most of their body on the frozen shore, reaching into the warmth with their big ass mouth. After a life of walking, they will gorge themselves on blood until they breed, after which they promptly die. Nature is beautiful even now!

Swingsnap While Wyrms have no eyes and therefore don't really have a concept of light, the fact that humans and their derived forms still mainly rely on sight has greatly influenced the Swingsnap. Their dark coloration is perfect for blending in with the eternal night of the wasteland! They possess a highly sensitive sense of smell/taste to track down the remnants of humanity. Once they come upon their quarry, they are quickly able to coil their toothy maw around them, stabbing into them with many hundreds of teeth. Their prey is 'chewed' by the constant coiling and shifting of the mouth, drunk down bit by bit. After a week or so of gnawing, they will drop the remaining pile of gristle and begin the hunt once more.

That's the gist for these fellas! Typically these are the chillest of all Wyrms, both literally and in the attitude sense! Most of the time you'll run into these guys just in the middle of nowhere. Stand still and they'll most likely just pass you by.

That being said all varieties can still bite!

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I’m your god

cw: religious imagery, questioning of God, sex in church bathroom, p in v, you call church bullshit, a lot of cussing…

a/n: my kickstart to angel!reader !

You didn’t believe in God.

Not really, anyway. It was merely a facade you crafted for your parents, a delicate mask worn to maintain their “precious reputation.” This was the belief system was instilled and drilled into your head from a young age, a doctrine you were taught to never question. At the age of eight, a flicker of doubt ignited within you, yet you chose to play the part of your parents’ “darling little girl”, continuing the charade.

Inside your twisted little head, Rafe was your God. And you were his little angel. His servant. His devotee. His. Only his.

As you stepped into the church, the scent of polished wood and old hymnals enveloped you. You plastered on a wide, false smile while you held the oak door open with an exaggerated flourish for the congregation streaming in.

The warm chatter of familiar faces filled the air. The pastor, had asked you personally, recognizing your family's long-standing bond with the church, to do this job. Hold open the doors and greet the people coming in, hand them flyers, it was easy enough.

Your parents, with their insistent nudges and pointed looks, had driven you to take on this role, leaving you feeling like a puppet on a string. So, you resigned yourself to the expectation, reminding yourself to embody the good girl everyone admired—even if the smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your smile faltered when you caught notice of him. The last person you expected Rafe Cameron was in a church. He smiled at you, you smiling back.

“Hey, sweetie!” Ward greeted you, stepping aside to wrap his arms around you. Rafe also stepped aside, his hands in his pockets as he watched you hug his father.

“Hey, Mr. Cameron!” You spoke, offering a smile to your boyfriend who was behind Ward. He pulled away, you giving Rafe a hug next, before giving him a small, seemingly innocent and cute kiss on his cheek.

You and Rafe locked eyes for a moment, before Ward interrupted.

“Why don’t you go on ahead, Rafe?” Ward spoke, waving his hand. Rafe’s smile fell, nodding along, before walking away to the rest of his family.

“You know, I really feel the need to express my gratitude to you,” he said. “I think you’re truly making a difference in his life. He actually asked to join us for church this morning,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I mean, can you believe it? That hasn’t happened in years!” A broad smile spread across his face as he glanced at you, you nodding in agreement.

“God will do that to you.” You replied, and god, You were too good at this. He so fucking believed that. “I’m so glad, Mr. Cameron.” You smiled at him sweetly, him patting your shoulder before walking to the rest of his family.

As the service started, the air felt heavy with incense and the rhythmic cadence of the pastor’s voice drifted over the congregation.

Your gaze flickered to the side, where Rafe loomed in your vision. He stood in the shadows, his eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if you were a fragile deer caught in the predatory gaze of a wolf. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, while the rest of his family sat beside him, oblivious to the charged tension that crackled between the both of you.

Your gaze kept drifting back to him, that undeniable pull drawing your attention. Suddenly, a vibration from your phone in your lap broke your attention. You quickly shifted the device to your side, careful to shield it from your parents, and stole a glance at the screen. You looked at the message, excitement flowing through you at the words.

rafe ! 🫶

bathroom.

You cast one final glance at him, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest. As you rose from your chair, you gently smoothed the fabric of your dress, ensuring every wrinkle was gone before you stepped away. Leaning toward your parents, you whispered you were going to the bathroom. They merely waved you off, their expressions full of indifference.

You swung open the doors that led into the narrow hallway where the bathroom door was slightly ajar. You leaned against the cool wall, your heart racing as you waited for him. When you heard the door open, your eyes went to him, noting the way he darted his gaze around, taking in his surroundings and making sure no one else was around. Finally, he made his way toward you, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans.

You got on the tips of your toes to plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth moving against yours. He let out a quiet groan when you put your tongue into his mouth, his hands traveling your body. He put his hands on yours ass, gently patting it. You jumped up, him holding you as he walked backwards intro the bathroom, locking it behind him.

“Oh, fuck.” You breathed out, your back hitting the cold tile wall. His hands fiddled with his belt buckle, pulling it down and his pants pooled to the floor. He bunched your little white dress up, pulling your panties to the side.

“We gotta be quick, baby. My parents-“ you started, before he cut you off with a kiss.

“Your parents can suck my dick.” He retorted, “I don’t give a fuck.” He panted out, his lips ghosting yours as he pulled his hard cock out, putting it to your entrance. The both of you panted, your breath mingling together

“Oh shit,” you cried out when he slowly slid in, his mouth moving to your neck, letting out a low chuckle, his hot breath on your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, gliding his tongue and his teeth over your soft skin.

“Rafe.” You cried out when he continued to slide into your warm, velvety walls. He was so deep, yet half of him wasn’t even inside of you.

“I’m barely even in, angel.” He spoke mockingly, you could feel the grin he had on his face. He looked up, moving away from your neck.

“And you know you have to be quiet. Wouldn’t want your precious little parents to find you here, watching you get fucked by your ‘sweet, cute, little boyfriend.’”

You nodded, hiding your own face in his shoulder, wrapping your arms tighter around him. You looked almost like a koala hugging a tree branch.

He breathed out as he pulled out of you, before his hips bucked back into your warmth. You let out a cry, your hands bunching up the shirt he had on, tears falling onto it.

You could already hear your pastors voice ringing in your head. Don’t fall a victim to lust, but you couldn’t find yourself to care when Rafes hands were sliding down your thighs and his slender fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in circles.

“Oh god, oh my god.” you cried out.

“I’m your god, baby. Say it. Say I’m your god.” He spoke breathily.

“You’re-“ you were cut off by a particularly hard thrust.

“Say it.” He repeated.

“You’re my god!” You spoke while you came, hiding your face into his neck.

He grinned once again, his hips slowing for a moment, before he shot his seed into you, painting your walls. He groaned out, the both of you relishing in the after. You moved your legs from his waist, and stood up on wobbly legs.

He smoothed out your dress, pulling your panties to the side for you, collecting the mixes of both of you on his finger, before shoving his finger into your mouth.

You grabbed his wrist, letting out a moan on his digit as you swirled your tongue around it. He removed his finger from your mouth with a ‘pop’, and a sick smirk made its way onto his face.

“How’d you even keep me up for that long?” You asked with a giggle, wiping the remnants of the liquid from your lips.

He flexed his muscles with a smirk, you rolling your eyes and giggling at him. “It’s what I work out for.”

Your smile fell when you looked down at the Apple Watch on your wrist, grimacing now.

“What?”

“We’ve been gone for like 10 minutes, ray!”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “Who cares? Just say you got your period or some shit.”

“What about you?” You asked him with a pout, leaning closer into the mirror, fixing your makeup and hair, looking at him through the reflection.

“I’ll say I couldn’t help myself and was having sex with my super sexy girlfriend.” He replied, leaning against the wall, staring at you from the mirror.

“Rafe!” Your cheeks warmed up at his dirty words, him smiling.

He laughed, “Nah, nah, I’ll just say I ran into some old lady and helped her or something. I don’t know.”

You let out a soft sigh, amusement dancing across your features as you turned to face him. Your lips formed a small, sad pout as you gazed up into his eyes.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. As if sensing your reluctance, his hands found their way to your waist, drawing you in closer, enveloping you in his warmth. “Everything they say is bullshit, anyways,” you continued.

“Then don’t.” He replied, as if it was that easy.

“I have to.” You let out a weary sigh. You leaned in closer to the boy, pressing your lips softly against his in a gentle kiss that. As you pulled away, your fingers brushed the warmth of his skin before dropping to the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Well, I’m gonna go Toppers' party later, if you want to come.” he said casually. You turned to look at him, your expression curious as you met his gaze over your shoulder. "How about I swing by and pick you up?”

“Sounds good.” You beamed, him moving to your side to kiss you one more time.

“Love you, sweetheart.” He told you, patting your ass once more when you opened the door. You giggling and rolling your eyes at him.

“Love you too, ray. See you.” You blew him a kiss over your shoulder as you left, him smirking to himself, running a hand through his now messy hair, and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Damn.” He mumbled, pulling his collar down to look at the marks your lipstick had left from when you kissed his neck, smiling and shaking his head to himself as he pulled it up higher.

With every sinful act you committed, you dug a hole deeper and deeper into hell. You couldn’t find yourself to care, because Rafe was there right next to you, shovel in hand.

[oldsoul007]

Shadows of the Sacred

father charlie mayhewxdetective reader

Summary: what begins as a case for y/n takes a turn to something far more difficult for y/n to resist

disclaimer: I’m not catholic and no disrespect to the religion at all just been wanting to write about him and the show. This is just a work of fiction. (Loosely follows the plot) I jus write for fun so I’m not giving it my all, be nice ;) and enjoy

Warnings: making out, blasphemy?, forbidden love, sexual themes, not proofread

masterlist

There's an undeniable allure to a man who is off-limits.

The office was noisy with the recent murders going on. Some psychopath was killing people and putting them into religious meaning. We have no clue who could be doing something like this. Lois was currently talking to some nun that came in here. She has a very weird vibe from her considering she’s a nun. I think Lois thinks so too considering how she’s looking at her.

I feel like I’m going insane lately. Considering I haven’t been able to sleep after seeing those things. Even in my dreams I can’t escape them. You think no matter how many years you’ve been working like this you’d be used to these things by now. I sat at my desk, the hum of the precinct filling the air as i sifted through a mountain of paperwork. The phone rang incessantly, and the chatter of my colleagues created a constant background noise.

Just as I was about to take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee, my boss, Lois, burst into the room. "Y/n, I need you on this one," Lois said, urgency in her voice. “Im gonna need you to follow that nun and the priest she was talking about to see what you can get off her” she says pointing at the nun walking out of the building. “What, you thinking she has something to do with the murders?” “No, at least not alone but I just there’s something about her.”

So here I was walking into a chapel for Sunday mass. Sunlight seeping in through the stain glass. Church bells ringing in my ears. The smell of old wood. Somewhere I haven’t been since I was 16 years old. I sit in the back behind an elderly couple hoping to go unnoticed. I noticed the priest sitting in his chair tapping his hand along to the choir. He’s wearing these dark red boots along with his priest attire seeming very serious. He looked very young for a priest, and was very attractive.

The choir stops and a light beams down on him. He stood up and started speaking to the congregation. I watched as Nun Megan looked up at him amazed. I zoned out until it was over. I watch as everyone flows out of the chapel stopping to speak to the priest first of course. I stand up to leave when I see the nun running around the corner. I seem to zone out on her suspicious whereabouts when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. “Shit you scared me” I turn around and meet face to face with the priest. “Oh forgive me father I-“

“It’s quite alright we all have our vices” he smiles. “I noticed you while I was speaking, I’ve never seen you before what made you want to come to our church? The blog?” He asks eagerly. “Um…I don’t know what blog you’re talking about? But no, I’m catholic I’ve just been inactive for a while and thought I should reconnect with the church.” “Oh well welcome back, we’re glad to have you.” “Me too…I’m y/n” I say reaching out my hand. He puts my hand in between both of his hands holding it. “Father Charlie Mayhew.” He smiles.

I notice movement to the right of me seeing sister Megan watching us. I drop my hand from his and act like I don’t notice her. “Well I better get going I enjoyed your sermon” I say backing away from him after noticing how close I was standing to him. He looked over noticing sister Megan too. I decided to leave so I wouldn’t draw too much attention. “Nice boots” I say as I proceed to walk out of the chapel.

I feel someone run up next to me, looking over to see sister Megan. “So what made you decide to come to our church?” She asked curiously. “That seems to be the question of the day” I say blankly. “Well it’s just we don’t get many new people joining the church lately” she says trying to keep up with me. “I just decided to come back after a while” I say grabbing my door nob to my car. “Bye now” I pull out a cigarette and start to drive back to the station.

I’ve been to many masses but nothing seems out of the norm so I decided I should talk to the preist more. He’s so intriguing. It always felt like he was staring at me but I think it’s just me being paranoid. After the service I lingered a bit waiting for everyone to leave so it was just me and him, with me sitting and him up at the altar putting out the candles. Me seeming to go unnoticed by him I carefully stand up and walk over to him.

“Father Charlie?” He turns around noticing it’s me he softly smiles. “It’s nice seeing you again y/n” "well, I really enjoyed your sermon today," i began. "It gave me a lot to think about." "Thank you, y/n," he replied, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad it resonated with you."

I took a breath, feeling a bit nervous but determined. "I was wondering if you'd like to have lunch with me sometime. There's a diner nearby that I've heard great things about. It would be nice to get to know you better outside of the chapel."

Father Charlie's face lit up with a smile. "That sounds wonderful, y/n. I'd love to join you for lunch. How about tomorrow?" "Perfect," she said, relieved and happy. "I'll see you then."

The door jingled as it opened and I spot Father Charlie settled into the booth at the rundown diner, the aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon wafting through the air.

"Good afternoon, y/n," he greeted warmly as I approached the table. "I hope you don't mind, I went ahead and ordered some coffee."

"Oh Not at all, Father Charlie," i replied with a smile, sliding into the seat across from him. "Coffee sounds perfect."

He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me better, almost drawn to me. "So, y/n," he began, his eyes twinkling with curiosity, "tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "I work in public service," I said, which was true enough. "It's a challenging job, but I find it very rewarding."

Father Charlie nodded, listening to me. "That sounds like a noble profession. It's always heartening to meet people who are dedicated to helping others.” “You know the more I talk to you the more I feel like I’ve met you before” I muttered. “Well I get that a lot” he chuckled. “Wait no, you went to pine valley high, it’s funny you said you always wanted to be a doctor” “and you said you always wanted to be a detective” I shuttered as he says almost suspiciously. “I mean look where we ended up” I laugh trying to change the subject.

“I always admired you in high school” he says eating a fry. “Really? I mean I always tried to go unnoticed” “I have no idea what you’re talking about you seemed so confident” “I mean that’s what I showed everyone” “I understand.” He said seeming to sense my uneasiness.

“I was wondering if you knew anything about the murders happening around town.” Father Charlie eagerly changing the subject. "…it’s been so unsettling lately," I said, trying to seem confused. "These strange murders have everyone on edge. It's hard to believe something like this could happen in our small town."

Father Charlie nodded, his expression serious. "I know. The community is shaken. People are scared, and it's understandable. The randomness of the attacks makes it even more terrifying."

I took a sip of my coffee, my mind racing with thoughts of the recent events. "this... it's different. There's no clear pattern, no obvious motive. It's like the killer is playing a twisted game."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Do you think there's anything we can do to help find the killer? Maybe there's something we've overlooked."

He pondered my question, unaware of my true role in the investigation. "We can pray for guidance and protection, and we can keep our eyes and ears open. Sometimes the smallest details can make the biggest difference."

I felt a pang of guilt for not being able to confide in him fully, but i knew my cover was crucial to solving the case. "You're right, Father.“

Father Charlie placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You should read the blog, Sister Megan has an interesting way of talking about the whole case" Father Charlie leaned forward, his eyes filled with passion. “You seem to know a lot about these events.” “What can I say I like true crime.” I joke.

As our lunch arrived, we delved into deeper topics, sharing stories and perspectives. An unspoken connection seemed to grow between each other. We found themselves sharing more than just professional interests; we talked about our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. The more we shared, the more we realized how much they had in common.

“Well I have to go now but I’d love to talk to you more. So I was wondering if you’d come by the monastery later tonight?” Father Charlie asked. “Uh is that allowed Father?” “I say so, I’ll see you later then” he said as he left money for food and walked out the diner.

I arrived at the chapel later that day as the sun began to set. I walk in and it’s completely silent. I walk around the corner to find steps trying to find Father Charlie.

“In here y/n” I heard him shout. "You know I really admire the work you do here, Father Charlie," i said. "It's inspiring to see someone so dedicated to their faith and their community." "Thank you, y/n. Your dedication to public service is equally admirable. It's rare to meet someone with such a strong sense of duty and compassion."

As I reach what I’m assuming is his room. The door in opened ajar so I gently knock trying not to push the door. “Come in.” I head him say. I push open the door to see him leaning against the wall in only a towel. “Oh sorry is this a bad time I can come back later” I try not to look down. “no, please stay. Would you mind closing the door?” He bops his head. I push the door closed with my back against it trying to resist getting close for him. His hair was wet which made him even more attractive, he was so toned and large.

“So um why’d you want me to meet you, here?” “Maybe I just like seeing your angelic face” he smiles, creeping toward me. "Y/n," he began, his voice tinged with regret, "I feel a connection between us, and I know that you feel it too, But I also know that there are boundaries we must respect. My commitment to the church and to my faith is something I hold dear." I nodded, "I understand, Father Charlie. I feel the same way. It's just... difficult to ignore what we feel."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of our unspoken emotions hanging in the air. Finally, Father Charlie spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. "Perhaps, I’ve been wanting a change in the church for a while, I mean it’s a new world”

“Father Charlie I- “Charlie please” he cut me off. I nodded. “Would you mind drying my back” he says reaching out a towel to me. I walk slowly toward him, taking the towel. He kneels on this wooden step stool thing and I proceed to walk over so I’ll be behind him. I hesitate and notice his back full of scratches and stitches. “Fa-Charlie?” I say as I gently start swiping the towel on his back. “Yes y/n” “what happen to your back?” I feel his shudder as I ran my finger gently over one scar.

He slowly stands up so we’re face to face with him towering over me. “We all have our vices” he says in a whisper, grabbing my chin with his hand gently. His eye piercing through mine. I could almost hear my heartbeat against his. “I should go” he grips my arm as I try and walk toward the door. I grab his bicep gently like he’s gripping my arm. “This isn’t right Charlie” “I know but if it’s wrong why does it feel so good” he mutters as he backs me up against the wall. His lips lingering over mine, his bare chest against mine, his breath against mine. He runs his lips done my neck leaving open mouths kisses along my collar bone.

I grab his face to look back up at me. “Fuck it” he says under his breath. He grabs my face kissing me harshly. I could tell he hasn’t kiss someone in a long time. I could feel his tongue against mine and running over my teeth. “oh y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.” He said in between kissing me. I let out a soft moan against his mouth, and that sound seemed to do it. He grabs me and lays me down on the bed.

He starts kissing me going lower down my body. Hot open mouth kisses. He pushes my skirt up kissing my upper thighs slowly. Sending shivers down my spine. I brush my fingers through his hair throwing my head back at the feeling.

And then I came back to reality. I push his shoulders to keep distance from him. “Wait, stop we can’t.” I say pushing my skirt back down. “Why?” He says brushing my calf. “Why? Charlie you have no idea how badly I want to but you’re…you’re a priest you took a vow. It’s a sin” “you’re not a sin”

…..

a/n: part || coming soon…

[venus-haze]

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Note: Female (blink and you’ll miss it implied plus size) reader, but no other descriptors are used. This fic is so short because it’s pretty much PWP. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Dressing room sex, mirrors, breeding kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, implied baby trapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Chattering from the packed high school auditorium somehow seeped through the walls. The rural town that was the latest stop in Soldier Boy’s war bond drive had shown up en masse out of patriotism or sheer curiosity. Usually both. Electricity was always in the air before the show in small towns. Some of them didn’t even have movie theaters. 

You and the other dancers on the tour had set up camp in one of the bigger classrooms, using it to get ready in since it was near one of the bathrooms. Dresses, sequins, and makeup scattered about the room, making the place of learning look like a department store had exploded inside. You’d been helping another girl with the curlers in her hair until a masculine voice called out your name from the doorway.

“Soldier Boy wants to see you in his dressing room.”

You nodded, giving an apologetic look to your colleague, who waved you off. It wasn’t unusual for Soldier Boy to call on one of you to help him “warm up” before the shows. Lately, however, he’d almost exclusively been asking for you, to the detriment of your jaw. 

Grabbing a nearby tube of red lipstick, you hastily applied it in the illuminated mirror in front of you. The lipstick residue soon adorned a tissue that you discarded, and you used your fingertips to gently massage the muscles in your face in preparation for taking him again. You hoped you’d at least get to come this time.

A flyer had gotten you to this point, stark white with patriotic motifs, pinned to a board in the nightclub you had been working in prior to getting the gig. Uncle Sam declared, “Ladies, you can serve your country too!” You figured why not, there was a war on, and if you could do something to help, you might as well. 

Your qualifications led you to your local USO office, where you were handed a star-spangled outfit and joined a gaggle of other girls to be the supporting act on Soldier Boy’s war bonds tour across the country. At times, you felt silly, kicking and shimmying to audiences who were clearly only putting up with the opener just to catch a glimpse at the world’s first superhero. A man larger than life in every sense of the word, as you and your fellow dancers on the tour would learn.

Wandering the hallway, you checked each door for an indication of which commandeered classroom was his. Not one for subtlety, his dressing rooms always had ‘SOLDIER BOY’ printed in large letters, declaring his presence. You found the sign toward the end of the hall, giving a smile to the usual group of people who congregated around him, assistants and handlers to keep him on schedule.

You knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked when he opened the door. 

He smiled, putting his hand on your lower back as he ushered you inside. “Sure did, sweetheart.”

His dressing room always betrayed his vices—alcohol, drugs, porno mags. It didn’t faze you anymore, not like the first time he asked for you, a stuttering mess in his presence. Back then, you had to take a shot with him to settle your nerves enough to blow him without feeling too self-conscious. Now, it was routine. You moved to get on your knees, but he stopped you, to your confusion. 

Instead, he disarmed you with a passionate kiss that nearly knocked you over. You steadied yourself on his strong arms that had made their home near your hips. He squeezed them, pulling you closer so your body was flush against his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. 

You let him take the lead, he always did—strong, masculine, hard-working. Wasn’t America lucky its hero was easy on the eyes too? Except he had a temper, a mean streak that could go for miles. Not that you’d ever been on the receiving end of it. No, for all his faults, you seemed to get the best of Soldier Boy.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re—“ he paused, searching for the word he wanted to use, “special to me.”

You weren’t sure why he was laying it on so thick. It wasn’t your first rodeo with him. “Special?”

“‘Course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren’t,” he said. “I wanna try something different today, alright, doll?”

“Alright,” you agreed softly.

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Your body came alive at his praise, and you pressed your lips to his for another kiss. He guided your body backward until you bumped into the vanity. Parting his lips from yours, he turned you around, bending you over it so you were face to face with yourself in the mirror. 

You looked at him from the reflection, brows furrowed as you wondered what he was doing. 

He leaned down, voice husky in your ear as he growled, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed either side of the vanity in preparation, to his amusement. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck as he pushed up your shimmery skirt, exposing your red, satin panties, specially made to be on display. Soon, your panties were around your heeled feet, one of his hands reaching to play with your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts through your top.

“We look good together, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, intense gaze studying your reactions.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes open. 

He always wanted you to look at him. From your knees when you were sucking him off, when he’d be standing on the side of the stage during your act, in his hotel rooms when he couldn’t find local girls to fuck around with. This instance was different, though, able to really see him, and yourself. You didn’t find your glassy gaze or parted lips particularly flattering, but he couldn’t seem to get enough.

His fingers had already brought you close to climax, and you whined when he pulled them away from you for a moment to free his hard cock from his pants. You shuddered, feeling it on your skin before he guided it in your pussy. Your hands curled around the vanity you were bracing yourself on. You weren’t sure if you’d get used to how his cock seemed to split you apart every time.

One of his arms wrapped just below your chest to hold you up, as you struggled to support yourself when he started pounding into you. Your pussy was already wet and pliant for him, and you'd be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds if you weren't so focused on getting off when he had brought you so close to the edge already.

You were your own voyeur, your brain feeling like it was going to melt, watching yourself getting fucked by him. His superhuman strength always caught you off guard, from the first time he shocked you by lifting you above his head on stage for a roaring crowd to the way he could make your body feel—and look—like you were little more than a ragdoll. 

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted as he thrust into you, items falling from the vanity and onto the floor at the force he used to fuck you. “Want you up on that stage with my cum leaking out every time you kick up those legs—fuck—you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the vulgar image he conjured up. “Yours daddy.”

His voice was strained, words slurring together. He was close. “‘S right, baby. Keep fuckin’ you ‘till you make me one. You like takin’ daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

You had to force the short affirmation out of your mouth, pleasure’s chokehold creeping up on you. That wasn’t enough for him or his ego.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love taking—oh fuck—taking your dick, daddy.”

He came, hard and sloppy as your pussy milked his cock. You cried out, feeling so full it almost started to hurt. Something in you finally snapped, releasing the pain and pressure as you rode out your orgasm on his softening cock. Your arms gave out from under you so that it was just his strength holding you up. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to go back to having sex with men who weren’t well-endowed superheroes. Go back to faking it, you supposed.

Your throat was sore. You hadn’t paid attention to how loud you were being. Everyone outside the room must’ve known what was happening if they didn’t have an idea when you first showed up looking for him. 

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of you, and you could hear fabric rustling and the sound of his zipper again. You didn’t bother trying to stand up, still needing time to catch your breath. 

He used his fingers to swipe up some of his cum that had begun dripping out of you, causing you to gasp at the slight sensation of them brushing against your pussy. You whimpered when he pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, already aching from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you. 

“I—I can’t—“

‘I can’t get pregnant and ruin my career,’ you wanted to say, but all that came from your lips was a desperate, animalistic moan.

“I got you, baby,” Soldier Boy whispered, voice low and husky in your ear. “Give me one more so it sticks.”

You choked on air as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles in the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers pushed deeper, and your hips bucked at the overstimulation, your spent pussy reactively pulsing around his cum-slicked fingers that curled inside you.

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was a mess with her mascara stained cheeks and smeared lipstick. You were utterly unrecognizable as you came again, harder on his fingers this time, crying out as you gripped the edge of the vanity, threatening to break one of your manicured nails. 

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing kisses to your cheek, as you came down from your second orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs. “You alright?”

“I think so,” you breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, and you wondered how the hell you were going to be able to dance in less than half an hour. You’d have to reapply all of your makeup too.

He turned you around, looking at you with a brief fondness before kissing your lips, soft and quick. 

“I need to fix my face,” you breathed.

He smiled. “Why? You look great.” 

You laughed softly as he gave you space. You pulled up your panties from around your ankles, knowing his cum would stain them by the time you made it back to the dancers’ makeshift dressing room. Taking some of the tissues from the box on top of the vanity, you began wiping your ruined makeup from your face. He stared at you in silence from the spot he’d taken on the loveseat that’d been brought in for him.

“I think I’d be a good father. Better than my old man,” he said finally.

You paused, looking at him from the mirror, giving him a sardonic smile. “I don’t see you as the settling down type.”

“Maybe I just need a woman worth coming home to.”

“Maybe,” you echoed.

“C’mere.”

You obliged, joining him on the loveseat. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. You let yourself bask in the intimacy.

“Things aren’t always gonna be like this,” he said. “Once the war’s over, what’re you gonna do? Go back to dancing in nightclubs?”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched, cheek twitching as he pulled his gaze from you. “I don’t want you doing this for anyone but me.”

This could have been any number of things, dancing, fucking, being at his beck and call. Knowing him, he meant all of it.

“Ben,” you said, grabbing his attention, “then you have to tell me what you do want.”

“I want you. I want the white picket fence, kids running around the yard with the dog,” he said, the intensity in his voice wrapping tendrils around your mind, pulling you into the world he was describing. “I want dinner to burn ‘cause I was busy putting another baby in you when I got home.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

A voice through the door startled you. “Soldier Boy, the mayor’s here to see you!” 

“Think about it,” Soldier Boy said, getting up from the loveseat to grab his helmet and shield. 

The door shut behind him, leaving you to agonize over the future he presented to you. Part of you wondered if you’d really have a choice.

[chaossturns]

𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 | 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

⋆⑅˚₊ — synopsis: you and the triplets visit Las Vegas for the weekend but when you guys go out to party, the tension rises between you and matt

⋆⑅˚₊ — pairing: dom!matt x poc!reader

⋆⑅˚₊ — warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, backshots, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap up tf), oral (fem!receiving), slight choking, use of pet names, spanking, and overstimulation

a/n: the smut was a bit rushed only bc this intro was long as fuck , but this fic has me going insane. also come here to join the taglist !!

⋆⑅˚₊ — word count: 2.4k (longest one yet)

not proofread

Warm summer air drifted around your body, goosebumps jumping across your skin as the wind blew. Chattering bouncing off the building walls, echoing out into the air.

“How much longer do we have to wait?” Chris whines, becoming impatient with the line of people waiting to enter the club. “Dude, shut up we don’t have long.” Matt says, rolling his eyes at Chris’s behavior.

It was currently 10:30 pm, the heat was absolutely excessive at this time of night. You had gotten invited by Matt to go on this quick trip, but he practically had to beg you to come.

𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊

 “C'mon please.” He said, putting his hand in a praying position. “We’ll have fun. Nick will be there which means you won’t be as bored.” He continued. Matt had a point, but you still weren’t budging.

“Matt, are you serious right now?” You ask, a small laugh dropping for your lips. “I’m dead serious.” He says, looking down at you with a small pout on his face. “We can go out and do the things you want, just come with please.” He said one last time, hoping you will finally agree with his continuous begging.

You thought about it, the gears clicking in your head. But you don’t know why Matt wanted you to go so bad. “Okay fine Matt, I’ll go.” You say, making Matt smile ear to ear as those words left your lips. “You won’t regret it.” He says, walking back towards his room.

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

You were dressed in a dazzling, sparkly dress. The gems glistening underneath the shining lights upon the building, your heels doing the same. Matt was taking in the view of you, examining how your dress had a snug fit around your curves. He watched as you engaged in a conversation with Nick, your smile peaking out as he cracked a joke.

You feel eyes burning in the side of your face, turning your attention on Matt as his eyes effortlessly scaled your body. Your teeth nibble on your bottom lip as his eyesight fixes on you, causing him to drop his head and continue his chat with Chris.

“Girl, hello.” Nick says, waving his hand in front of your face. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment from being caught staring at your friend's brother. “Yeah, sorry I was jus–.” You start to say. “Mhm yeah I saw, you have to make a move before someone scoops him up.” Nick says. He knew you always found his brother utterly handsome, but you weren't sure if it was initially fine for the feelings to be up in the air.

After Nick finishes his sentence, you’re next up in line. The security does the normal ID check and lets you pass. The sound of Lil Baby’s voice rang throughout the club like a bell, men and women’s bodies buzzing with energy. You feel Nick’s hand grasp onto your wrist, breaking you out of your trance.

“Let's go get a drink bitch!” He yells, making sure you were able to hear him over the blaring music. He drags you to the bar, ordering four shots of vodka for the both of you. Nick downs his two in an instant, leading you to clutch the shot glasses and do the same. Your face scrunches up in disgust, reminding you how much you hated vodka.

As you and Nick were still congregated by the bar, the song “Throw Sum Mo” by Rae Sremmurd ft. Nicki Minaj & Young Thug began to play. You squeal, wrapping your hand around Nick's bicep and hauling him towards the dance floor.

Ass fat (uh, bust it), yeah I know, you just got cash (mm, bust it)

Blow sum mo’ (word), blow sum mo’ (bust it), blow sum mo’

The more you spend it, (yeah, bust it), the faster it go (yeah, go)

Bad bitches (bust it), on the floor (uh huh)

You and Nick are now in the middle of the floor, singing Nicki’s lyrics under as you point and look at Nick.

It’s rainin’ hundreds (bust it), throw sum mo’ (okay)

Throw sum mo’ (yeah, bust it), throw sum mo’ (word)

Throw sum mo’ (yeah), throw sum mo’

Nick now pulls out his phone, turning the flash on and recording you.

“HI, BYE HATER, I FLOOD THE CLUB WITH PAPER.” You yell, maintaining eye contact with the camera as you continue to rap along. “SHORTY GOT A ASS, SOME FOR NOW AND SOME FOR LATER.” You continue, turning your back towards the camera, and bending over while shaking your ass.

“YES,” He screams, “FUCK IT UP BITCH!” He says, playfully smacking your ass as it recoils. After a few more seconds you stand up straight, resuming your rapping with Nick. He comes closer to you, reaching in to ask you a question. “I’m going back to the bar, do you want anything to drink?” He says. “Yes please, can you get me a vodka lemonade?” You ask, your throat now needing a drink to replenish its dryness. He nods, marching his way to the lit up counter.

You stay where you are, slightly swaying your hips to the song as you wait for Nick. Pulling your phone you go to your camera, making sure your makeup is still intact. By the time you finish Nick comes up against you, passing you the cold drink. “Thank you babe!” You exclaim, giving him an air kiss. He smiles, persistently taking sips from his drink.

The music changes, Flo Milli’s voice filling the room as her song “Never Lose Me” plays.

Never had a bitch like me in your life

And you ain’t never had a bitch like me in your life, uh

Never had a bitch like me in your life

You ain’t never had a bitch like me in your life (yeah)

Nick’s arm extends up, holding your hand in his as you spin and drop down while shaking your ass. You come back up, singing along to the song as you feel a presence behind you. Without checking who it is, you begin to grind on the person's body. Nick, who was turned, faces you with his eyes immediately widening. This makes you toss your head up, getting a view on who was behind you.

The familiar face of Matt was staring down at you, a sly smirk resting on his lips. You try to move away from him, but his arms which are wrapped around your waist prohibit you from doing so. “Don’t stop ma, continue dancing.” He says, leaning down and placing a small kiss on your neck. Your grip on the cup becomes tight, becoming all flustered from being this close to Matt.

Your eyes flicker to Nick’s, confused on what to do in this situation. Nick see’s the unsure on your face, deciding to remove himself from the current predicament and leave you and Matt alone. Matt spins you around, placing your chin between his fingers as his thumb caresses the side of your cheek.

“You looked so good out there. It had me going absolutely crazy.” He says, the smell of alcohol present in his mouth. He grabs your cup and takes a plentiful amount from his mouth, using his pointer finger to open your mouth, and letting the liquor fall from his mouth into yours. You reluctantly swallow, prolonging your eye contact with Matt’s blue orbs that are swirling with lust and desire.

Your body became rather hot and bothered, not knowing if it was from the people surrounding you or the current tension between you and Matt. His lips find his way to yours, closing the gap between each other entirely. It was like the room went totally silent, his mouth smoothly mushed with yours, and moved in such passion. Your hand finds its way to his cheek, squeezing onto it for dear life. Matt’s tongue invades your mouth, dancing around with yours as you fight for dominance.

“We should take this to the room.” You say between kisses, the makeout session becoming to steamy for the public eye. Matt simply nods his head, calling an uber, and pulling you out the club to the outdoors.

As you waited Matt placed you in front of him, his fingers brushing your hip as he planted soft kisses along your bare shoulder. You shudder underneath his touch, your legs rubbing together to get some friction. Just before Matt spoke up, the uber had pulled up, and you immediately made your way to the car. Music quietly played in the background, the traffic not being too much of a hassle at this time of night. Matt’s hand crept between your thighs, fumbling with the lacey fabric of your panties. Your legs squeeze shut, arousal beginning to build up.

“Matt, cut it out.” You say into his ear, knowing the hotel is only a block from where you are. “I can’t mama, I need you so bad.” He says, his fingers itching closer to your clit. This time your hand meets his, removing it from below your dress. Luckily after you did this the uber park outside your hotel, leaving Matt to hastily get out and practically yank you out the car.

“Impatient are we?” You tease him, your heel clacking on the hotel lobby floors. While reaching the elevator Matt repeatedly presses the up button, the need of being inside you overtaking his mind. A bell dings, the doors to the elevator automatically opening. Matt steps in first and clicks the 16th floor button, the doors shutting shortly after. He turns to you, pinning your arms above your head as he attacks your plush lips.

He uses his free hand to grasp your thighs, wrapping them around his torso. The hardness of his dick is perfectly aligned with your heat, making you rub against him. A low moan leaves your mouth, Matt’s tongue clashing with yours. The sound of the bell occurs again, causing his grip on your arms to loosen and wrap them around his neck. He carries you to the room, earning a click from the door as the keycard connects.

When you enter the room a chilling air rushing over your body, making you shiver as Matt kicks the door shut. He plops you onto the bed, your boobs jumping from the sudden action. Matt gets down on his knees and pries your legs open, revealing the wetness soaked into your panties.

“Who made you this wet hm?” Matt asks, the feeling of his lips tracing kisses from your calf to your inner thighs. “You Matt.” You whimper out, his lips now pressing against your core. You feel his arms enclose around your pelvis, the warmth of his tongue swiping against your folds giving you a sense of relief. His mouth is working wonders upon you, the point of his nose grazing your sensitive bud.

The sound of your pussy being sucked and slurped bounced off the hotel room walls, your hand drifting down to Matt’s soft locs, clutching onto them with a harsh grip. A groan emits from his throat, your body feening for more as the vibrations flood every inch of your body. Constant whines drop from your lips, grinding your lower half onto Matt’s face.

“Oh fuck.” You say, releasing uneven breaths as Matt continues his tortuous licks. He drags his fingers down to your clit, his muscle entering your soaked hole. A drawn-out moan pours out of you, the pleasure from his fingers working on your clit and his tongue dipping in out of you driving you over the edge.

“M’close Matt.” a series of broken moans being put out into the air. “C’mon, give it to me baby.” He says, his words being slightly muffled due to how buried he is in your pussy. He drags a few more laps before your cum leaks onto his tongue. Matt licks up the rest of your juices before coming up, his hands reaching to undo your dress latched around your neck. Your boobs are now free, the cold air flowing in the air causing your nipples to become hard.

Matt stands up straight pulling his black tee over his head and unzipping the zip of his shorts, the material of the shorts rubbing together as they fall to the floor. His hard dick was protruding through his black boxers, aching to be released from their restraints.

“Face down, ass up for me mama.” He says in a sultry voice, watching as you comply with his request. You hear his feet shuffle behind you, the palm of his hand sending a strident slap to your ass. You yelp out, the stinging sensation piercing into your skin. Matt rubs the spot he slapped, trying to reduce the pain level.

You crane your neck to see Matt pump himself in his hand, sending you a slick smile before his tip reaches your entrance. He slips in easily, your slick making it effortless as he starts to plunge thoroughly. A pornographic moan leaves your throat, your fingers gripping onto the lush comforter beneath you. Matt was stretching you out in the most perfect way ever, your walls pulsating around his length.

Matt thrusts his hips into yours at a surreal pace, the hotel bed letting out quiet squeaks. Low moans could be heard from behind you, his fingernails digging into your skin.

“Fuck mama, you’re so tight.” Matt grunts, diving deeper into your drenched cunt. From this position he was reaching angles that seemed entirely impossible to get to. “you’re s-so deep.” you whimper out, the way his dick is brushing against your walls makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He quickens the speed of his strokes and puts one his legs on the bed, creating an ungodly pressure to form in your lower abdomen. “It’s too, mm, much Matt” your body slowly inching away from him. “Nope, take it.” He grits out, pulling your body closer as he trails his fingers down to toy with your clit.

“Shit Matt!” You exclaim, tears clouding your vision as Matt rubs you clit at an animalistic level. His name left your throat a thousand times, the pleasure becoming unbearable. He removes his fingers from your bud, attaching them to your neck, and gently presses them down on your neck.

An extraordinary amount of relief flushes over your body as you came, earning an ear piercing moan echoing through the air. Matt was still continuing his work inside you, the sensation becoming overwhelming.

You felt your insides suffocate his dick, feeling his dick twitch as his strokes come to stop. The warmth of Matt’s cum on your back spreads throughout your body, a moan following after. You fall on the bed, heavy breaths leaving your mouth.

“So, do you regret coming to Vegas, baby?” Matt asks, pressing a small smack to your ass as he retreats to the bathroom.

tags: @mattscoquette @mattslolita @luverboychris @l0ver-i @sturnsslut @bigbeefybitch @rileysturniolo @itsnotmariahh @summerssover @mattssluttygf @hoesformatt @sturniyolo69 @luvs4matt @immattsslut

[shyamanuensis]

Promises - Sebastian Sallow

Turns out; I needed a little fluff. Nothing special - just two dumb kids who make pinky promises to each other throughout their lives. No delectable descriptions, no heart-wrenching angst, just pure ramble written in an hour with no editing. Enjoy xo

Six.

“Sebastian; do you think Anne will like this?”

I hold up the crown I’ve weaved out of daisies and peonies we’ve collected on our playtime adventures this afternoon out in the far fields of Feldcroft. Our parents said to be home by dusk, which is nearing, but it is not yet dark enough for the two of us to find ourselves in trouble. He crosses his arms and shakes his head - commenting about how flower crowns are such a girly thing and I roll my eyes with the argument of “yeah - but Anne and I are girls.” He���s quick to shrug.

“I guess then, for girls - they’re alright.” His voice was laced with annoyance and… a hint of jealousy. I can’t help but giggle and push up off the ground; brushing the petals and dirt off my sundress.

“I made you one…” I skip over and push onto my toes to place the flower crown on his head. His hair is always so messy and he’s got dirt on his cheeks doubling the look of his freckles from climbing trees all day.

“T-t-thanks.” “Oh you’re welcome. Every prince needs a crown.”

Hearing our mothers call out to have us come home for dinner; I sigh and wonder if we’ll have time to play again tomorrow.

“Do you think we’ll be friends forever?”, I’m quick to ask with a raised brow and although he doesn’t answer at first, Sebastian smiles before taking my hand in his as we walk back to the cottages with a skip in our steps.

“Of course - why wouldn’t we be?”

“You promise?” “Pinky promise.”

Nine

“We all gather here today, to remember and celebrate the lives of Vincent and Rosemary Sallow…”

The church was filled to the brim with mourners paying respects. Whispers of ‘it’s just such a tragedy’ through to ‘and what about the children’, circle on repeat amongst the congregation throughout the service. Anne and Sebastian are in the front row, seated on either side of their uncle with two deep mahogany-coloured caskets mere feet away. Anne’s been an absolute wreck for days. She’s barely left her room; barely eaten, barely slept. Sebastian, on the other hand, I’m yet to see shed a tear. This changes though when the priest asks both twins if there are any words they’d like to share about their parents' lives. Happy memories. Loving words. I’d never seen Sebastian run away from something so quickly.

As the congregation of mourners watches him flee the church, I’m quick to follow irrespective of my mother's instructions to stay put. It’s been raining outside; the storm clouds in the skies mimicking just a hint of the chaos I see in his eyes when I approach.

“Seb?”

He doesn’t move or speak; yet a few rogue tears swim down his cheeks. Distraught isn’t even the right word to use. Broken perhaps? Lost? We stand in absolute silence for a moment until he murmurs out his realization of the situation. Of his reality.

“They’re never coming back…”

I’m not sure how I should answer; or say nothing at all so instead reach out to grab his hand and in doing so, get pulled into a hug. Tight. Needed. Whole.

“They’re never coming back and it’s all my fault.” “No one else is going to leave… I promise.” “Pinky promise.”

Eleven

“I can’t believe you’re both Slytherin’s.” “And you a Gryffindor…”

Green suits Anne and Sebastian oh so much - and red, well it’s growing on me. My mother said I’d enjoy the sorting ceremony and she wasn’t wrong; the whole night has been an absolute thrill. The chatter in the hall amongst the first years comes to a halt as Professor Weasley asks us to separate into our respective houses and follow a prefect to our new common rooms. I sigh a little; it's the first time we’ve been separated. 

“What’s wrong?”

I glance around as students begin to shuffle into groups and let my gaze drop, shifting from one twin to the other. Anne being as social as ever has already made small talk with a cute blond boy which I can’t help but chuckle at.

“It’s just you have Anne with you. I don’t know anyone…” “Hey, it’s alright - it’s just for tonight”, Sebastian reaches out and put his hands on my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before shaking me a little to get a smile. “I’ll meet you back at the hall for breakfast and we’ll walk together our first class.”

I nod. He has a point. It’s just for a night.

“You promise Sebastian?” I look down at our hands.

“I pinky promise.”

Fifteen

“But Seb, you don’t get it - I really, really liked him.”

My sniffles are short. Cries huffed. There’s enough tissue scattered across the bed to make it look as if it has started to magically snow indoors. After a very public, near humiliating break up in the Transfiguration courtyard involving my now ex-Leander Prewett, I’ve decided I’m never leaving my dorm room again.

“Have you at least eaten?”, Sebastian asks for what I’m convinced is the 17th time but I don’t bother answering coherently. Eating means either sneaking into the kitchens or heading to the Great Hall and both of those activities involve going into the public of the castle. I shake my head and reply back in sobs, eventually resting my head on Sebastian’s shoulder with a sigh. He doesn’t flinch.

“I’m not hungry.” “You can’t survive on air.” “I’ll just have jellybeans then.”

Sebastian sighs heavily enough for the both of us at my quip.

“Look, Prewett is an idiot. You deserve better. You’ll find better.” “You think?” I wipe my eyes dry before biting my lip. “I know.” “You promise?”

That sigh from before turns into a chuckle as Sebastian’s hand finds my own.

“Pinky promise.”

Eighteen

“Who’d have thought - the most troublesome student at Hogwarts would become head boy.”

I flick the badge pinned into Sebastian’s robes and watch the familiar blush of his cheeks flood them softly. They say unexpected things can happen in life and this - well this was definitely one of them.

“Do you still have so little faith in me?”, Sebastian asks with a smirk and I’m more than aware he already knows what my response will be so I just chuckle and shake my head softly.

“Guess this means no more adventures then Seb…” “Actually - the way I see it, this means more adventures, because I won’t get caught or scrutinised for them.” “Ooohhh, so you could cancel my detentions then?”

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms neatly across his chest.

“What’s it with you always getting into trouble?” “Well I’m friends with you aren’t i?”

Sebastian’s question is met with one of my own but our banter comes to an end when Samantha Dale, headgirl approaches and asks to speak with Sebastian about something important for a minute. I’m aware she’ll hold his attention for far longer than that and I’m impatient about waiting so I suggest we catch up in the library later to study.

“I’ll see you there later, I guess, if you’ll have time Mr Head Boy.” “Oh I’ll make time.” He replies as Samantha walks the two of them away. “You promise?”

Sebastian winks while looking back over his shoulder; his trademark smirk on display.

“Pinky promise.”

Twenty-Two

“It’s not like I’m permanently disappearing; I’m just moving to London.” “Yeah but Sebastian - that’s like an 8 hour train ride away…”

We both knew this time would come. I guess I just thought I could trick it into being delayed. Having both completed our respective studies and training, Sebastian secured an apprenticeship as an Unspeakable, I as a healer at a local hospital; I sipped quietly at my butterbeer and enjoyed the hum of chaos the background of the Three Broomsticks provided.

“Well, Samantha and I have brought an apartment down there and…” “You’ve brought an apartment?” My throat went dry.

“Yeah - it’s kind of what couples do.”

I nodded. Of course. Friendships blossomed into relationships that blossomed into commitments which blossomed into… buying apartments. Glancing down at my drink and hoping I’d turn small enough to perhaps fall in past the rim and sink, we were joined by Ominis who clearly couldn’t read the somewhat bitter tone that filled the air and asked if I’d seen the ring yet.

“A RING?”

Tearing my eyes away from Ominis and back to Sebastian, he scratched the back of his neck and pulled out a small black velvet box from his pocket that contained the most beautiful sapphire ring I’d ever laid eyes on. Princess cut with a white gold band which any girl would be screaming to have on their finger.

“Wow.. it - it's beautiful.” “You think Samantha will like it?”

I wanted to say that I’d love it - but bit my tongue; knowing better than to make such remarks.

“Well I definitely don’t think she’ll reject the proposal; let’s just say that.” “Really?” Sebastian’s eyes glistened; I wish mine had to.

“I promise.” “Pinky promise?”

Twenty-Five Always a bridesmaid, never the bride. Or in this case, the maid of honour. The Weasley-Onai union was nothing different. Who’d have thought the joker and the queen of responsibility would fall in love. Guess anything can happen if the universe decides to play its cards right. The couple were beautiful. A radiant glow of passion, devotion, and respect.

As for Sebastian - fuck. He suited up well as best man although I hated to admit it. While we’d smiled for photographs and been cordial with small talk when necessary with our roles; it ended there. Sort of.

‘You didn’t hear this from me’, Poppy had whispered just before the ceremony started, ‘But Garreth mentioned the reason Samantha’s not here today is because she and Seb broke things off. Shame really, they were a cute couple.’

That was all it seemed I needed to hear. Well that a drink a few glasses of champagne before confronting Sebastian behind the catering tent. The bicker which commenced with ‘We’re best friends - you’re meant to tell me what’s going on in your life’ ended with his lips on mine, dress pooled around my waist, him in between my thighs. A long time coming is what I think Sebastian called it but my mind was nowhere to be found.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” “But I want to.” “You sure?” “Sebastian - I promise.” “Ugh…” “Say it!” “...pinky promise…”

Thirty

“Kids, climb off your father; he’s just come in from work.”

Toddlers were hard work and I had; well three - Amelia Rose, James Vincent and Sebastian. Our usual evening ritual consisted of the kids attempting to help with dinner preparations, Sebastian coming home, the house being an absolute mess, screaming and chaos as they played hide and seek around the house, some kind of meal eaten - never together at the same time, bath, book, bottle, bed.

Crashing down against the pillows, my body ached although I was still able to get out a chuckle at the forever ridiculous way Sebastian would strip and toss his clothing throughout the bedroom.

“...you know I did tidy today.” “The house doesn’t look any different.” “You’re pushing it Sallow.” “What was that? Sallow - mhmm, funny; I didn’t realise you could use the name you don’t have yet as a taunt.”

My eyes narrowed. Sebastian smirked. I was unimpressed. He was just getting started.

“I’m going to bed.” “Aw, c’mon…” “Sebastian - I’ll make it up to you in the morning.” “You promise?”

It was the first time he’d ever asked. Half rolling over, I watch with tired eyes as he slips beneath the sheets and glances over, the boy I’d known from six years of age through to now still so endearing. Well… troublesome, yet charming. Reaching across the bed, I linked our fingers together and shut my eyes to rest.

“Yeah Sebastian - I pinky promise.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

This Isn't Over

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader (platonic?), Reader POV

Prompt: "You sold my car for magic beans?"/"Hold on, this guy was legit. He had a creepy cloak and everything."

Requested by: @waynes-multiverse

Tropes: Established friendship

Summary:  When Dean plays a prank on you, your only option is to retaliate, but maybe you took it too far. (This can be read as platonic or as a friends with benefits situation- whichever you want it to be 😊)

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Some cursing, Ridiculous Pranks, Friendship, Prank Gone Too Far? Reader and Dean being menaces to one another? Fluff? Reader is described as having hair long enough to put up in a bun.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

A/N: Second fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the lovely @waynes-multiverse ENJOY!

The beans in your pocket jingled merrily as you sat on the bench in the warm sunlight, soaking up the beams like a happy cat on a stoop while the small town of Belleville woke up.

There was a kiss of fall on the wind that played with the hair at the nape of your neck, winding through the strands and pulling them out of the messy bun at the back of your head. 

But it was a good day. 

You’d met Dean here yesterday, your paths crossing as they always did when the two of you were out looking for jobs and it was a happy coincidence. Your friend looked a little more worn around the eyes than he usually did, a few gray strands in his golden brown hair, but he had the same smile that crinkled all the lines on his face and made you feel special. 

Dean didn’t smile like that at everyone, you supposed after ten years of friendship you’d earned that. The two of you had been through quite a bit together and you guessed that there was more than enough to come. 

You smiled to yourself, leaning against the wooden back of the bench with a content sigh.

The leaves on the trees hanging over your head and lining the streets were just starting to brown, slipping into yellows, reds, and happy oranges to herald the changing of the seasons.

Dean had told you to sit in Baby and wait for him before he strode down the street to the newsstand on the corner to pick up a fresh copy of the newspaper to see if there was anything weird happening in this little town.

In your experience places like coffee shops, grocery stores, and diners were usually breeding grounds for the best gossip, where people would congregate and talk in hushed whispers about the happenings in town. 

But not here. There was nothing but smiles and happy chatter that caught on the wind from the cafe just within ear shot that also brought the warm smells of cinnamon and coffee with it. 

The best thing Dean and you had discovered here was the apple pie at the diner he’d taken you to this morning. The same diner where he’d stolen the last bite of flaky goodness from your plate and shoved it into the black hole he called a mouth and earned a slap on the shoulder by you.

Your lips curl slightly on the ends mischievously thinking that Dean had what was coming to him. 

The pie wasn’t the only reason why you’d decided to play a harmless prank on your friend. 

This morning when you’d taken too long in the bathroom, Dean had shoved a giant plastic spider under the door to smoke you out. It had led to an unfortunate incident with you racing out of the bathroom screaming for him to kill it, clad only in a towel while Dean filmed you on his phone and laughed until he had tears in his eyes. 

Your revenge would be swift and merciless.

As soon as he had rounded the corner you’d slid across the worn leather front seat, put Baby in reverse, pulled out of the parking spot and backed her into the adjacent alley, just out of view. You’d then crossed the street to the small grocery store and asked the shop owner if you could borrow five loose dried beans. He’d obliged you with an odd look on his face, but you didn’t care. 

You’d never cared that people thought you were weird, you hunted creatures that no one believed, weird was every day of your life. Not to mention you were sure that you'd go stir crazy if you were stuck anywhere "normal."

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean calls walking towards you, a fresh newspaper crinkling in his hand and a coffee carrier with two mugs sitting snugly inside. His smile drops as he surveys the empty street. “Where’s Baby? Did you take her to a car wash?”

“Dean, the most amazing thing happened!” You bounced from the bench, a wide smile on your face. “I was sitting here minding my business and this guy showed up-“

“He carjacked you?!” Dean shouts, eyes widening. His body tenses and you watch him begin to look up and down the street frantically for some glimpse of Baby.

It was like your best friend to jump to the worst conclusion, and given what the two of you did for a living it was a valid assumption. 

“No, let me finish!” You wave a hand with a laugh. “He complimented the car, asked me what year she was, what engine she had under the hood- etc. Finally, he told me that he wanted to buy her.”

“This better not be where I think it’s going.” Dean’s eyes narrow, suspicion swimming in the familiar green hue. 

Over the years as the two of you aged, Dean’s eyes never did. They were still the same shade of green like the ferns that lived on a well-watered forest floor, the color of a pine tree that unfurled it’s leaves in the warm summer months and reached to the sky, and they were lecked with gold that caught in the afternoon sun when it hung directly overhead. 

You continue hiding your amusement at his reaction with much difficulty, trying to channel the laugh bubbling up into false excitement. 

He really had this coming.

“So I told him. This car is worth more than money and he goes, ‘oh it’s sentimental?’ and I said yes, and I thought he was going to leave, But then he says ‘well I don’t have cash but what I do have are-’“ You reach into your jacket pocket, it’s really Dean’s, but he’d put it around your shoulders at the diner when a blast of air-conditioning made you shiver. “BAM!” 

You hold out your palm and show Dean the five dried beans from your pocket, pausing for effect.

Dean’s gaze drops to your hand, not quite comprehending what you were trying to say. “What the hell are those?" 

“Magic beans!” This time you wiggle your fingers mysteriously, allowing the smile you were trying to hold back stretch over your face.

Dean’s eye begins to twitch. “Please tell me that you stole them from him and you took Baby to a carwash.”

As if Dean would let anyone other than himself wash his car.

“Nope. I told him that he had a deal.” You smile wider. 

Your friend looks like he’s about to faint and spontaneously combust at the same time when he realizes exactly what you said. His expression freezes somewhere between horror and realization, looking from your open palm to the empty street as if to confirm what you’ve already admitted aloud.

 “You sold my car for magic beans?” Dean shouts so loud that you’re sure somewhere in the midwest a murder of crows all rose from the earth in an angry swarm. You can imagine them, black plumage running together into the sky, ink over paper, oil on water. 

The people walking by stop and look at the two of you.

“Hold on, this guy was legit. He had a creepy cloak and everything!” You argue, again fighting a smile. “I’m sure that-”

“That doesn’t matter if he had an eyepatch and a peg-leg! You sold Baby! You sold my car! How would you like it if I took your first child?” The coffee in the carrier sloshes with Dean’s gestures so much that he thinks better of it and puts down the carrier on the bench you vacated to tell him the “good news.”

“Calm down Rumplestilskin! These are magic beans!” You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

It wasn’t so hard to fake it given that you were still angry from the spider prank this morning. 

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you understand what it means!”

“It means that they are worth a million times what Baby was! I could get you a hundred Impalas with these bad boys! And I’ll demonstrate!” You hold them up triumphantly before hurling them to the warm soil underneath the tree to your left. 

You wait a beat, pretending to be interested in the reddish brown kidney beans that turn a burnished orange in the light of the sun. 

A car drives by, the clouds continue to float above your head, the wind picks up to sift through your hair, but nothing happens to the beans

Predictably.

“Huh.” You muse, biting your lip to keep yourself from giggling. “Maybe they’re slow acting?” 

“Or you sold my car for a bag full of shit!” Dean runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands so hard you think he'll pull them out.

“Maybe I’m using them wrong? They didn’t come with instructions.” You say, pating your pockets as if looking for something and continuing to ignore Dean. "Maybe we need to sing or something. Quick, pick a song!"

Your chest was burning from keeping the laugh at bay, jaw aching from keeping the smile that wished to break through. 

I have to be strong. Just for a few more seconds. This will be worth it. 

Honestly, it already was. 

You begin to hum the beginning of ACDC's Thunderstruck, pinching your lips together as you do and avoid Dean's murderous gaze.

“Oh for the love of- CAS!” Dean’s eye is still twitching when he roars the angel’s name, not looking away from you as he does.

“What?” Cas says, appearing behind Dean with his usual frown, eyebrows furrowed together. His trenchcoat is pristine, billowing slightly in the breeze that picks up at his appearance.

“Take me to my car.” Dean demands to the angel, who looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“That’s why you called me here?” Cas raises an eyebrow.

“Yes! Take me to my car CAS!” Dean shouts even louder.

Some of the people at the coffee shop two doors down lean back in their chairs, staring in your direction, curious about what's going on.

“He’s not a lojack system.” You clear your throat to hide the giggle. 

Oh this is so much better than when I changed out his shampoo with blue hair dye.

“I don’t want to hear it from you.” Dean points an accusatory finger in your direction. 

“I don’t know where you car is Dean.” Cas replies.

Dean’s eye continues to twitch, until finally he lets out a high pitched. “Son of a bitch!"

Dean takes off in a dead run down the sidewalk in the direction he came from, shouting "I'm coming Baby! Hold on!" His voice echoes over the buildings that line the street as he almost crashes into an older man who's out walking a small dog in a bright pink sweater.

The laugh finally breaks free from your lips in a strangled cackle as you film Dean running away from you, before sending it to Sam. It was the same thing that Dean had done with his video of you and it was only fair for Sam to give him as much crap as he'd given you when he called to laugh at you after receiving Dean's text.

“You didn’t really sell his car did you?” Cas asks, while you continue to wheeze, gasping for breath on the sidewalk. 

“Nah-" You choke out. "I wouldn’t do that. I know how much he loves her. She’s in the alley.” You gesture with your head back behind you. “Bastard put a plastic spider under the bathroom door this morning. Scared the shit out of me.” 

Cas looks confused. “A plastic spider?”

“Yeah, he knows I hate spiders.” 

“But if you knew it was plastic why were you frightened?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t know it was plastic.”

“Oh.” He still looks confused so you reach over and give him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder to reassure him. 

You didn’t have many interactions with the angel, but you took it as your job to make sure he understood some things about human life.

So far it didn't appear to be helping.

“It’s alright Cas, you can go back to whatever it was you were doing.”

He nods once and vanishes before you can say anything else. 

You sit back down on the bench laughing to yourself into your coffee mug while Dean comes running back up the street.

“Why the hell are you still sitting here? We have to find her! Who knows what that freak could have done to her!” Dean exclaims, shaking your shoulders.

“How does it feel to be faced with your worst fear?” You smirk while taking a calm sip of your coffee. “Payback is a bitch isn’t it Winchester?"

Dean’s face goes from worried to angry in a heartbeat. “Are you friggin kidding me?! You pretended that you sold my car because of the shower thing?”

“And because you stole the last bite of my pie!” 

“I’ve stolen the last bite before-”

“Then you had it coming.” You take another sip of coffee with a triumphant smile.

“Wow. Just wow.” Dean frowns at you. “I hate you.”

“I know.” You smile wider, patting him on the back. “I hate you too buddy. Now come on let’s go see if there’s anything here to do."

“You do realize this isn’t over right?” Dean says as you begin to walk towards the alley where you hid Baby.

You stop to look over at your friend. “Wait, what?”

“This isn’t over.” Dean repeats.

“I think it is-”

“Nope.” He shakes his head, determination flashing in his eyes. “I’m just getting started.”

You stand there for a moment, taking in the serious expression on your friend’s face. You saw all the hardened edges of his jaw, dusted with scruff that made him look just a little more wild. 

Fine. 

You step closer to him, so close you can smell the shampoo he stole from you this morning, without blinking an eye at his display. “It’s cute that you think you can win.” 

Dean’s smirk grows wider, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “I always win, Sweetheart, one way or another.”

The world continues to spin, the birds above caw and flap their wings, the wind brings the smell of coffee and autumn, but Dean’s eyes remain on yours, unmoving, unwavering.

It didn't scare you.

“Then bring it on, Winchester.” 

A/N: This one was a lot of fun to write! Imagining Dean running down the street screaming "I'm coming Baby" made me cackle 🤣 But thank you so much again @waynes-multiverse for giving me this prompt!

If anyone else would like to ask me for a prompt for my prompt celebration there are still some left!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰 Also, if you'd like to be added to one of my taglists for the characters I write, please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies

[whereforarthur]

Wedding Day Bliss~

Request: I had this idea if a wedding day. Like the whole wedding day leading up to the end of the night. Like the saying their vows and it being really emotional and George tearing up when she is walking down the aisle and the reception and all their friends and family watching them be so in love. Also their first dance as husband and wife I think would be so cute then sharing kisses and just being in their own bubble with George’s friends making speeches.

Pairing: George Clarkey x reader

Rating: PG-13

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

*****

"The best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly who you are: good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. The right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with." —Juno

"You okay, mate?" Arthur's voice cut through the early morning chill as George stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hand hovered over the shaving cream, his eyes bloodshot from last night's festivities.

"Yeah, just trying to remember what year it is," George joked, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. The wedding was in a few hours, and the nerves were starting to set in. He had never felt so alive, so ready to embark on a new chapter with the love of his life. Yet, the gravity of the promise he was about to make weighed on him like the hangover he was pretending not to have.

The house was buzzing with activity, the air thick with excitement and anticipation. The smell of fresh flowers wafted in from the open windows, mingling with the faint scent of his mother's famous breakfast spread. He could hear the distant chatter of the bridesmaids, the occasional burst of laughter, and the clinking of champagne flutes as they toasted to the soon-to-be newlyweds. George took a deep breath and turned to face the day ahead.

When she reached him, George's hand trembled slightly as he took hers. The priest's words were a gentle hum in the background as they exchanged vows, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"Y/N," George began, his voice clear and steady despite the tumult of emotions churning within him. "Thank you for loving me, for understanding me, and for putting up with my friends. They're a wild bunch, but they're mine, and you've welcomed them into your heart without question." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he thought of the countless nights spent cleaning up after their drunken escapades. "I promise to stand by you, to cherish you, and to laugh with you, even when they're singing off-key karaoke at three in the morning."

Each word felt like a promise etched into their very souls, a declaration that no matter what life threw at them, they would face it together. And as he slipped the ring onto her finger, he knew that he had made the right choice.

The congregation chuckled softly, and George felt a warmth spread through him. He took a deep breath and continued, "I vow to support you in your dreams, even if it means watching every cooking show on Netflix with you." He winked, remembering her passion for culinary mastery, which often resulted in kitchen disasters that only she found amusing. "To be your partner, your confidant, and your rock, as you are mine."

"And now," the priest announced, turning to Y/N, "it is your turn to speak your vows." She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around George's. Her voice was steady and sure as she began, "George, my love, from the moment I met you, I knew you were different. Your kindness, your humor, your unwavering loyalty—these are the traits that have made me fall in love with you over and over again."

The room grew still, captivated by her every word. "I promise to be your home, a place where you can always find comfort and peace. I vow to stand by your side, through every challenge and every victory, holding your hand through it all. I will laugh with you, cry with you, and maybe even dance with you when you're feeling particularly courageous."

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and George felt his cheeks warm at the thought of their many dance floor disasters. She went on, "I will cherish every moment we share, from the mundane to the magnificent, because each one is a gift that I never knew I needed until you gave it to me. I will love you fiercely, George, because you have shown me what it means to truly be loved."

The room was silent as the gravity of her words settled over the guests. The emotion in her voice was palpable, and George felt his heart swell with love for this incredible woman. He couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life making her as happy as she made him.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced, breaking the spell. George leaned in, his heart racing, and kissed her softly. It was a kiss that spoke of their future together, a gentle promise of love and protection. The congregation erupted in applause and cheers, and the organist began to play the wedding march.

They walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, smiling at their friends and family. The warmth of their union seemed to radiate outwards, wrapping everyone in a blanket of joy. The light from the stained glass windows painted them in a rainbow of colors, as if the very walls of the church were celebrating with them.

*****

The reception was held in the manor's lush gardens, under a grand marquee that had been set up especially for the occasion. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the sound of laughter. The guests were already mingling, eager to congratulate the newlyweds. As they stepped outside, George and Y/N were greeted by a shower of confetti, thrown by their exuberant friends and relatives. It was like stepping into a whirlwind of love and good wishes.

Throughout the evening, George couldn't help but steal glances at his bride, her smile never fading, her eyes always sparkling. They danced, they talked, they laughed, and with every shared moment, he felt his heart swell with love. The speeches from his friends were equal parts embarrassing and endearing, each one reminding him of the incredible journey that had led them here.

But it was Arthur's speech that truly stole the show. He took the microphone with a grin that was a mix of mischief and affection, his eyes twinkling as he began to recount their escapades from over the years. The room grew quieter, anticipating the tales that were about to unfold.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends," Arthur started, his voice carrying over the clinking of silverware and the gentle hum of conversation. "I stand before you today, not just as George's best man, but as his confidant, his wingman, and occasionally his designated driver." The crowd chuckled, setting the tone for the heartfelt roast that was to come.

"Now, I've known George for what feels like an eternity," Arthur continued, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "We've been through it all—the good, the bad, and the questionably legal. And through it all, he's remained the same lovable, slightly disaster-prone man we all know and love."

The crowd chuckled, and George felt a warmth spread through him as Arthur winked at him. "But today, we're not just celebrating George and Y/N's love story," he said, his tone growing serious. "We're also saying goodbye to the bachelor days, the nights out that ended with pizza on the floor and George's head in the toilet." A collective groan echoed through the room, followed by laughter. "And Y/N, let me just say, you're a brave soul for taking him on. You're not just gaining a husband; you're inheriting a lifetime subscription to 'What the hell was I thinking?' magazine."

Arthur raised his glass, and the room fell silent. "But in all seriousness, George, I couldn't be happier for you. You've found someone who not only puts up with your terrible taste in music and your obsession with superheroes but also makes you a better man. And Y/N, you're not just stealing him from us; you're giving us back a George we haven't seen in a long time—one who's more at peace, more content, and dare I say it, more responsible."

The room erupted in laughter, and George couldn't help but feel a twinge of truth in Arthur's words. Y/N had indeed changed him for the better, bringing order to the chaos that was his life and filling his days with a warmth he hadn't realized he was missing. He looked over at her, her cheeks flushed with a blush that made her look even more radiant, and knew that every second of this new journey with her would be worth it.

As Arthur wrapped up his speech, the DJ took over. The air was electric with joy, and George found himself drawn to Y/N, ready for their first dance as husband and wife. The first dance was a slow, sweet melody that had been playing on the radio the first time they had kissed. As George held her in his arms, their bodies moving in perfect sync, he whispered into her ear, "Thank you for choosing me." Her eyes searched his, filled with a love so deep it seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. "I've always chosen you," she murmured back, her voice filled with a gentle certainty that washed over him like a warm summer rain.

*****

The evening passed in a blur of shared glances, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. The air was electric with love and happiness, and every moment felt like a precious memory in the making. As the night grew darker, the stars began to twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, echoing the sparkle in their eyes.

Their friends and family watched with smiles, some with misty eyes, as the couple moved in perfect harmony. The lyrics of the song spoke of a love that had withstood the test of time, a promise of forever, and George felt it resonate deep within him. He whispered sweet nothings into Y/N's ear, her cheek pressed against his chest, and she giggled, her happiness infectious.

He couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was to have her, to call her his wife. Every few seconds, he'd lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips—any part of her he could reach without breaking the rhythm of their dance. Her eyes would flutter closed with each touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and he knew she felt the same overwhelming love that he did.

A silent conversation of love and adoration that didn't need words to convey the depth of their feelings. The music swelled around them, a cocoon of sound that blocked out the world and left only the two of them, spinning and swaying to the beat of their hearts. The warmth of her body against his was a reassurance that she was real, that this wasn't just some beautiful dream he would wake up from.

From the sidelines, George's friends couldn't help but tease him. They had never seen him so lost in a moment, so utterly consumed by happiness. "Look at him," Chris murmured to Arthur Hill, his own partner in crime at past escapades. "He's gone soft."

Arthur Hill chuckled, raising his glass. "It's about time," he said, a hint of sentimentality in his voice. "He's been chasing that love bug for years. It's good to see him finally catch it."

Their banter grew louder, a playful jab here and there, but the affection behind their words was unmistakable. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when George Clarkey would be this whipped," Arthur quipped, earning a playful glare from George.

Chris, Max, Arthur, and Arthur Hill had been the life of the party, charming the guests with their wit and camaraderie. They had been an integral part of George's life for years, and seeing them interact with Y/N and her friends was a delightful reminder of how intertwined their worlds had become. Their banter was light-hearted, their laughter infectious, and their love for the couple palpable.

As the night grew later and the music grew softer, the four friends—now bonded by more than just friendship—gathered around George and Y/N, raising their glasses in a toast. "To new beginnings," Arthur said, his voice a blend of joviality and sincerity. "May your love be as wild and unpredictable as our adventures, yet as steadfast as the foundation of this ancient city we call home."

Chris leaned in, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And may you never run out of patience for each other," he added with a knowing smile, "because with us around, you're going to need it." The group erupted in laughter, the tension of the day giving way to the easy camaraderie that had carried them through so much.

"To Y/N," Max said, raising his glass higher, "for saving us from ever having to listen to George's dreadful dating stories again." The room buzzed with knowing chuckles, and George couldn't help but laugh along. The group's laughter grew as they reminisced about his infamous Hinge dates—stories of catfishing, awkward silences, and that one girl who had stood him up a record eight times.

Y/N leaned into George, her eyes shining with mirth. "But I'm the one who finally caught you," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress against his ear. "And I'm so happy I could be the one to save you from a life of swiping and ghosting."

Their friends' laughter grew, but George's gaze never left hers. "You didn't just save me," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You gave me a reason to stop looking." He placed a tender kiss on her cheek, the warmth of his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

As the music played on, George watched his wife dance with her father, her smile never fading, her eyes shimmering with happiness. The moment was so perfect it hurt. He felt a gentle pat on his shoulder and turned to see Arthur, a solemn look on his face. "You know, George," Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're the luckiest man here."

George nodded, the weight of Arthur's words sinking in. "I know," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I never thought I'd find someone who could handle all of this—me, us, the fans, the chaos. But she does. She's my sanity in a world gone mad."

*****

The night grew later, the music slower, and the room more intimate. The air was thick with the scent of happiness and the warmth of a love that had conquered all. As the final notes of their first dance played out, George leaned in to kiss his wife, the sweetness of their union echoing in the silence that followed. Their friends and family cheered, but the couple remained lost in their own little world, oblivious to the applause.

The reception wound down, and the photographer captured their love in a series of candid shots, the flashes of the camera a stark contrast to the soft glow of the candlelit room. They mingled with their guests, thanking them for their presence, sharing laughs, and receiving well-wishes that felt like warm embraces. Each moment was a treasure, a memory to hold onto forever.

The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind of dance, laughter, and love. Each moment with Y/N felt like a gift, a precious memory to be stored away and cherished for the rest of their lives. They shared dances with their parents, the joy in their faces reflecting the happiness of their children. They watched as their friends paired off, spinning and laughing, the music weaving a tapestry of memories that would bind them all together for years to come.

Y/N leaned into George, her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, for saving me too."

George pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Saving you?" He cocked his head, a question in his eyes.

Y/N nodded, her smile softening. "From a life of questionable life choices and questionable haircuts," she teased, her thumb gently tracing the line of his freshly trimmed hair. "But mostly, from the loneliness that comes from not knowing your soulmate is out there waiting for you."

George's heart swelled with gratitude, his eyes never leaving hers. "You've done more than that," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You've made me whole, Y/N. You've given me a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning with a smile."

Their friends had cleared the dance floor, giving them space to continue their intimate moment. The soft glow of the fairy lights above them cast a warm, romantic hue over the two of them, as if the universe itself was bending to highlight their love. Y/N's hand found its way to his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. "And you've done the same for me," she murmured. "You've shown me that love isn't just a word in a book or a scene in a movie. It's real, it's messy, and it's beautiful."

Her words hit him like a tidal wave, the depth of her feelings resonating through his very being. He leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her skin, the gentle beat of her heart. "I never knew I could love someone like this," he confessed, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the night. "But here we are, and I can't imagine a single day without you by my side."

*****

The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the party began to wind down. The guests slowly started to say their goodbyes, each one offering congratulations and well wishes for a long and happy life together. As the last of the cars pulled away, George and Y/N stood on the porch, hand in hand, watching the taillights fade into the distance. The cool evening breeze danced around them, carrying with it the promise of a future filled with love and adventure.

Turning to face him, Y/N looked up into George's eyes, her own sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Ready for our grand finale?" she asked, a playful smile playing on her lips.

George raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Grand finale?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, her smile growing wider. "The part where we finally get to be alone."

"Alone?" George echoed, feigning innocence. "What could possibly happen when we're alone?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I'm sure we can think of something," she teased, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper.

The banter between them was light, a playful dance of words that had become a hallmark of their relationship. George's cheeks flushed slightly, the humor in his eyes betraying his excitement. "First time as husband and wife, you mean," he clarified with a grin, squeezing her hand.

"Ah, yes," Y/N giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you know what they say, practice makes perfect."

Without a moment's hesitation, George bent down, wrapping one arm under her knees and the other around her waist, and scooped her up into his arms. She squealed with delight, her gown fluttering around them as he spun her in a circle. "Let's get to it then, Mrs. Clarkey," he said, his grin growing wider with each passing second.

Her laughter was like music to his ears, a sweet symphony that had played on repeat in his mind since the moment they first met. "I can't wait," she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The night was still young, and the possibilities stretched out before them like a never-ending horizon.

Carrying her over the threshold, George felt his heart swell with a love so profound, it was almost painful. This was it—the start of their forever, a journey they would navigate together, hand in hand.

He kicked the door shut with his foot, the sound echoing through the now empty house. The quiet was a stark contrast to the buzz of the wedding, but it was a welcome one. The world outside could wait—this moment was theirs, and theirs alone.

[badasbebi]

not my fault ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: discovering that a cute girl you saw at your college orientation is your roommate, you become eager to get to know her. however, things quickly go awry when she turns out to be much more difficult to get along with than you could've imagined and abruptly leaves you in the dust. fueled by your terrible experiences with her and rumors about her dating habits, you swear to stay away from her at all costs. will you be able to keep your promise?

✦ genre/au: fluff, my poor attempt at a rom-com, college!au, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, (very slight) roommates to lovers

✦ word count: 11k (im so embarrassed)

✦ warnings: isn't proofread bc this is toooo long. unrealistic portrayal of room-switching in college bc it's never that easy or quick irl. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: part 2 is already finished & will be posted very very soon. so, this is my first time writing a fanfic in like...years. this feels very strange, but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope someone out there has a lot of fun reading it! also, although this fic doesn't really have anything to do with the lyrics, this song was somewhat inspired by not my fault by renee rapp and megan thee stallion. <3.

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It was the first day of orientation at Seoul University, and you were utterly bored. 

You were sitting on a bench outside of the campus auditorium, people-watching as you waited for the opening ceremony to start. It was a hot day with the sun beating down on everyone, prompting an array of glistening foreheads and crinkling water bottles. There was a line of cars in front of you, people getting out with eager smiles and a mischievous glint in their eyes as they stepped onto the concrete, admiring what would be their home for the next four or more years. Your ears were filled with the excited chatter of hundreds of people meeting new friends and catching up with old ones.

You sat there, the sun warming your skin, looking for something or someone interesting while you waited for orientation to begin. 

You watched as a pairing, presumably mother and daughter, pulled up in a sleek car. They got out, and the mother began taking pictures of the daughter. The daughter looked around the campus with a wide grin on her face.

You looked away, taking a sip from your hydroflask. A boy wearing a shirt with your school's mascot. Boring. A congregation of girls who were so obviously here for sorority life, you almost laughed. 

A tall, dark-haired woman, with blue highlights, bangs, and thick, black-rimmed glasses, surrounded by a group of people.

You raised an eyebrow. That was interesting.

There were people crowded around her. Guys. Girls. Some, you presumed, were family. They all seemed to have their eyes on her.

You wondered why. As she talked, you studied her.

Her lips were moving, her facial expressions soft and open. Her voice was quiet, though, and you couldn't hear her words. She was pretty, extremely pretty, with luscious lips and a full nose. You liked her eyes the best. They were dark brown, but when the light caught them, they shined. 

She had a smile on her face, her head tilted, her hair cascading over her shoulders. It looked like a scene from a movie, her standing there, the wind blowing through her hair, the sun shining on her features.

She was laughing now, at something one of the guys had said. It was nice to watch. It made you feel warm. You smiled.

And then the girl looked at you.

You looked away, trying to pretend like you were not staring. But after a few moments, you stole a glance back. Her eyes were on you, her brow furrowed, a look of confusion on her face.

You blushed, feeling embarrassed. You looked down, staring at your nails.

“Holy shit it’s hot out here. If I pass out, I’m suing the school for child endangerment, because it is absolutely insane that we're still out here. Take your stupid water”

You looked up. Your friend, Lusher, was standing there, her hair frizzy, her makeup done, outstretching her hand to offer you the water bottle you told her to fetch,  and dramatically holding her other hand to her forehead.

You laughed, grabbing the water bottle. “Thanks, but I don’t think you can sue them for child endangerment if you’re not a minor, Lush.”

“I may not be a minor, but there are definitely some here. I’m just advocating for them! We need to make sure that children have a voice.”

You laughed, uncapping the bottle and taking a drink.

Lusher plopped down next to you. She looked around, scanning the place as you did. The attractive girl you were previously admiring was still standing there, laughing and chatting with others, people flocking to her like a moth to a flame. So, you did the only logical thing that a woman would do in your position—gossip to your friend about it. You tapped your friend on your shoulder repeatedly. She looked at you, an eyebrow raised.

You nod your head in the direction of the girl, and Lusher’s eyes follow. You could practically see her mind whirring.

"Well, hello there. Who is that?" Lusher said, wiggling her eyebrow, a smirk on her lips.

"I don't know!" you said, throwing your arms out. "That's what I was gonna ask you."

"Not you already having a crush. It's not even our first day, yet, y/n," Lusher teased. 

"Oh shut up," you groaned.

Lusher squinted. "She does look a little familiar."

You shifted toward her, excited. "Really? How?" 

"I think I saw her around when I was touring campus or something. Or Instagram? I'm not sure."

You nodded, watching as the girl said something, and the group around her laughed. Lusher glanced at you, observing your staring, and snickered.

"What are you even doing you stalker? Go talk to her!" She insisted, nudging your shoulder. 

"What!? No. No. Absolutely not. Not happening," you exclaimed, shaking your head.

"Why not?" Lusher whines.

"Because there are 5,000 people surrounding her, Lush," you said vaguely pointing at the group of people around her. "I'm not about to compete with that. No, thank you. I'll pass."

"Y/N," she groaned.

"Lusher," you replied, mocking her tone.

She huffed, rolling her eyes. You laughed.

"You're ridiculous," Lusher said.

"Thank you," you responded, a satisfied grin on your face.

You took a final sip of your water and then closed the cap. "Come on. It's almost time to go in."

You grabbed your friend's arm, pulling her up. She grumbled, and you chuckled, walking her toward the auditorium. As you walked away, you felt the gaze of a pair of shiny eyes following you. 

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Your mother groans, dropping the last box into the tiny bedroom. "That's the last one. My back is officially fucked."

"Mom, please stop swearing," you say, cringing.

"You swear all the time," she retorts.

"And where do I get that from?" you shoot back.

"You're my child. I can swear in front of you," she responds, ignoring your comment.

"Uh, no. You can't. You're old," you say, picking up one of the boxes and ripping the tape off.

"I prefer the term 'mature'," your mother corrects.

"What about 'ancient?'" you ask, faking seriousness. 

She rolls her eyes, grabbing one of your shirts and throwing it at you. You giggle, ducking to the side and letting it fall on the floor. She laughs, and you laugh too, and then you're both giggling uncontrollably. When you're laughing fit is over, you begin taking things out of another box.

The two of you spend the next few hours unpacking and organizing. You are not surprised when your mother decides that she likes her decorating ideas better, and rearranges everything.  Finally, the two of you finish, and you step back, admiring the room. Your mom puts her arm around your shoulder. 

"I think it looks good. What about you?"

You nod, smiling. "It does."

She sighs, leaning into you, and you wrap your arm around her waist.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, squeezing you tighter.

"Yeah. Starving."

"Good. Because I have some-"

The sound of your door opening cuts her off. You both turn around, and your heart leaps in your throat. Standing in the doorway is the pretty girl from the first day of orientation, wearing cargo pants and a hoodie. 

You're too stunned to speak. She's staring at you, and you're staring back. Neither of you says a word.

After what feels like a long time, your mother speaks, her voice filled with curiosity. "Hello? Can we help you?"

The girl's eyes snap to your mother, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"Oh. Uh...hi. I'm sorry. I'm Bada. Your new roommate," the girl, Bada, says, her voice soft and smooth.

"Oh, yes. You are," your mom responds, a wide grin on her face. She extends her arm. "Hi, Bada. I'm Y/N's mom. Nice to meet you."

Bada's eyes widen, and she gives you an almost nervous smile, her gaze flickering between you and your mom. She reaches her hand out and takes your mother's. "Nice to meet you, too, ma'am."

Your mother laughs. "No need to call me ma'am, dear. Please, call me by my name. And please, come in."

Bada hesitates, her gaze shifting to you, as if she's asking for permission. You smile softly, nodding your head, and she returns the gesture, entering the room.

"So, you're Y/N's new roommate. Tell me about yourself," your mother prompts, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

Bada's eyes flick back to you, her smile turning awkward. "Um, well, I'm from Incheon, and I'm a freshman. I'm majoring in dance," Bada says, her words sounding rehearsed.

Your mother nods. "Cool. Dance, huh? Do you perform?"

"Oh, um, yeah," Bada shuffles her feet a bit. "Sometimes. I was on the dance team back at my high school."

"Very cool. How's move-in day so far?"

"Good. Yours?"

"Great," your mother responds.

Bada's gaze turns back to you, and you shift, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Your mother seems not to notice, or she does not care.

"Are you here with your parents?" your mother asks.

"Uh, no. Just my mom and sister," Bada responds.

"I see. Where are they?"

"Getting dinner," Bada replies, her voice still soft.

"Ah," your mother says. She glances between the two of you, a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you two to get to know each other. It was nice meeting you, Bada."

"You too, Mrs. Y/L/N."

"Please, dear, call me by my first name," your mother responds, reaching out and touching Bada's shoulder.

Bada smiles, and then your mother exits the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Nice meeting you," Bada says, her tone polite.

"Nice meeting you too, Bada," you reply.

A moment passes. The tension is palpable. You can tell she's unsure of what to do, or say.

"Do you, uh, need help bringing your stuff in?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Oh, no. I'm fine," she responds.

"Okay," you reply.

More silence. Bada is still looking at you, her expression guarded. You clear your throat, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly.

"Is, um, this okay? Am I, uh, being a nuisance or anything?" you ask, choosing to stare at the wall behind her.

"Huh?"

"I mean, I can leave if I'm making you uncomfortable or anything. I don't want to be a bother," you say, shuffling your feet.

"No. No. Not at all," she replies, shaking her head.

"Oh, okay. Good," you respond, smiling.

She does not return the gesture. Her eyes are still on you, and her body is tense. You wonder if she's afraid of you, or something.

"So," you begin, clasping your hands together. "I guess I'll show you to your side of the room, then."

"Oh, um, okay," she replies, her voice still quiet.

"Here. Let me help you with that," you offer, stepping forward and grabbing one of her suitcases.

"No thank you. I've got it," she says, pulling the bag back.

"Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable," you say, letting go.

She drags the suitcase across the floor and sets it on the empty bed.

"I hope you don't mind. I didn't really get much choice in the furniture department. You're lucky you got the bigger bed," you say, laughing nervously.

"No, it's okay. Thank you," she replies, a tight smile on her lips.

"No problem," you respond, rocking back and forth on your heels.

Another moment of awkward silence passes. Bada begins unzipping the suitcase, taking out folded clothes and laying them on her bed.

"Can I, uh, get you anything? Like, some water or snacks or something?"

"No thank you. That's very kind, though," she says, her back turned to you.

"Okay. Cool. If you need anything, let me know. I'm always here," you respond, smiling.

"I'll keep that in mind," she replies, not looking at you.

"Well, okay. I'll just...leave you to it, then," you say, and then turn around and go sit at your desk, deciding not to push her.

You pull your laptop out, placing it on the desk, and log onto the college's wifi. You lean back in your chair, alternating between reading your syllabi and watching as she unloads her belongings. She has a lot of things. Clothes, books, shoes, accessories, makeup. She even has a large speaker system, which is surprising, considering the small dorm.

After a while, Bada stops, having finally finished unpacking. She stretches her arms above her head, revealing a tiny sliver of her stomach and the waistband of her boxers. Your cheeks burn, and you quickly look away.

"Hey, y/n?"

"Hm?" you ask, spinning around.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah. It's just down the hall," you reply, pointing to the door.

"Okay. Thank you," she says, standing up and leaving the room.

You sigh, and then get up, going over and plopping down on your bed. You could not get a read on this woman. When you saw her at orientation, she seemed so open, so friendly, so charismatic. But, right now, it was like you were talking to a wall. You couldn't help but feel a bit peeved. You wanted her to at least like you a little bit, or even tolerate you, but she was barely willing to even talk to you.

You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. Maybe she was just tired, or had a bad day. That's probably it. That had to be it. Which, is fine. You were her roommate. You had a year to become friends. You'd be fine. 

You pull out your phone, deciding to scroll through social media. After a few minutes, Bada returns and sits on her bed.  

"Did you find it?" you ask, not looking up.

"Yep," she replies.

"That's good," you start, sitting up and scooting toward the edge of your bed. "Hey, I was thinking, since we're gonna be roommates and all, we should get to know each other, ya know?"

Bada turns, a blank expression on her face.

"So, dance," you continue. "What's that like?"

Bada's face changes, the guarded look falling away, replaced with an excited smile. "Dancing? Oh, it's wonderful. I've loved dancing for as long as I can remember," Bada gushes, her eyes lighting up. "I've been doing it my whole life. My mom and sister dance, too, actually."

You grin, her excitement contagious. "That's great. How many of you are dancers?"

"Just the three of us. Me, my mom, and my sister. Well, actually, my mom is retired now, and she's teaching classes at the studio," Bada continues, her smile growing wider.

"That's amazing," you respond, leaning forward. "Do you all perform together?"

"All the time. My mom owns a studio, and she teaches there. We teach classes and choreograph, and then, when we have enough students, we'll have shows," Bada answers, her voice becoming softer, and less animated.

"That sounds really cool. Do you, like, teach little kids and stuff?"

"Oh, no. Not really. I mean, we do, but only if a student's parents ask. Our main audience is teens, and adults," she explains.

"Wow," you say, nodding. "That's awesome. I can't imagine what that's like."

"It's a lot of fun," Bada replies, her eyes sparkling.

"What about your dad? Is he a dancer, too?"

"My father's not in the picture," Bada says, her eyes dimming a bit.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry," you mumble, suddenly feeling awkward.

"It's alright," Bada responds, her tone flat.

"Well, anyway, that's cool," you say, changing the subject. "What's the studio like?"

"It's really nice. We have a small space,  but it's cozy," she says, her eyes regaining some of their previous luster. "We've got a lot of mirrors and equipment, and the lights are low."

"Really? God, what you do sounds so cool."

"You think so?" Bada asks, her eyebrows raised.

"Totally. I'm kinda jealous," you admit.

"Thanks. It's nice to hear someone say that," she replies, grinning.

"Anytime," you say, returning the gesture.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, and you lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly, your phone pings, and you glance at the screen. It's a text message from Lusher.

Lush: hey u ready for ur first college party???

Y/N: no lol i'm exhausted from setting up.

Lush: oh come on. im trying to meet some cute guys here. dont make me go alone

Y/N: haha i'm gonna stay in tonight. maybe tomorrow or next weekend

Lush: boo. well, the invitation is always open. if u change ur mind, come find me.

Y/N: ok will do. ttyl

"Is that your mom?" Bada asks, interrupting your thoughts. 

"Huh?"

"Your phone," she clarifies, motioning to the device in your hand.

"Oh, no, just a friend from high school, Lusher. She goes here," you explain, sliding your phone onto your bedside table. "She was trying to invite me to a party to scout out the scene for boys."

"Ah," Bada replies, turning her attention back to her side of the room.

"But there's no way I'm going tonight. I'm way too tired after all of that packing," you continue, lying down.  

"Understandable," Bada replies, not looking at you.

"So, I'm pretty hungry? Wanna go to the dining hall and get some food, or something?" you ask. 

"No thank you. I think I'm just going to take a nap," she says, scooting under her covers and turning her body toward the wall. 

"Oh, okay. Alright," you say, feeling a bit disappointed.

It seems like you are back to square one. You sigh, and then turn around, facing the wall. This was going to be a long year. You reach for your headphones, plugging them into your phone, and put on a playlist, trying to ignore the slight ache in your chest. You were not sure why, but, for some reason, it hurt. You shake your head, pushing the feeling down. No, you were not upset. You were not going to be upset. Everything was going to be fine with time. You stand up, grabbing your backpack, and then exit the room, closing the door quietly behind you. The least you could do was give her some privacy. Maybe she needed some time to adjust to sharing a room with someone. 

You enter the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, and try to clear your head. No. Things would get better. She would warm up. You just needed to be patient. The elevator dings, and the doors open, and you step out, walking toward the cafeteria. You just needed to wait. She would come around. You were sure of it.

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Your alarm blares loudly. You groan, rolling over and snoozing it. The sun is barely up. You feel like a zombie.

You reach over and grab your phone. 7:30 am. Time for a run.

You slowly slide out of bed, wincing at the cold floor. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you glance around the room. It looks exactly the same, except for the fact that your roommate is gone.

You yawn, stretching, and then walk over to her bed. The sheets are perfectly tucked, the pillows arranged neatly, and the blanket is smoothed out. She must have made her bed before leaving. You frown.

"I wonder what time she wakes up," you murmur, running a hand over the blanket.

You throw on some clothes, put your earbuds in, and stretch, before leaving the room.

As you walk through the hallway, your thoughts are still hazy with sleep. You have never been a morning person. But, running helps.

You take the elevator down to the lobby, and then exit the building, jogging onto the sidewalk. A cool breeze whips your hair around. You shiver, pulling the drawstrings of your hoodie tight.  After a few minutes, you find a nice rhythm, your breathing steadying, the music calming your nerves.  You pass the same few people, most of them in a similar state as you. Groggy. Disheveled. Exhausted. After 30 minutes, you start feeling warm. Your heart is pounding, and your chest is heaving. You slow to a walk, and then stop, resting against a tree. 

You close your eyes and listen to the birds, the leaves, the wind. It's nice. Calming.

"Y/n?" a familiar voice asks. 

Your eyes snap open, and you turn. A woman is standing there, a shocked look on her face.

Oh no, you think, once you realize who it is."Aiki?" 

"Woah, I knew it was you," Aiki says, her eyes wide. 

"Yeah," you chuckle awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck.

"What are you doing here?" Aiki asks, her mouth hanging open.

"I go here now. I'm a student. I have clases here," you overexplain

"Wow, okay," Aiki says, taking a breath. "So, how have you been? What are you studying? What's been going on with you? God, y/n, it's been forever."

"Yeah, it has. Um, I've been good. Just, ya know, moving and stuff so far. Haven't declared a major yet, though," you respond, feeling taken aback by her excitement.

"I see. Well, I actually have to go, but we should totally hang out. Maybe have coffee sometime, or something. Catch up," Aiki suggests, her eyes sparkling.

"Sure, yeah, that sounds great," you say, nodding.

"Cool, well, I'll see you around," Aiki says, a smirk on her face.

"See ya," you reply, waving as she turns and jogs off.

You stare after her, a strange feeling in your stomach. You had not seen Aiki since junior year of high school, when the two of you were forced to go on a trip with the rest of your class. During that week, the two of you became close, and, by the end, you were basically inseparable. The two of you spent the entire week attached at the hip, going sightseeing, exploring, and, on the last night, you even kissed her. It was a perfect week. And then, after the trip was over, you never spoke again. She transferred schools, and the two of you lost contact. And now, here she is, back in your life.

You shake your head, chuckling softly. It is almost too much. First, your hot roommate, and now, Aiki. The universe is messing with you.

You start walking again, continuing your route. You run for another hour, the sun now fully risen. Your skin is glowing with sweat, and you can't help but smile. You are feeling great.

You stop by the showers, washing up, and then head to the cafeteria. The line is long, and, despite the early hour, it is packed. You grab a tray, loading it with eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and a glass of orange juice.

"Oh my god, save some for the rest of us," a voice exclaims from behind you. 

You turn, startled, finding Lusher behind you, grinning.

"Jesus, Lush, you scared me," you say, shaking your head.

"Sorry, didn't mean to, but seriously, I'm starving. Move faster," she complains, her eyes falling to your full plate.

"What are you even doing here so early? It's Saturday. You're never up at this time," you question, raising an eyebrow.

"The beds here suck. Couldn't stay asleep."

"So, you just came here?"

"Duh. They have free breakfast," she responds, her eyes wide.

"Right," you reply, not convinced.

"I'm serious. Besides, it's not like there's anything else to do this early on a Saturday," she adds.  

"Okay, whatever," you say, rolling your eyes. 

"So, how was the rest of the move-in? Is your roomate cool?" Lusher questions.

"Actually," you begin. "You'd never guess who my roommate is."

"Who?" she prompts. 

"The hot girl I saw at orientation."

"No. Shut. Up," she responds, her eyes widening.

"I'm not kidding. Her name is Bada. She's a dance major."

"Holy shit, no wonder she looked familiar when I saw her. I think I've seen her around dance competitions and showcases."

"You have?"

"Yeah, a few times. She's really good. Damn," Lusher says, shaking her head.

"Well, I wish she'd open up more," you say, frowning.

"Why? Is she mean or something?"

"No, I mean, I'm not sure. She's kind of quiet. I'm not really sure how to describe it. She's not super friendly or anything, and we haven't talked a lot," you respond. 

"Hmm, that's weird. I have a few dance friends who've interacted with her before. From what I've been told she's super nice."

"I guess. Anyway, she's not really interested in being my friend, which is fine. But, it's weird, 'cause it seems like she's super popular. She knows a ton of people. I don't get why she's so weird around me."

"Maybe she's nervous or something. I mean, you're kinda cute, after all."

"Shut up, no, I'm not," you deny, rolling your eyes.

"Whatever you say, y/n," Lusher smirks.

"You're crazy," you mutter, grabbing a juice box. 

"Well, I hope you can change her mind. She's definitely cute."

"Thanks, Lush," you respond, not really meaning it.

The two of you grab seats near the windows. The food is mediocre, but your stomach is full and that's all that matters. You spend the next few hours chatting with Lusher about school, classes, and other things. Deciding you've had enough of the dining hall, you take Lusher to your dorm room, wanting to show her what your side of the room looks like. However, as soon as you open the door, you are met with the sight of Bada's side of the room-empty side of the room. Her bed is still perfectly made, and her closet is shut tight, and the desk is cleared off. Her things are gone, as if she was never there.

"What the hell?" you mutter, your eyes darting around the room.

"What's going on?" Lusher says, peering over your shoulder from the hallway.

"My roommate," you start.

"Bada, right?"

"Yeah. All her stuff is gone. Did she transfer or something?"

"Wait, what? Let me see," Lusher says, squeezing into the room and past you.

She scans the room, her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you weren't hallucinating her? Or having a strange wet dream?"

"Shut up. I'm serious. Look. Her bed is still made, and her side of the closet is completely empty," you insist, pointing.

"Well, maybe she's at class or something. Are you sure she's not just hanging out somewhere?"

"Why would she be? Class doesn't start for a couple days. And why would all of her stuff be gone?"

"Maybe she's one of those crazy studious types who starts early. And she has a very meticulous study routine that requires her room to be completely rid of stuff." Lusher suggests, shrugging.

"Who in the world would do all of that?"

"Someone who's organized. Maybe a person with OCD? A really anal-retentive neat freak?"

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Hey, you asked," Lusher says, throwing her hands up in defense.

You're about to curse at her, when your phone vibrates. It's a text from the college housing office.

"What is it?" Lusher asks.

"It's from the housing office. They want to see me about a roommate complaint," you read aloud, frowning.

"Roomate complaint? That's weird. Why would they call you instead of her?"

"Maybe they're not able to get a hold of her. I don't know. I'm not sure," you say, scrolling through the message.

"Well, whatever, go find out. We can talk more later."

"You're not coming?"

"No, I'm tired. Gotta catch some Z's. Go figure this out."

"Fine. I'll talk to you later, then."

"Later, loser," she responds, before walking away.

You sigh and exit the building, beginning your walk to the housing office.

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"Hello? Anyone here?" you call, stepping inside.

"Ah, hello," a voice responds.

A man walks up, an overly friendly smile on his face. He extends his hand, initiating a handshake. 

"Hi. I'm y/n," you start, shaking his hand. "I received a message saying you wanted to talk to me about a roommate complaint?"

He nods. "Yes, yes, of course. Please, follow me."

He gestures to a door, and you follow him into a small office. He motions for you to sit down, and you do, the chair squeaking loudly.

"Now, let's see," he begins, studying a piece of paper. "You're living in the new dorms, correct?"

"Yup," you confirm. "The one with the fancy bathrooms."

"Right, yes. So, your roommate is a Ms. Bada Lee?"

"Yes, that's her."

He sighs, letting the paper fall onto his desk. Clasping his hands together, he asks, "And, is there a problem between the two of you?"

You shift in your seat, suddenly uncomfortable."I mean, not really. I haven't seen her since Friday morning. Why do you ask?"

The man clears his throat. "We received a notice from her this morning, stating that she no longer wanted to reside in her dorm with you. She requested a room transfer and had all her things moved out into another room."

Your heart sank. This had to be a joke

"I'm sorry, but...what? Why? Why would she do that? I barely know her," you protest, shaking your head.

"Unfortunately, the decision has already been made, and the paperwork has been processed," the man replies, a sympathetic look on his face.

"But, this doesn't make any sense," you insist, leaning forward in your seat. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"I'm afraid the reasons are confidential, as is standard practice. All I can tell you is that the decision was made by the student, and we must abide by it."

You fall back in your chair, scowling. "This isn't right."

"I apologize, Ms. y/n, but there's nothing we can do. I'll inform the RA's and staff to expect you for a new room assignment. You likely won't get a new roommate until next semester, though. Otherwise, we're done here. "

"Alright, thank you," you mutter, standing up and heading to the door.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he calls.

You slam the door and storm off, furious. This is complete bullshit. What could you have done yesterday that was so bad that Bada would request a room change and make a complaint? 

As you walk back to the dorm, a thousand thoughts race through your head. Were you too loud the first night? Too pushy? Did you say something offensive or insult her?

You rack your brain, trying to remember if you said or did anything wrong, but nothing comes to mind. There was the one moment when you asked about her father, and she seemed a bit upset, but was that really it? Surely she couldn't have built resentment for you after that one, small slip-up. You even apologized to her. 

Maybe she just thought you were annoying? You're as confused as ever, and, pissed off. Whatever the issue was, there was no way it was significant enough for her to go directly to the housing office. She could have spoken to you about it, and you could have worked something out but didn't give you the chance. From the moment you met her, she didn't give you a chance. And now you probably have some sort of criminal-esque record with the housing office because of it. Great.

When you arrive back at the dorm, you go straight to your bed, laying down and burying your face into the pillows.

"God damnit," you mumble, your frustration overwhelming.

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The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, with you alternating between fuming, moping, and ranting to Lusher about the incident with Bada. The more you thought about it, the more irritated you felt. Why did such a sexy person have to suck so bad?

Despite the annoyance, you decided not to focus on the issue, opting instead to hang out with Lusher and your other friends. By Sunday night, however, your emotions had shifted back to sadness, and you were once again moping about the incident.

Before you knew it, it was Monday morning, and time for classes. You were excited, yet anxious, about the beginning of the school year. Despite the rocky start, you were determined to make the most of it. 

Currently, you're in your last class of the day, bored out of your mind. You're supposed to be taking notes, but your professor lost your attention halfway through the lecture. You fix your gaze on the window, where raindrops are running down the glass. It was cloudy and grey outside, and you could see a flash of lightning in the distance.

"And that concludes our lesson. Don't forget to check your emails because I will be sending you a reading assignment. Class dismissed." 

The sound of people packing up their things and moving around causes you to snap out of your trance. You quickly gather your own materials and head out the door.

On the way back to the dorm, the sky opens up, and it starts pouring. You pick up the pace, wanting to avoid getting soaked. As you approach the entrance to your building, you slow down, spotting Bada walking toward you. She looks just as unhappy to be out in the rain as you are, her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, her hood hanging over her face.  

Uh oh, you think, not expecting to see her.

"Um, hi," you stammer, attempting to appear friendly.

She stops in her tracks, eyeing you cautiously. "Uh, hey," she says, her tone cold.

You cross your arms. "So, um, how's your day been?"

"Fine," she replies curtly.

"Cool," you reply. "Enjoying your new room?"

"It's okay," she says, shrugging.

"That's nice," you respond, not sounding sincere. 

An uncomfortable, but at this point, familiar, silence follows. You couldn't believe she wasn't taking this as an opportunity to apologize or explain what happened. If she weren't so tall and admittedly intimidating, you'd do something petty, like snatch the hood off of her head. Or pin her down until she fesses up. Or throw something at her pretty face to remind her that—yes, you are hot, but that doesn't mean you can escape consequences! But you're too gracious and realistic to do any of that, so you take the peaceful (though painful) route. 

"Well, I should get inside, I don't want to get too wet," you state.

"Okay, yeah," she replies, giving you a curt nod.

"Uh, have a good day," you say, turning around and heading toward the door.

"Thanks, you too," she calls out.

She walks past you, and you can't help but turn around, watching her retreating figure. "What a weirdo," you mutter under your breath, heading up the stairs. 

You hurry into the building, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

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Three months into the semester, you begin to hear Bada's name everywhere. Apparently, within the short time period, she's taken your school's dance team far and has gained quite a bit of attention for it. You're not surprised, given her athletic build and seemingly graceful demeanor. However, this has come with a price, and now, wherever you go, she seems to be there, her presence almost a constant. Similarly to when you first saw her at orientation, many people flock to her, and you hear a number of girls gossiping about how cool and attractive she is. With that, you begin to hear the rumors.

You've heard a lot of things about Bada, some good and some not-so-good. For example, you've heard that she's an excellent dancer and extremely talented. She's also very outgoing, sweet, and has a large group of friends. On the other hand, it seems as if she's built up a reputation for herself. You've heard people calling her a player and a flirt. Others have claimed that she sleeps with women just for fun, never sticking with anyone for too long.

You aren't sure what to believe, but you do know that your opinion of her is low. You still have no idea why she changed rooms and never gave you a straight answer, despite the numerous attempts you've made. In the beginning, you'd attempt to strike up conversations and casually ask her about it, but she would either ignore you or give you a short, vague response. You eventually stopped asking, knowing it was futile. Even when the two of you pass each other in the hallway, her eyes never meet yours, and you swear you can feel the disdain radiating from her.

But it's impossible to completely ignore her because, again, she is loved by many. To make matters worse, Lusher joined the dance team. Meaning, every time you visit Lusher during practice, Bada's there. Lusher tells you that she's a great teammate, but you aren't so sure. After all, you've only spoken a handful of words to her, and they haven't been particularly welcoming.

It's one of those days when you find yourself sitting on the bleachers, observing the dance team. You've come to watch Lusher, and you have to admit, the other dancers are amazing. However, your eyes always drift back to Bada. As much as you try to stop it, you can't help it. She's just so...stunning. She's wearing a tank top, showing off her arms, and baggy pants. Her hair is tied back in a bun, accentuating her features, and she has a serious, focused expression on her face.

You bite your lip, watching as she moves across the floor, her body flowing with the music. It's like she's gliding, and it's mesmerizing. You've never seen someone dance with such strength and power. You've been a fan of dance for a while, and you've never seen anything like it.

As the song comes to an end, everyone strikes a final pose. You watch Bada, her chest heaving, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

You grab your water bottle, suddenly thirsty, and take a drink. You're still staring at her, and she glances in your direction. Shit.

You look away, hoping she didn't notice you watching her.

Lusher unfreezes herself from her ending pose and immediately comes running up to you.

"So, what did you think? Wasn't that awesome?" she asks, excitement evident on her face.

"Yeah, it was great. You guys were incredible," you compliment.

"Aw, thanks," Lusher beams. "You should come to more of our practices. They're a lot of fun."

"Yeah, maybe," you agree, noncommittally.

"Actually, do you mind coming to the locker room with me? I need to change, and we can grab something to eat afterward."

"Yeah, sure," you agree.

Lusher gives you a big hug, causing you to laugh. "Thanks, y/n," she smiles.

You follow her into the locker room, and she changes out of her sweaty clothes. You lean against the wall, tapping away on your phone.

"You can look, y/n, I'm not shy," Lusher teases, her shirt pulled up and bra strap undone.

"I know, but, I don't want to be a pervert," you giggle.

Lusher laughs. "You already are one, and I've accepted that fact a long time ago."

You pick up one of her spare pants, throwing at her.

"Hey!" she cries, feigning annoyance.

You smirk. "Sorry."

She rolls her eyes. "I forgive you."

You glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. You've never been in here before, and it's kind of fascinating. 

"Where's the bathroom in here?" you ask.

"Down the hall, to the left," she informs.

"Alright, I'm gonna go pee," you announce.

"Okay," she says, not looking away from her locker. 

"Be right back," you call, exiting the room.

You walk down the hall and open the bathroom door, making your way inside. You go to the first stall, shutting the door behind you. You take care of business, and as you're finishing up, you hear the sound of footsteps, and voices, entering the room. 

Not paying them much mind, you flush the toilet, standing up and zipping your pants. Until you here something that freezes you in your spot.

"Lusher's friend is pretty cute. Your type," a voice says.

"I guess," another, deeper, voice responds.

"Don't be so indifferent, Bada, she is pretty hot," the first voice chides.

"She's alright," Bada says, nonchalantly.

"Why not? It's not like she'd say no," the first voice presses.

"I'm not really interested, Tatter. She's good-looking but, I'm not attracted to her. At all. Not worth my time." Bada says.

You're stunned. 

"Really?" Tatter asks.

"Yes. Really." Bada says, firmly. 

You feel a rush of anger. She has every right to not find you attractive, but you can't help feeling insulted. Did she have to be so adamant about it?

"Well, damn," Tatter chuckles.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Bada shrugs.

"No, it's cool," Tatter assures.

"Let's head out, the others are waiting for us," Bada suggests.

"Yeah, sure," Tatter agrees.

Their voices fade away, and their footsteps become more distant. You step out of the stall, making your way toward the sink. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. You look tired and upset because, well you are.

The more you think about it, the more things start to make sense. No wonder why Bada has been so aloof and unfriendly with you. She didn't find you attractive, and henceforth decided that you weren't 'worth her time.' But what kind of shallow thinking was that? You had plenty of things to offer. Your personality, wit, intelligence, humor, and a bunch of other things. So, what did it matter if she found you physically attractive?

You splash some water on your face, trying to wash away your frustration.

It's settled. You didn't want anything to do with her. She had no right to dismiss you, and, as a result, you didn't have to treat her nicely, either. Two can play that game.

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You managed to go the rest of the school year without interacting with Bada. You saw her in passing and heard her name plenty of times, but you largely succeeded in your efforts to avoid her. For the most part, you didn't even think about her. Except, of course, when you got your new roommate after winter break, who was much friendlier, but ridiculously messy and, to be quite frank, annoying. Although this turn-out was not directly Bada's fault, throughout your 2nd semester you laid awake at night, cursing the tall sexy mean woman, as your roommate blasted Bhad Bhabie songs into the early hours of the morning. 

It's a new year now, though. And luckily, you do not have to worry about roommate troubles, because you you've gotten an apartment with Lusher. It's tiny and run-down, but incredibly close to campus, and after the issues you had your first year, you're just grateful that you're rooming with someone you actually get along with. 

Knowing that, you're excited to see what your second year will bring you. You walk to your first class of the day, which is, unfortunately, an 8 a.m. English class. 

You make it to the classroom, finding an open seat near the middle. You sit down, pulling out a notebook and pen.

As the seats fill, the professor begins his lecture, and the class starts.

However, about ten minutes into class, the door opens, and someone walks in. You look up, and your heart drops.

Bada is standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"So sorry to interrupt. I'm late," she says.

"It's okay, take a seat. We're just starting," the professor replies.

Bada's eyes scan the room, and when she spots you, she frowns. You look away, pretending like you didn't notice.

She continues to stand there, looking uncomfortable, before she decides to walk further into the classroom. The professor stops talking and looks at her.

"Do you have a seat yet?" he asks.

"Uh, not yet," Bada stutters.

"Take a seat anywhere, we're getting started," the professor responds, continuing his lecture.

You hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and when you look back, Bada is walking towards the empty seat next to you. She sits down, dropping her backpack, and your heart races.

"Can I borrow a pen?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Sure," you mumble, handing her a pen.

"Thanks," she mutters, writing something down.

Your heart is beating out of your chest. She's sitting next to you. Why is she sitting next to you? Is she doing this on purpose? Maybe she has some sort of vendetta against you. You're not sure.

You try your best to focus on the professor, but it's difficult. You can't help but stare at Bada, your eyes drifting down her body. You take in her attire. She's wearing a white t-shirt, a pair of baggy jeans, and a cap. Despite the simplicity of it, she looks phenomenal. It makes you want to scream.

As the professor goes on, Bada takes notes, seeming completely invested in the lecture, and you almost scoff. Who was she trying to fool? 

Once the lecture ends, you quickly pack up your stuff and rush out of the room, eager to put some distance between the two of you.

"Okay," your professor begins, clapping his hands. "If you look at the syllabus, you'll see that a big portion of your grade in this class is determined by your final project. This is a research-based assignment, and will require extensive library work. I've randomly assigned you partners to help you out, so, if you'd like, feel free to move around and meet your partners once I call out your names."

A group project? Great. Those always went well. Who was the sorry excuse for a partner you were going to—

"Y/n y/l/n and Bada Lee."

Fuck.

You feel sick. What the hell is this?

You look around the room, frantically, hoping to see someone who shares the same name. Alas, no such luck.

You see Bada shift in her seat, turning toward you, and you try your best to conceal your irritation.

"Hi," she says, quietly.

"Hey," you reply, coolly.

"I guess we're partners, huh?" she asks, a small smile on her face.

"Yep, looks like it," you respond.

"I'm, um, sorry for being late today. I had a meeting with a counselor," she explains.

"I'm not the professor, Bada. I don't care."

Bada seems taken aback by your harsh response.

"Right, um, okay."

"So, uh, do you have any ideas for the final project? I've thought of a few things," she continues.

"I haven't given it much thought," you lie, knowing that you'd spent the majority of last night planning and organizing your entire project.

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "That's okay, we can talk about it some more."

"Sure," you shrug, standing up and grabbing your stuff. "I've got to get to my next class, so, I'll see you later."

You quickly pack up your items and rush out of the room, eager to put some distance between the two of you.

"Y/n, wait!"

You freeze.  

"Your phone number," Bada says, jogging up behind you. 

You turn around, eyeing her cautiously. "What?" 

"Your phone number, so we can communicate," she clarifies, her tone a little more stern than it was a few seconds ago.

"Right," you mutter, fishing your phone out of your pocket and giving her your number.

"Awesome, thanks. I'll text you," she smiles, and then, to your surprise, she turns around and walks away.

You watch her leave, still confused. What just happened?

The next few days pass uneventfully, and you've been avoiding Bada like the plague. It's not difficult, given that the two of you only share one class together and remain silent the entire time. Truthfully, you weren't expecting to get anything out of Bada for this project. As soon as the professor called her name, you were resigned to the fact that you'd probably have to carry out this project yourself. Between dance and the apparent trail of girls that Bada has to deal with on a daily basis, there was no way she'd make time for it.

As a result, you were shocked when, after a week had passed you received a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown: hi! it's Bada. do you have a chance to meet up sometime? i have a few ideas for the project and wanted to talk to you about it.

You're not sure how to respond. This is the last thing you expected from her.

"Who are you texting?" Lusher asks, suddenly appearing beside you.

"What?" you ask, locking your phone.

"I was asking if you'd be home later, but you're clearly too busy texting someone to listen," Lusher laughs.

"No, I'm listening," you insist.

"Then, who are you texting?" she presses, curiously.

"No one. Just a girl," you reply.

Lusher wiggles her eyebrows. "I knew it," she giggles.

"Shut up," you laugh, smacking her arm. "It's not like that."

"Whatever you say," she teases, grabbing her jacket and slipping on her shoes.

"Are you leaving?" you ask.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go study with a few people. You coming?"

You shake your head. "No, I think I'm just gonna stay here."

"Alright, I'll see you later then," she says, waving and exiting the apartment.

You sigh, flopping down on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. You're not sure how long you lay there, but the sound of your phone vibrating snaps you out of your daze.

You grab your phone, checking your messages.

Unknown: this is y/n, right?

"Shit," you mutter, realizing that you forgot to respond.

You: Hi, sorry, it is. I got busy. Um, yeah, I have time tomorrow if you're free.

Bada: i'm available after 5 tomorrow. meet me at the library? 3rd floor?

You: Okay, sounds good.

Bada: great! see you then.

"Fuck," you whisper, tossing your phone onto the couch.

This is going to be a horrible year.

The next day, you find yourself walking into the library, coffee in hand. You check your phone, noticing that it's already 5:30 p.m.

"Crap," you whisper, picking up your pace.

You finally make it to the third floor, scanning the room for Bada. To your surprise, you spot her immediately, sitting alone at a table in the corner.

"Sorry, I'm late," you apologize, speed-walking over to her.

"It's okay," she smiles.

You pull out a chair and sit down, feeling awkward.

"So," you begin. "How are you?"

"Good," she says, quietly. She glances at your coffee cup, a frown on her face, before looking down at the items scattered across the table. 

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at the array of items in front of you. Bada's textbooks, her backpack, her phone. Two coffee cups.

"Wait," you say, realization hitting you.

"Yeah?" she asks, looking up.

"You bought me a coffee?" you state, the words sounding dumb as they come out of your mouth.

She blinks. "No."

"But, there are two coffee cups," you point out, feeling more and more confused.

"It's fine, you already bought one," she rushes out, sliding one of the coffee cups farther away from you.

"Wait, no! It's okay. I'll take it."

She stops. "Really?"

"Yeah," you nod, reaching out and grabbing the cup. "Thank you."

"Of course," she shrugs, looking embarrassed.

You pick up the cup, analyzing it, wondering if she put any poison in it. Unfortunately, you are not a chemist, and cannot decipher the contents of the beverage, so, you opt for the safer route and place the cup back down on the table.

"Did you have an idea for the project?" she asks.

"I did," you nod.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking that we could write an article. One of the prompts that was on the syllabus is an exposé, and I figured that it'd be easy to do a deep dive into the school's athletic program."

"Huh, that's interesting," she replies, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Interesting, good or interesting, bad?"

"Interesting, good. I like the idea. How far did you want to go into detail with it?"

"Well, I was hoping we could focus on the women's athletic department. Have you heard anything about them?" you ask.

"A lot. I hear my friends complain a lot," she says.

"About what?"

"So much. The coaches are demanding and strict and don't give the players don't get enough breaks. They don't get as much funding as the men's athletic program, either."

Disappointing but not surprising. "Is there a particular sport or athlete that stands out to you?"

"Um," she starts, a slight blush covering her cheeks.

"Yes?"

"I know a couple of basketball players. The captain, Doyeon, is really good, and I talk to her a lot. She'd probably be willing to help us out. They have a big game coming up, and their coach is going crazy because the school isn't giving them as much access to facilities as they did for the men's team. The basketball players were forced to practice outside, and the coaches are furious."

You can't hide your shock at this. Although you knew the women's team had it rough, you didn't realize there was so much drama happening behind the scenes. "Wow, that's...a mess. Did you want to talk to her about it? I'd love to meet her and get her perspective."

"Yes, definitely," she nods. "They should be practicing tomorrow. We can go watch them and interview her after. Would that work?"

"Sounds good," you agree, mentally making a note to cancel your plans tomorrow. You raise your coffee cup to your lips, momentarily forgetting about the possible dangers, and take a sip.  The moment the liquid touches your tongue, you are hit with a profusion of tastiness. It's sweet and delicious and everything you could have ever dreamed of. It's exactly the type of drink you'd order yourself. You glance over at Bada, seeing her watching you nervously, and decide to speak up.

"This is really good," you praise, taking another sip.

She smiles. "You like caramel lattes, right?" she asks. 

"Um, yes," you respond, confused. "How'd you know that?"

"Just, um, a lucky guess," she replies awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. 

You raise an eyebrow at this. Crap, you think. She must've put some sort of poison in here that mimics the taste of your favorite coffee flavor. You're screwed, but it's too late. You might as well enjoy the coffee. You take one last sip, savoring the flavor, then set it down. 

"Alright, well, I have some notes I want to go over, if that's alright," you say, pulling out your laptop.

"Okay," she replies, also taking out her laptop.

The two of you spend the next hour discussing the project, both of you getting lost in your own thoughts. By the time you're done, it's nearly eight o'clock, and the sun is setting.

"We should probably head back now," you state, packing up your items.

"Yeah, we should," she agrees, standing up.

The two of you walk out of the library, the campus quiet and dark.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she says, walking toward her car.

"Yep," you reply, waving and heading towards yours.

Once inside, you turn on the car, blasting the air conditioning. You turn on the radio, trying to distract yourself from the heat outside. 

"And in other news, the women's basketball team is still having trouble securing proper facilities. According to sources close to the team, the coach is frustrated and the players are exhausted.

"In other sports news, the football team is preparing for its season-opener against their rivals, the..."

You groan, turning off the radio and focusing on the road. Your stomach growls, and you realize that you haven't eaten anything since lunch. You consider stopping somewhere, but decide against it. You'll just eat when you get back to the apartment.

As you drive home, you think about the last few hours you spent with Bada. She was...interesting, to say the least. Today, she seemed more responsive to you than she had previously. In the past, she had mostly ignored you, rarely speaking to you unless necessary. Today, though, she'd been engaging and helpful. Perhaps, it was just because she cared about getting a good grade on this project. Once it's over, she'll probably return to her normal, snide self. That was okay with you, though. As long as she was cooperative while you worked on the project, you couldn't care less what she thinks of you or how she treats you afterward.

You park your car, heading up the stairs to the apartment, your mind wandering. Despite your best efforts, Bada is starting to worm her way into your head. It's stupid. You're being ridiculous.

This was going to be a long semester.

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"I think I'm going to fall asleep."

Bada turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, please. You've never seen the game before. This is just the warm-up."

You glare at her. "It's been two hours," you point out.

"Yes, and the game hasn't even started yet," she says, matter-of-factly.

"I hate you," you grumble, crossing your arms. 

"You know you're the one who suggested we research a sports team, right?" 

"Shut up," you mutter, glaring at her.

The two of you have been sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs for the past two hours, observing the team's practice as they ran around an outdoor basketball court under the sweltering heat. Bada was not lying about the terrible working conditions these women were put under. You didn't understand how they had the ability to exercise in these circumstances. You were dying. 

"I need a break," you declare, standing up and stretching.

"No, no, no, no. Sit," she demands, pulling on your wrist and dragging you back into your seat.

"Let me go!" you yell, struggling against her grip. Why the hell was this woman so strong? For christ's sake, she was a dancer, not a wrestler. 

"Not until the end of the game," she states, gripping tighter.

"This isn't fair!"

"Life isn't fair," she retorts.

"You're such a bitch," you seethe, finally ripping your arm from her grasp.

"So, I've been told."

"Why are we here again?" you ask, slumping in your seat. 

"Look, just try to pay attention. I'll buy you a smoothie if you stay focused," she offers.

"Deal," you say, straightening your posture and turning to watch the practice.

"And now, the final play," the coach yells, blowing a whistle.

The team scatters, moving to their positions. Doyeon, the captain, dribbles the ball down the court, passing it to another girl, who moves closer to the net. Just as she's about to shoot, the girl trips, sending the ball spiraling out of her hands and in your direction. You gasp, scrambling out of the way, but you're not fast enough. The ball hits you square in the face, causing you to yelp as you fall backward in your chair. 

"Fuck," you whine, holding your hand to your face.

"Oh, shit, are you okay?" Bada asks, kneeling down next to you.

"Do I look okay you goofball?!" you shout, removing your hand to reveal a bloodied nose.

"Ooh, ouch," she cringes.

"Are you okay?" a different voice asks, and you look up to see the woman who had tripped approaching the two of you.

"I'm fine," you mumble, feeling embarrassed.

"I'm really sorry," she apologizes, bowing her head.

"It's fine," you shrug, standing up.

"You should come see the nurse," Bada says.

"No, I'll be fine. It's not that bad," you insist, wiping away the blood.

"Are you sure?" the basketball player asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It's not the first time this has happened," you explain, trying to alleviate her concern.

"What?" Bada chokes.

"Please don't ask," you sigh.

"Okay, well, I should get back," the girl says, gesturing toward the court.

"Of course. Go kick ass," you cheer, smiling.

"Thanks," she grins, running back onto the court.

You and Bada watch the girl's retreating figure. Bada then turns to you, a look of concern on her face.

"Okay, come on. Let's get you cleaned up," Bada instructs, pulling on your wrist and leading you towards to one of the entrances into the building.

"Where are we going?"

"The locker rooms," she states.

"What? No, no, no, no," you protest, planting your feet and resisting her.

"I'm not letting you sit here while your nose bleeds. Besides, the girls have to go in there eventually. We'll interview Doyeon once she comes in." she explains.

"But—"

"Who cares? Come on, let's go," she urges, tugging on your arm.

"Fine," you concede, allowing her to drag you through the building.

Once inside the locker room, Bada leads you to a sink and forces you to stand still. 

"Hold still," she commands, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Cleaning up the blood," she responds, bringing the towel to your nose.

"Don't!" you hiss, swatting her hand away.

"You have to," she argues.

"No, I don't. I can do it myself," you retort.

"Just let me do it," she whines. "I've had to do stuff like this more times that I can count. I'm basically a professional."

"What? You having to clean up your own bloody noses? Why? Because of the amount of times you've gotten slapped in the face?"

"Hey!" she pouts.

"Well, are you going to answer the question or not?"

"Dance injuries. Now, will you let me help you?"

"Ugh, fine," you groan, rolling your eyes.

She brings the towel to your nose, gently dabbing the blood away. Her hand brushes against your cheek, sending a tingle down your spine. She's standing so close to you, her chest nearly presses into yours. You can smell her perfume, a subtle vanilla scent that seems to surround her. It's intoxicating.

When you glance up, her eyes lock with yours, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. They're a deep brown. Warm and inviting. You've never noticed how beautiful they are. Or maybe, you just haven't had the opportunity to study them this closely.

Her fingers linger on your skin, the tips grazing over the sensitive flesh.

"There. All better," she says, throwing away the paper towel.

"Thanks," you say, clearing your throat.

"No problem," she grins.

The two of you stand in silence, neither of you wanting to move.

"So," you start, breaking the tension. "Should we, uh, wait for Doyeon here?"

"Sure," she shrugs.

"Okay, um, I'm going to, uh, sit over there," you stutter, pointing to the bench behind her.

"Okay," she says.

You awkwardly make your way to the bench and sit down, keeping a safe distance between the two of you.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"A little lightheaded," you admit.

"Hmm, do you want some water?" she suggests.

You think of the possibly poisoned coffee. "No, I think I'm alright," you say.

"Okay," she nods.

Another awkward silence.

"So, you, uh, have a lot of dance injuries?" you ask.

"Yeah, a few," she laughs.

"Like, what kind?"

"Oh, nothing serious. Mostly bruises and sprains. Once, I twisted my ankle, but that was ages ago," she says, waving her hand dismissively.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm," she nods.

"How many times have you had a bloody nose?" you inquire.

"That's a secret," she grins.

"C'mon," you press.

"Nope, not telling," she shakes her head.

"You're no fun," you huff.

"I'm lots of fun. You're just not asking the right questions," she smirks.

"Like what?"

"Like.."

The locker room door opens, and a group of women walk in, all chattering excitedly. Bada looks over, her smile growing wider.

"Doyeon!" she calls, waving her hand.

You turn, spotting the captain running over to you. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun and sweat drips down her face. As worn out as she seemed, she still looked incredible. In a flash, you became hyperaware of your probably still disheveled looks as a result of your recent injury. Way to embarrass yourself in front of a pretty girl. 

"Hey, Doyeon," Bada greets, standing up and smiling at her. Doyeon outstretches her arms, enveloping Bada in a lingering, tight, hug.

"Bada! I missed you," Doyeon sighs.

"Missed you too," Bada replies.

"And who's this?" she asks, pulling away from the hug and nodding in your direction. 

"Oh, um, this is y/n, she's working with me on the project. I told you about."  

"Nice to meet you," you smile, extending a hand.

"Likewise," she replies, shaking it.

"So, are you ready to do this interview?" Bada asks, eagerness dripping in her voice.

"Yeah, let me get changed first," she replies, walking towards the lockers.

"Sure," Bada nods, watching as Doyeon disappears into the showers.

You glance over at her, her eyes still trained on where Doyeon had just disappeared. Something in your stomach sinks. 

"Oh my god," you scoff.

"What?" she asks, turning to face you.

"Don't tell me we're interviewing one of your little girlfriends," you grimace.

"She's not my girlfriend," she frowns.

"Whatever," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Seriously, y/n, we're just friends."

"With benefits?" you inquire, raising an eyebrow.

"Why does this matter so much to you, anyway?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"Because, it's my project, and I don't want it ruined because you can't keep your hormones in check," you reply, glaring at her.

"I'm not going to 'ruin' anything, alright? I'm perfectly capable of keeping my personal life separate from my school work."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," you mutter.

"God, you're so frustrating," she huffs.

"So are you," you snap.

"Well, it's a good thing this is just for a project, and you don't have to deal with me outside of class, then."

"But it's a shame I can't get rid of you sooner."

"Believe me, the feeling's mutual," she growls.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash a verbal assault, but you're cut off by the sound of footsteps. Doyeon walks up, her hair still wet, and her bag slung over her shoulder.

"You two ready?" she asks, grinning at the both of you.

"As we'll ever be," Bada sighs.

The three of you sit on the locker room bench, a small space in between each of you. Bada is scribbling something down on a piece of paper while Doyeon waits patiently.

"Alright, um, first question. How have the recent changes affected the team's practices and games?"

"Honestly, it's been pretty tough. We're used to practicing indoors, so the outdoor heat has been brutal. On top of that, we've had less access to facilities, which has made things even more difficult. All of this has taken a toll on our performance, both on and off the court."

"That's unfortunate," Bada frowns. "How have the coaches and other staff members been handling the situation?"

"Not well, honestly. They've been pretty angry and stressed. They haven't taken it out on us, but it's been noticeable. And, honestly, they have every right to be upset. This is a big change for everyone, and it's not something that was anticipated."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Bada sighs.

"Thanks," Doyeon says with a smile, placing her hand on top of Bada's.

The sight of it makes your stomach twist, and a scowl forms on your face.

"Uh, next question," you start. "Do you have any idea when the situation might improve?"

Doyeon tears her eyes away from Bada. "Hopefully soon. We can't keep playing like this. Something needs to change."

"And if nothing does?" you ask.

"Then we'll have to keep fighting. Like always," she shrugs.

"I'm proud of you guys. You've all been handling this whole situation with a lot of grace," Bada compliments.

"Well, I have a great team. Everyone has really stepped up and supported each other. We've got a lot of good people," Doyeon smiles.

"That's wonderful to hear," Bada grins.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

"Anyways, let's wrap this up," you say, clapping her hands together. "Last question. Is there anything else you think is worth knowing for our project?"

"Hm, let me think," she hums, placing her finger to her chin. "I don't think there's anything..."

"Well then, I think we're done!" you announce, swiftly standing up.

"Already?" Bada asks, glancing at her watch.

"Yeah, time flies, huh?"

"I guess," she mutters. "Alright, thanks for your time, Doyeon," Bada smiles, reaching across the space and squeezing Doyeon's knee.

"Of course," she beams.

You roll your eyes again.

"Well, I'll see you later, okay?" Bada says, standing up.

"Absolutely," Doyeon agrees.

"Great," she grins.

Bada turns to face you, a forced smile plastered on her face.

"We done?"

"Yep, let's go."

You and Bada make your way out of the locker room, leaving Doyeon behind.

"That went well," Bada sighs, once the door closes.

"Sure did," you mumble, barely able to contain the sarcasm.

"I can't wait to write up the report," she exclaims, her eyes lighting up.

"It'll be nice, yeah," you say.

"Maybe after, we could—"

"I need to go," you blurt out, cutting her off.

"What?" she asks, frowning.

"I'm, uh, late. For class. Sorry."

"Oh. Okay, um, I'll see you around, I guess," she says.

"Bye," you say, rushing past her.

You're not lying. You are late for class. But not nearly as late as you're making out. You speed-walk across campus, a million thoughts racing through your mind. No wonder Bada was so eager to do this project. It was just an excuse to spend time with Doyeon. And, judging by the way the two of them interacted, it wasn't the first time they'd spent time together.

You're not exactly sure why this is bothering you so much. You knew Bada got around. Maybe it's because you're annoyed that Bada didn't tell you the truth. Or maybe it's because you feel stupid for not seeing this coming. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that you're upset, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

You make it to your lecture hall, and as quietly as possible, slip into an empty seat near the back. Your professor drones on and on about the importance of deadlines and punctuality, and you find yourself completely unable to pay attention. Instead, you replay the day's events over and over again. Each time, you cringe at the memory of how oblivious and naive you'd been.

read part two

[lipglossanon]

December Winds

.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜

Priest!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

dedicated to you 💀 anon! 💜 I hope you like it!

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, religious connotations, Leon POV, dirty talk, nipple teasing, oral (m & f receiving), rimming (m receiving 🫣), unprotected sex, creampie, kissing, biting, slight blood

kinda beta read by my friend Rex 💜 (only like 80% so any mistakes are my own 😅 )

title from December Winds by Nox Arcana

.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜❅・.・❅.・。.・゜

After Spain, Leon quits. As he tells the president, “I’ve seen enough.” And he meant it. He packs up everything, quietly bids goodbye to the few coworkers he respects and leaves out from Washington DC, praying he’ll never see the place again. 

He searches for a job that’s a little less stressful and a lot more reclusive. He stumbles across an online ad looking for a live-in priest for a small rundown chapel buried in the middle of the Appalachian mountains. A quick search on google maps yields the exact results he’s hoping for—there’s nothing around for miles and miles. 

It’s a cinch to get ordained online and even easier to order the cassock and Roman collar. He already has plenty of black shirts, pants, and even shoes, meaning it’s no sweat at all for him to look the part by the end of the week. 

When he arrives at the small church, there’s a handful of elderly people gathered to give him a short walk through the place. They leave him with plenty of homemade food as well as their phone numbers for the cracked rotary phone in the office in case he needs any help.

The months roll by and slowly bleeds into a couple of years. He always sees the same handful of people at service, sometimes joined by visiting family members, but always a small congregation which is what he prefers. This year hasn’t been any different, that is until a knock rings out in the empty vestibule drawing him up short as he lays out pamphlets for next week's Christmas service. 

Pulling open the heavy oak doors, he’s surprised to see a new face. You stand there shivering in the cold, jacketed arms clutching your middle. 

“H-hi,” you give him a bright smile despite your chattering teeth, “m-my car’s s-s-stuck in the s-snow and—“

Before you can finish, Leon’s opening the door wider, feeling chill bumps race across his arms as the cold winter air gusts past you and into the church. 

“Please, come in,” he steps back so you’ll follow. 

Once inside, he shuts and bolts the door closed. 

“I’m s-so glad someone’s here,” you laugh.

Leon watches you, expression stoic even though internally he’s cataloging every single thing about you with heavy interest. 

He sees your smile tremble a little, your own gaze roving his face. 

“I’m s-sorry to bother you,” you rub your hands together for warmth, “if I c-could just make a call, I’ll b-be out of your hair in n-no time.”

You pull your cellphone out with a frown, “I h-haven’t had service in miles.”

Leon glances down at your hands before looking back up into your face, nervousness radiating from your body language. 

He turns, talking loud enough for you to hear as you follow behind him, “Phone’s in the office. If you can’t reach anyone, I have a number to a local mechanic who can help tow you out.”

“Thank you so much,” your voice sounds relieved, “I hate bothering you, but I really appreciate the help.”

“Of course, it’s what I’m here for.”

He glances back over his shoulder and sees your gaze wandering around the church, taking in the clean if rough hewn pews and stained glass windows. Your eyes cut to his quickly as if you sensed him watching, giving him a shy smile. 

“You have a beautiful church, Mister?”

“Father Kennedy,” he answers, voice a little rougher than intended as you bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Sorry, not really up on my religion,” you laugh a little bashfully, “it’s nice to meet you, Father Kennedy.”

“Likewise,” Leon turns his attention to opening the office door, gesturing for you to enter first. 

His eyes slide down your body, taking in your curves, and shaking away the urge to sink his teeth into your soft neck. You walk over to the old rotary phone, something Leon never updated as it still works just fine. 

“Oh wow, my grandma had one of these!” you grin at him, “it’s so cute that you kept it for your office.”

That dark urge to bite you flares up in his chest again but he shoves it down. He nods at you instead of saying anything and you turn back to the phone. 

Picking up the handset, you frown and click on the dial a few times before setting it back down on the cradle. 

“Seems like your phone’s out,” you bite your lip again, looking agitated. 

Leon shrugs, “Tends to happen this time of year. No telling when it’ll start working again.”

You nod along and blow out a breath, “Okay, we’ll I’ll head back to the car and see if I can—“

“Stay the night.”

That pulls you up short and he wants to laugh at the wide eyed look you give him. 

“Stay here and we can try the phone again. If it doesn’t work, I can walk you to the nearest neighbor and try their phone.”

A soft smile crosses your face and Leon’s hit with an avalanche of impure want purring in his chest. 

“Are you sure it’s no trouble? I mean I’d really appreciate it, but I don’t wanna put you out.”

“No trouble, besides I’m here to help those in need,” a crooked grin slips out, “and you seem to fit that description.”

Another shy bite of your lip has him shifting his feet, willing himself not to do anything to you. 

“Okay then,” you give him the brightest smile yet, “thank you, Father Kennedy. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

A sudden flash of you thanking him on your knees floods his thoughts and he turns away from you, adjusting his half hard cock through his slacks, never more grateful to wear all black than now. 

“Follow me please,” he calls out to you, listening as you quickly walk to catch up. 

He also listens as you introduce yourself and explain as to why you’re out here in the first place, basically boiling it down to visiting some family for the holidays. Nodding along, he guides you into his living quarters which just happens to be a bedroom big enough to house a bed and a desk with a few bookshelves. 

“It’s so cozy,” you gush, running your hand along some of the handmade quilts and crocheted throws the church parishioners have given him over the years. 

“It’s home,” he states simply, moving to the fireplace and stoking the embers into a flame. 

“I’m kinda impressed,” you say as you hang up your jacket near the door, “it’s really rare to see someone so young as a priest in these kinds of communities.”

When he only gives you a deadpan expression, you begin to flounder. 

“Oh I mean, I grew up near here and so I’m just used to like older— you know what, I just feel like I’m digging a hole for myself,” you drag your palms across your eyes, “it’s just different is all. And either way I'm happy to have met you.”

Leon finally lets his lips quirk up into a half smile, amused at your reactions. 

“I understand, it’s just funny to see you try to explain it,” he moves away from the fireplace and grabs a change of clothes, ignoring how your cute pout is making him feel. 

“There’s a bathroom just through that door,” he points to his right, your left, “I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in jeans. There’s also some spare toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet.”

He watches as you get flustered when taking the simple sweats and cotton t-shirt. 

“Oh yeah, thanks,” you duck your head trying to hide your face and disappear behind the bathroom door to change. 

Leon lets out a long breath, trying to ease the tension building up in his chest. The wanting seems to only be getting worse the more time he’s spending with you. It’s like he’s a teenager seeing a skin magazine for the first time. 

Has he really been out here that long without seeing a pretty little thing like you? He’s in the midst of his thoughts while removing his collar and unbuttoning his cassock when he hears a soft squeak. 

He turns to see your eyes shut tight, hands clenching your bundled up clothes to your chest.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to!”

Leon frowns before looking down to see his bare chest offset by his rosary. Heat washes through him to see you peek again and bite down on your lip hard as you turn away. 

“I honestly was on autopilot,” he murmurs, voice rough making him clear his throat, “apologies, I’ll go change in the bathroom while you get settled.”

You gasp as he brushes past you to enter the bathroom. Grabbing onto the sink, Leon stares at his own blown pupils in the mirror. 

Get it together. It’s just a woman. A sweet woman. A pretty woman who probably has an equally pretty little cunt—

Shaking his head to clear it, he finishes dressing for bed. As he brushes his teeth, his eyes wander and notice the toothbrush you used sitting off to the side. A sudden flash of possessiveness surprises him leading him to quickly finish up and make his way back into the bedroom. 

You startle, standing up from sitting at the edge of the bed. 

Hands wringing together, you smile nervously, “Uh I-I wasn’t sure where to sleep? Like I can take the floor—“

He’s shaking his head already interrupting you, “We’ll share the bed. It gets extremely cold at night and it wouldn’t be safe to sleep on the floor.”

You frown over at the bed and look back at him apprehensively, “I can just use the quilts to make a pallet in front of the fire.”

“Please,” he gestures to the bed, “there’s no central heating and it gets deathly cold some nights. Even with the fire, I’d be afraid you would get frostbite.”

“I’ll sleep against the wall,” he softens his voice, “we’ll put pillows between us if you’d like and you can have the edge.”

He watches you bite on that damn lower lip again, wanting it between his own teeth. 

Nodding, your eyes seek out his again, “Okay. And we’ll try again first thing in the morning?”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, “I tend to wake early so I can check and wake you if need be.”

Your features melt from concern to thankful, “That’s very sweet of you, Father.”

A hot pulse of arousal makes his dick twitch but Leon ignores it in favor of offering you a slight smile. 

“Of course. Shall we?” he nods at the bed. 

You climb in after him, settling down under the layers of blankets and quilts. 

“I definitely never would’ve guessed I’d start my vacation by sharing a bed with a priest,” you giggle to yourself. 

“Unusual to say the least,” he dryly replies, sea dark eyes watching as you turn on your side, back facing him. 

You hum softly, shoulders twitching under the shirt and legs swishing under the covers. 

“Good night, Father Kennedy,” your soft voice has him gripping the blanket tightly. 

“Goodnight.”

It’s driving Leon up the wall with how badly he wants to reach out and touch you. Settling a little more, he listens as your breathing evens out and finds his own eyes slipping shut. 

Later in the night, he wakes up to your tossing and turning, feeling you press your ass back against him. He stifles a groan, eyes adjusting to the low light from the fireplace. You keep fidgeting, accidentally rubbing against his chubbed cock until he’s thickening in his sweats. His heavy hand reaches down and grabs you hip, stilling your movement. 

“Sorry,” your sleepily mumble, “‘m trying to get comfy.”

He dips his head down to ghost his lips across the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver, “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

He rocks forward, letting his bulge rub against your ass; you whine and press back against him harder. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I promise I didn’t mean to.”

“Sorry, huh?” he dips his tongue into your ear making you whimper, “are you asking for forgiveness?”

His hand grasps your hip and pulls you into a slow rhythm of grinding back against his stiff cock. 

“Oh,” you mewl as he kisses the shell of your ear, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not how you ask,” he chuckles, kissing down your neck, “you know better than that.”

You moan as he bites down on the soft skin that’s been tempting him all this time. 

“Forgive me, Father Kennedy,” you break the rhythm and grind back against him harder, “I’m so sorry I’m being so bad. God, can’t believe I’m dry humping a priest.”

A smack lands on your ass making you jump. 

“We don’t take the Lord's name in vain either,” his low voice slips into your ear, “for that, you get those cute little nipples pinched.”

As you moan, he rolls you over onto your back, slipping an arm around your shoulders so both of his hands can knead and grope at your breasts. 

“Pull your shirt up,” he murmurs in your ear, “be a good girl for me.”

You shove the t-shirt up to pool around your neck, hands settling back down to twist in the sheets. His fingers quickly move to circle and pinch your hard nipples. 

“Oh, ohhh,” your eyes squeeze shut as he teases and rubs your hard buds, “Father, please.”

He bites your neck again making you writhe and press your breasts up into his hands. 

“Please,” you whimper, eyes glimmering at him in the firelight, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth. 

“Who knew such a tempting sinful girl would end up in my church much less my own bed,” he rumbles in your ear, grinding against your hip as he teases your nipples. 

“Father Kennedy,” you swipe a soft, pink tongue against your lips, making his teeth ache, “shouldn’t we stop?”

“Do you want to stop?” he kisses your jaw, fingers tweaking your nipples sharply making you moan high in your throat. 

“No, no, please, it’s so—you’re so hot,” you whine, hips squirming for friction under the blankets, “please, Father, want you so bad.”

“It’s a sin to tempt a priest,” he trails his lips across your neck to suck another mark into your skin, “you’ll have to repent.”

“H-how?” your eyes flutter, trying valiantly to stay open. 

He pulls away with a smirk, “You’ll have to use your body in service to the Lord.”

A keening whimper escapes your lips, hands shakily reaching up to run through his sandy blonde hair. 

“I-I’ll do anything,” you scratch your nails along his scalp making him groan, “just show me how I need to repent, Father Kennedy.”

He pulls his arm out from under you so he can climb on top of you, settling in between your thighs. Your hands pull his hair as he sucks a hard nipple into his hot mouth. He ruts against the mattress as he suckles each hard bud, nipping at the soft skin of your breasts and leaving marks everywhere. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a pair of tits in my face,” his voice is low, smoky, and he can feel your legs try to press together only stopped by his bulky body.

He takes his time, kissing the areola before running his tongue over your nipple, letting his teeth softly bite down before sucking it further into his mouth. Your hips buck up against his chest as he lays on top of you. He can feel how wet you’ve gotten already, the soft press of your panties against his skin leaving behind a sticky mess. 

He pulls back to look up into your dazed eyes, “Let me taste that wet pussy.”

You moan, hands tensing in his hair, “Y-you want to?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t,” he grins, “besides I wanna clean up that messy cunt with my tongue before you get slick all over my sheets.”

He scoots down, dragging his lips across your tummy and dropping kisses as he goes. 

“We’ll keep the blankets pulled up so you don’t get cold,” he murmurs as he bites your hip bone before soothing it with his tongue. 

You give him a shaky nod, “Okay, Father.”

He bucks his hips at that, feeling his cock leak in his sweats. He feels as you tug the blankets up and when he looks back up he can barely see your face making this seem so illicit and dirty it’s getting him even harder. 

He quickly eases your panties down your legs and tosses them on the outside of the blankets before settling between your legs again. Leon lets his instructive thoughts win and bites bruise after bruise into the dough of your thighs, sucking and worrying the skin until you're squirming against his mouth.  

He bites his way up to the crease of your thigh then lets his tongue trail across your skin until he’s lapping at your swollen clit. He hears as you moan loudly, thighs falling open wider as he hungrily licks into your cunt. 

“You taste like sin,” he groans as he pulls back to spread your pussy open, “so fucking good.”

Pressing his face tightly against your slick coated lips, he flutters his tongue into your soaked hole and grinds his nose against your bundle of nerves. He slips his tongue in and out of your hole before licking back up to your throbbing clit, softly kissing the sensitive bud again and again until sucking it gently into his mouth. 

Sweat beads around his hairline as it grows warmer underneath the layers of covers. Leon mouths at your sloppy cunt until you’re moaning loudly as slick coats his chin and lower jaw. Once your thighs start to tremble, he pulls away and crawls back up your body. The cooler air of the room kissing his sweaty skin as your hands scrabble against his shoulders. 

“‘M so close,” you whimper as you tug him into a messy kiss, “wanna cum, please Father.” 

He clicks his tongue, “You have to work hard for forgiveness,” he presses his thumb down against your chin making your lips part. 

“Maybe we should try filling that mouth up first,” he murmurs, watching as your eyes droop. 

You nod, running your hands down his broad chest, “Please, wanna see you, too.”

Surprise crosses his features, but he schools it into a crooked smile, “Aren’t you sweet? Take your shirt off for me while I get undressed.”

In no time, he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, completely nude save for the rosary around his neck. When he goes to slip it off, your hand snaps around his wrist.

He watches as the embarrassment wars with arousal as you ask him to keep wearing it. His dick throbs and kicks against his thigh and your eyes go lidded as they take in his thick cock.

“Allow me to show you how sorry I am, Father,” you scratch your nails across his chest all the way down his toned stomach to a happy trail that leads to the thatch of hair above his cock. 

Goosebumps travel across his skin when you rub across his hips bones, breath ghosting across the drippy head of his dick. 

Your tongue lathes over the slit, circling his tip and teasing under his foreskin before you pull back. 

That shy look steals over your face, “Can you sit here?”

You pat the gap in the pillows in front of the headboard. Leon’s lips quirk in amusement and shifts to sit with his back to the headboard and legs splayed out across the bed. You move to kneel in between his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his stiff cock. 

He watches as you lean forward, one hand coming up to grip the base of his cock as the other rests on his thigh, and slowly sucks the head of his dick into your mouth. Your eyes shutter with a moan as you take more and more of his cock into your mouth until you choke. 

Pulling off with a gasp, your watery eyes blink open staying on his as you sink back down on his cock. His abdomen tenses and he grabs the back of your neck with his broad palm to guide your head. 

“No need to rush,” his eyes track your tongue as you lick and kiss all along his dripping slit.

“You taste so good,” you moan as you lick your way down to his balls. 

Leon keeps his gaze on you as your wet mouth sucks his balls into your mouth, whining when you can’t fit both at the same time. You smear your face against the spit slick skin of his squishy sac as you nuzzle and suck his taint.  

“Oh, good girl,” he parts his legs wider so your mouth can reach him easier. 

Your glazed eyes slide shut when you slip your tongue down further to ghost across his asshole. Tongue drifting lazily against it, Leon grunts when you finally lick into him. 

“Such an eager girl,” he rasps as you softly eat him out, tongue eagerly rimming his hole. 

You sloppily makeout with his hole as his cock weeps precum everywhere; his own heavy hands keep your face buried between his cheeks. 

When you finally pull back, your chin’s coated with spit. 

“Suck my cock a little more and I’ll fill up that needy cunt,” he pulls your swollen mouth to the weeping head. 

Whining, you easily follow along and let his thick cock sink back into your mouth. He luxuriates in the feeling, the feeling of your hot hungry mouth slurping loudly around his dick. You moan and whine around him, rubbing your thighs together for friction. He smirks to see you acting so needy, so obedient in servicing him. 

“Up,” he murmurs, grabbing your neck and pulling you off of his cock.

Your hands reach out to dig into his pecs, framing the rosary between your hands as you straddle his lap, his cock snugly pressing against your pussy. 

“Oh, Father, please,” you grind down on his wet cock, dragging slick along his throbbing length until your clit’s bumping his tip. 

“Poor little lamb,” his hands grab your hips, letting you rock against him. 

With the grip he has on your hips, he easily manhandles you onto your back, kneeling between your spread legs, cock leaking all over your wet cunt.  

“Oh god,” you mewl, scratching at his chest. 

He spanks your clit with his fat cock. 

“What did I say about taking the Lord’s name in vain?”

Your pupils swallow any color left in your eyes, “‘m sorry, daddy. I don’t mean to be bad.”

“Fuck,” he growls, slapping your cunt with his cock over and over to make your hips jump, “are you misbehaving on purpose?”

Head shaking no, you wrap your legs around his waist, “No, I didn’t mean— it just slipped out. I‘m sorry, Father Kennedy.”

He nudges the tip of his cock into your hole, making you keen and rock down. The pressure around just the head makes him want to be rougher, meaner with you.

He grins smugly down at you, “You just can’t help it, can you? The wetter this pussy gets the dumber you are, right? What a slut.”

You whine, the heels of your bare feet digging into the back of his legs, goading him to slide deeper into your cunt. 

“Yes, I’m your slut, Father,” your hands tug on his rosary making him groan and fuck his dick into your spasming cunt. 

His heavy weight drops over your body, earning another low whine followed by your nails scoring a hot trail across his shoulders. He shudders, enjoying that small bite of pain as your eyes roll back in your head, pussy sucking him in even deeper somehow. 

“Pretty cunt just needed me buried balls deep in her, huh?” he groans as he pulls out just to sink back into your pussy, “so tight.”

“W-wait,” your voice goes high with sudden realization, “I thought p-priests were banned f-from having sex,” you gasp out, stuttering through Leon’s thrusts. 

“Baby,” he coos condescendingly, “you don’t think I was some silly little virgin, did you?”

He boxes you in even more, dropping down on his forearms that rest on each side of your head. 

“But I gotta say, you’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucked,” he kisses your mouth, “so wet,” he drops another kiss to your lips, “and tight,” and another kiss ending with a rough bite of your bottom lip, “this kitty’s been purring for my dick all night.”

Your head thrashes against the pillow at his words, “Yes, yes, fuck,” tears drip from your lash line, “it’s so good, Father Kennedy.”

Molten heat rushes through his veins at your wanton face paired with that sweet voice. His teeth sink into that plush bottom lip, suckling on it until you tug your head back with a soft cry. It’s swollen and split from his teeth, a small bead of blood welling up only for him to lick it away with a groan.  

He licks into your mouth, mixing spit and blood until he’s sucking your tongue past his own greedy lips. His cock slowly ruts in and out of your clenching hole as he kisses you breathless. Your fingers tangle in his rosary, tugging him back to your mouth every time he goes to pull away. 

Leon lets himself go; stops trying to control himself and settles into fucking into your warm, wet cunt with harsh skin slapping thrusts. He bites anywhere his mouth can reach, leaving dark bruises or even outright bloody teeth marks behind. His dark eyes keep track of your pleasure as well; if you wince, he makes sure to lathe his tongue across a bite instead of sinking his teeth into you again or fucks his cock shallowly into your pussy instead of knocking against your cervix how he likes. 

You reward him with pretty little cries and pleads against his lips; your doughy thighs clasped tightly around his waist as you beg for him to ruin your cunt. He wrings orgasm after orgasm until your body’s spent and you're babbling incoherently. 

He keeps you underneath him all night, trading blood tinged kisses as his cock stuffs your squelching pussy. Sunlight begins to stream through the snow tinted windows when he finally manhandles your body to straddle over him once again. 

Leon feels like this must truly be what heaven is like. You, seated in his lap as he buries his cock to the hilt in your hot little cunt watching as you grind down against him. Fat dimples between his fingers as he grips your ass tightly, helping you keep rhythm as he bounces you up and down his dick. 

“Oh Father Kennedy,” you whimper, “I can’t, I can’t—“

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs, easing your harsh grind into a slow back and forth, “you can give me one more so I can feel that pussy squeeze me so I can put a nice thick load in her.”

His fingers slowly circle and pinch your pudgy clit, letting you rock against him a little faster. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m g’nna,” you hiccup a sob, tears dripping from your eyes as he works your exhausted body towards another orgasm. 

“Call me, Leon,” he smiles at you, the first genuine one he’s actually offered to anyone in quite a long time, “now cum for me, squeeze me nice and tight.”

“Leon, Leon, I-I’m cumming,” you gasp out, a mewling cry slipping past your swollen lips as your pussy milks Leon’s cock for the upteenth time since this all started. 

“Good girl, so good for me,” he groans, letting your climax coax his own from him, grabbing your hips to hold you snug to him. 

He growls up at you, cock jumping inside your spasming pussy as rope after rope of sticky cum spurts inside your fluttering walls. 

 “Leon, oh, it’s so warm,” you whimper, one hand settling on your belly and the other resting on Leon’s heaving chest. 

“Fuck,” he yanks you down into a messy, spit filled kiss.

You whine and he softens it, titling his mouth up to press softer kisses to your lips until pulling away. Easing down next to him, you snuggle into his side, burying your face in his neck. 

“So am I forgiven now?” you tease, fingers tracing over the beads of his rosary. 

“Might need to spend some time with me in the confessional,” he presses a kiss to your hair, “just to make sure it takes.” 

[stevesgother]

American Teenager - R.B

Pairing - Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

WC - 3.9k

Part 1 of the I Wish I Knew You series

General Warnings - internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, religious and evangelical themes/descriptions, cursing, drug/alcohol use, depictions of religious trauma, eventual smut

AN - before we even start let me disclaim: this series will explore heavy topics. a lot of it is self-indulgent, as a queer woman who grew up in the church. If you find any of the themes listed above triggering or upsetting in any way, DO NOT PROCEED. i’m so excited for you guys to read this one. With love ~ emma <3

On your fifteenth birthday, your father gave you a purity ring.

Today, the sun cascading through the delicate stained-glass windows reflects perfectly off the dainty diamond in its setting; your hands clasped in prayer.

‘Our Father, as we gather in Your presence, we thank You for the blessings of this day,’

Your father’s unwavering voice echoes the service’s concluding prayer over the congregation as you sit thigh to thigh with your mother, heads bowed. A singular pleated french braid fell neatly down your back, styled just how your mother liked it. The sanctuary smells of stale communion crackers and mildew. You silently scold yourself for wishing it would be time to leave already.

‘In Your holy name we pray,’

Amen.

The old wooden pews creak as the mass starts to funnel out of the church; a cacophony of chatter and laughter erupts throughout the room as different families begin to socialize. Sues and Annes, Toms and Franks– asking each other for prayer. ‘My husband got laid off.’ they’ll say, or ‘We’re having trouble conceiving.’

Sometimes when you watch them all flock together like this, you wonder if you’re being given a prophetic glimpse of your future.

“And Y/N, how are you and your boyfriend?”

You’re snapped out of your daze, “Sorry?”

“‘Ben’ is it? How are you and Ben doing?”

“Oh we’re–” you shake your head distractedly, hair swishing along the back of your perfectly ironed dress, “We’re good, thank you,”

“She and Ben are actually going to Princeton next year,” your mother adds triumphantly, “just received the acceptance letters last week!”

“Oh!” Your mother’s friend Dorothy squeals, “Isn’t that delightful?!”

“We’re very proud of her.” your father compliments as he wraps a tight arm around your shoulder, “She’s even going for ministry.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” Dorothy laments, “you know, I went to a bible college–” she looks at you in a stern, motherly way that makes sweat prickle at your brow, a bony finger dancing in your direction, “there is truly nothing better than committing your life to our Lord.”

This is the conversation you decide to ruminate on as you sit in front of your vanity mirror, brushing your braid out in a daze. You must’ve been sitting there, running that wide tooth comb through your hair, for at least ten minutes now– your delicate strands starting to break and frizz.

The worn pages of your leather-bound journal stick to one another as you fold it open, ready to spill your guts amongst the pages,

April 8th, 1986

Tomorrow is Monday. A new week, with new responsibilities. I’m scared to disappoint daddy, but I know he just wants the best for me. Ben came over for dinner tonight, momma really loves him, I think. I think he’s sweet. He’s been bringing me flowers more often. They’re always wrapped in brown paper instead of that ugly plastic you get at the grocery store. He’d make a good husband one day, don’t you think? Write again soon.

You always sign your name in your frilly cursive at the end of each passage as if anyone else would be writing in your diary except for you. You think it feels more formal that way. More official.

...

Eight o’clock is decidedly too early for band class. Your flute keeps drooping in your hands, your notes are flat, and your breath support is terrible. Maybe your lingering drowsiness is just the excuse you’re using to deflect from the fact that what’s really distracting you is a girl across the room that you’ve never seen before, standing awkwardly and tuning her trumpet.

She’s sporting chipped, black nail polish and bright red converse covered in inky doodles. Her hair is a sandy blonde color and looks just a little chemically damaged like maybe she’d bleached it recently. It’s miles shorter than yours, though– resting just above her shoulders.

The girl doesn’t pay you any mind, nor anyone else for that matter. Mrs. Foster didn’t even introduce her to the class, and there certainly weren’t any students lining up to meet her. She stood out like a sore thumb and her style reminded you a bit of that one super senior who was still in Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class. It makes you wonder where she came from, and why on Earth she would ever come here. Two months before graduation, no less.

She had her instrument packed and was standing by the door before the bell even rang. You hoped distantly that she had someone to sit with at lunch. Claire and Ben would be totally pissed if you ditched them to keep her company otherwise.

When you got to the cafeteria, the two of them were already seated, waiting for you and looking as if they were squabbling about something stupid again. Nothing new.

“Oh, don’t have a cow, Claire,” you hear your boyfriend say as you sit beside him. He takes a generous bite of a ham and cheese sandwich and speaks with his mouth full, “your life is hardly over.” It always makes your stomach churn when he does that. He could be so boyish and gross sometimes.

“A ‘C’ is totally gonna bring down my GPA!” Claire cries in response.

“Didn’t you like, already get accepted into your top school?” You ask carefully, as not to rock the boat. Claire was like that: easily agitated. Every conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope.

Claire scoffs, “You know, some of us actually have to work for our futures?”

Ben cuts in, somehow foreseeing the words about to spew out of her mouth, “Claire, don’t–”

“--Not all of our daddies can just buy our way into ministry school. You don’t even have to know anything to get into those programs, for Christ’s sake.” She spits, a scowl painting her face.

She’s not usually so cruel. As angry as you want to be, pesky tears prick the corners of your eyes. Why must you cry for every emotion?

“That’s not fair,” you say, trying your hardest to sound stoic but the wobble in your voice betrays you. If there’s one thing Claire hates, it’s weakness. She’s like a damned army general sometimes– every tear that rolls down your cheek just fuels her anger.

She wasn’t always this way. There was a time, before Ben and before high school, where the two of you were inseparable. Hanging upside down from your knees on the monkey bars and sharing cherry popsicles in a blistering summer heat. Claire was like the sister you never had– and now? Now a sickly, dreadful feeling washed over you every time you anticipated seeing her.

“You’re right,” Claire snaps, “It’s not.”

“You know how hard I worked to get into Princeton.” You defend.

“Please, spare me. It’s all any of us have been hearing about all year.”

“Claire–” Ben spits through clenched teeth.

Without another word to either of them, you collect your things and make a beeline for the girl's bathroom. Your boyfriend picks his jaw up off the floor in time to catch you by the forearm as you’re making a run for it.

“Hey, no, wait–”

“Leave me alone, Ben,” you say as you try and wriggle your arm from his grip, tears still breaching your lash line.

“She’s just–” he searches, “she’s just stressed out.”

“And you would know right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Ben,”

As you’re walking away, you catch bits and pieces of a hushed conversation between your friends as your boyfriend sits back down.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Claire, enough. You know how her dad is.’

You don’t bother listening to the rest of their bickering. It doesn’t matter.

The swinging door of the restroom pushes open with a creak. You approach the large mirror mounted above the sinks, getting an up-close and personal look at your skin under the harshest fluorescent lighting you’ve ever seen. You look like a corpse and your mascara is running in two distinct paths down your cheeks.

It’s as you're aggressively wiping the streaked makeup off your face that you hear a small sniffle emanating from the stall behind you. You freeze momentarily, having previously been under the assumption that you were alone.

“Hello?” You call quietly into the void.

Only another sniffle echoes back at you.

“Is… someone there?”

A meek ‘yeah’ emanates from behind the stall door.

“Who is it?”

The stall door pushes open to reveal a disheveled looking girl. The girl from band.

The entire front of her is covered in some lumpy substance, you don’t even attempt at a guess at what it is. Maybe mashed potatoes? Maybe chocolate milk? Both?

Neither of you say anything for a moment, until you break the silence with a super helpful, “Oh my gosh…are you okay?”

“Well, other than Tommy H and his gaggle of idiots dowsing me in concoction of–” she glances down at her soiled clothes, “whatever the hell this is, I’d say pretty I’m dandy.”

You grimace in disgust on her behalf– can practically feel your own clothes stinking and sticking to your skin just by looking at hers, “I’m so sorry, they’re…” you can’t seem to find any appropriate words to describe that group of degenerates.

“Assholes?” She offers.

“Sure,” you chuckle, thankful that she filled in the blank for you.

She begins yanking paper towels from the machine hanging on the wall, running them under the faucet and wiping them down the front of her t-shirt, but to no avail.

“Shit!”

“Do you… have a change of clothes?” You ask hesitantly as she’s still furiously scrubbing.

“No, and my mom’s totally gonna murder me if I come home like this! She just bought me this shirt after I’d been begging and begging for it, and then when she finally did buy it, she just told kept telling me how expensive it was and then I felt bad and now I–”

You’ve never heard someone talk as fast as her in your life. Like actually ever.

“Hey, okay–” you cut her off, “why don’t we leave a little early? I can bring you back to my house and you can wear something of mine?” You gesture to her, “And I can wash your shirt.”

“Are you sure?” She winces, fully preparing for this to be just another esoteric joke at her expense.

In all honesty, you really weren’t sure. You’d never skipped school before, let alone brought a friend home without your parents meeting their parents first and giving you the greenlight. This was uncharted territory for you, but the girl’s wide and pleading blue eyes were chipping at your resolve. You wanted to help her.

“Yeah, of course,”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she deflates in relief, you can practically see the tension leaving her shoulders in real time. “I’m Robin, by the way.” She says, sticking out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Robin.” You smile and return the gesture.

...

On the ride back to your house, you learned that Robin walked to school every day all the way from where she lived in Forest Hills trailer park. Some deducing led you to the conclusion that that's at least a thirty-five minute walk both ways. She’d worried aloud and picked at the loose threads of her jeans the entire drive to your neighborhood, clearly scared of ruining the upholstery of your car; but you really didn’t mind. You were just glad to save her the trek home.

Your family wasn’t what you would consider ‘wealthy’, but to Robin, your upper middle-class home might as well have been a millionaire’s vacation house.

“So…this is me,” you state as you lead her inside, “I can give you the tour after you change, if you want?”

She looks a little awestruck, taking in her surroundings like a kid in a candy shop, “Yeah, sure…” she replies distractedly.

You lead her upstairs to your bedroom. It’s much nicer than Robin’s– just like the rest of your house– and much girlier too. All four walls are a shade of pale pink, adorned with posters of famous pop stars like Madonna and Blondie. The patchwork quilt that covers your bed matches the rest of the room's aesthetic laced with a frilly trim.

“Here’s a shirt and a pair of sweatpants,” you hold the pile of clothes out to Robin, breaking her stupor, “I hope they fit alright,”

“No, I’m sure they’ll fit great,” a beat of silence, “Where can I uhm–change?”

“Oh, duh– right, sorry,” you say with a palm to your forehead, “there’s a bathroom down the hall and to the left.”

You’re on edge the entire time you’re showing Robin around your house. Logically, you know both of your parents are at work, but the knowledge doesn’t help to ease the anxiety you feel at the thought of your father coming home to find a stranger in your house. You know what he would say about Robin– Robin and her kitchen scissor haircut and her black nail polish and pierced ears.

“Dude, you have two living rooms?” Robin asks in disbelief.

“Well, technically one’s a living room and one’s a…sitting room,” you cringe inwardly as you try to defend yourself but only feeling like a pretentious asshole the moment the words leave your mouth.

“I’ve never even had a second floor in any house I've lived in before,” she admits.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“I guess? But it’s just my mom and I now.” She answers.

“I’ve always lived here–” you start to say but are quickly cut off by the blur of Robin’s figure rushing past you and to your entertainment center.

“Holy shit! Is this an Atari?” She picks it up excitedly– the way she handles it admittedly makes you a little tense.

You laugh despite yourself at her bewilderment, “Yeah, do you wanna play while we wait for your clothes to finish in the wash?”

“Uhm, are you kidding? Obviously!”

So that’s how you spend the next two hours: thigh to thigh on your sofa with this hyper, golden retriever of a girl you just met less than a day ago, playing Slot Racers for long after her clothes are finished drying.

Just as you were about to beat Robin for the third race in a row, you hear the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock of your front door.

To say your father– who clearly was not expecting anyone to be home yet– was surprised, would be an understatement.

“Y/N?”

“Dad!” You shout, whipping around from where you’re sitting on the couch, “What’re you doing home already?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh I– I uhm–” you stumble over yourself as you watch your worst fear become a terrifying reality.

“Why is there a stranger in my house?” He asks, interrupting your attempts at explaining yourself.

“Oh, this is–”

Robin shoots up rather abruptly from beside you, sticking her hand out stiffly– just like she did in the bathroom earlier, “Hi, I’m– my name’s Robin, it’s nice to meet you.”

She clears her throat nervously as she waits for your father to return the gesture as you had, but he doesn’t. He keeps his focus solely on you.

“Why is Robin in my house when your mother and I are not here?”

“Earlier, at school, Robin spilled something on her shirt. We came back here so she could wash it.” You know before you even offer it that your explanation isn’t going to cut it. You’re not getting off the hook this time.

“I see. I want you to take Robin back to her own house, and then I want you coming straight back here. Do you understand?”

“Yes–”

“‘Yes’ what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He waves you away with this hand, signaling you to grab Robin by her wrist to drag her to the washer and dryer unit next to your kitchen. You pluck her outfit from the machine and wordlessly lead her back to your car parked in the driveway.

It’s not until you’re idling in Robin’s driveway with her stark presence still beside you that you’re able to clock how fast you’re breathing.

“Hey,” she grazes your forearm with her slender, ring clad fingers, “are you okay?”

“Yeah!” You reassure her a little too quickly, “Yeah, my dads just– he can be a little strict sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, believe me, I get it,” she chuckles, but it's mostly humorless, “my moms a lot like that too– I’m honestly still trying to figure out how I’m gonna explain why I’m wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“Maybe just say you got too sweaty during PE?”

That elicits a real laugh from Robin, one where you can see all her teeth as she throws her head back against the passenger seat. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen it but subconsciously hoping it won’t be the last.

“Honestly? Best case scenario is that she’s passed out, wine drunk, on the couch.”

She tries to mask the inherent sadness of her statement with another small giggle, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Well– here,” you say, grabbing a pen out of your glovebox and her hand, “just in case she is awake, you can call me, and I'll tell her what happened,” you offer, scribbling your landline’s number on her clammy palm.

“Thanks,” she smiles shyly, looking up at you through her lashes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” You ask, “In band?”

“Yeah, I’ll– I’ll see you then,” she calls back with a two-finger salute as she shuts the door to your passenger seat and walks backwards towards her house.

You’re not sure what compels you to wait, parked in her driveway until you see her cross the threshold of her trailer door, but you do.

...

There is hell to pay when you get home.

Both of your parents sit side by side on the couch you had just sat on with Robin not more than thirty minutes ago.

Had he seriously called your mother home from work for this?

There's nothing polite or welcoming about their demeanor. Their posture is straight and hard, like two stone statues sitting in a stark contrast to the living room that’s all soft cushions and handmade quilts.

“Sit.” Your father commands.

So, you do, in the armchair across the room from them. Palms beginning to sweat.

You try to mirror their posture out of habit but find that you can’t will yourself to be so cold as them. You’re a human girl, after all. Sometimes you think the same can’t be said about your mother and father. You wonder what they talk about when you’re not around.

“I don’t want you hanging around that girl anymore,” your father speaks again. He spits the word ‘girl’ out of his mouth like its poison– like it may physically harm him to house between his teeth for even a second longer, “she’s a bad influence on you.”

“You don’t even know her–” you try to protest, though you saw this coming.

“Perhaps we could’ve gotten the chance to if you hadn’t snuck her into the house!” Your mother butts in, “You’ve never done something like this before! I simply don’t understand it.”

“I–”

“I mean, really, what’s gotten into you?” She asks, though you know the question is rhetorical. She’s not truly expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry,” you say, defeated, “It won’t happen again.”

“Go wash up. Supper is in an hour.” Your father dismisses you.

Upstairs, you can hear their hushed voices arguing about what to do with you as if they found you smoking pot or something. Or maybe even having unprotected, pre-marital sex with your boyfriend and them sleeping in the room next door. What you actually did feels wildly inconsequential in comparison, but then again, you’d never really broken a house rule before.

You poked and prodded at your shepherd's pie for an hour before they finally sent you away from the dining table. You thought about Robin approximately every four and a half minutes. You don’t know what it was about her that made you lose your appetite, but not in the way you do when you’re angry or sad– in the way you do before a big test, or maybe prom night. The moths in your gut too restless, taking up far too much space for any food.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you kept imagining your phone ringing. The phantom sound of it driving you nearly insane. And when it does finally ring, you think you’re not really hearing it.

Picking up the receiver and placing it adjacent to your ear, expecting to hear the distinct but strangely familiar rasp of Robin’s voice on the other line.

“Hey, babe,”

Ben.

You ignore the way your stomach drops slightly in disappointment, “Hey, Ben.”

“Where’d you go earlier? I didn’t see you in sixth period.”

“Yeah, I–” Think of something. Quickly. “I wasn’t feeling well. Went home early.”

“Oh, Okay. A couple people said they saw you leaving with this girl? Thought maybe you’d ditched, but then I thought ‘that’s crazy, she’d never do that.’” He laughed as if it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. Ben. Your sweet, naive Ben.

Your reciprocated laughter sounds a touch more nervous and less sincere than his, “Gosh, no,”

A feminine giggle breaks the barrier of the call.

“Is someone there?” You ask.

“What?”

“I thought I heard something. A laugh, maybe?”

“TV’s on downstair, baby.”

You don’t think to question it again. Ben may be dull, but he’s not a liar.

When you don’t speak again, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Sweet, love you.”

He hangs up the phone before you get the chance to say it back. You don’t know why, but you’re grateful. You can’t help but notice that he’d never asked you how you were feeling. Obviously, you weren’t really sick, but he had at least thought you were.

You put it out of your mind as you open your journal:

Dear diary,

I met this girl today. She’s lanky. And tall. And has short brown hair. Her clothes are a little beat up, but in that cool way I can never seem to do on purpose. I found her crying in the bathroom, which was a little awkward. Turns out we’re both in the marching band! I know we’re graduating soon and all but, I don’t know maybe we could end up being friends? I feel like Claire’s been totally in her own world lately. She actually said some really harsh things to me at lunch today. I also ditched school. I feel guilty. I prayed about it, repented too, but momma and daddy are still really mad at me. But I was doing it to help someone! That girl, her name is Robin. I don’t know her last name. I’ll remember to ask her tomorrow morning.

divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

[icycoldninja]

FLUFFCEMBER DAY#21: (Idia x Reader)

Save me

Oh man.

Oh man.

What were you thinking? What kind of delusional high were you on when you asked Idia to come with you to a friend's Christmas gathering? You should have known better, especially since that friend of yours had promised a "fun" "wild" party with loud music and lots of people. Seriously, that description alone should have told you this place was not for Idia, not at all. You had to have been drunk when you begged him to come with you, that's the only answer that doesn't destroy your confidence in your own intelligence.

"Where are you?" You mumbled, mostly to yourself. Half of you hoped he would hear you and emerge from the crowd of chattering bodies; the other half was sure he wouldn't. Why would he? He was probably terrified out of his mind, lurking in the corner curled up in the fetal position and crying. Even if he caught sight of you maneuvering through the room, he likely wouldn't have the courage to leave his hiding place.

"Idia?" You shouted in vain, the booming beats of a vaguely familiar EDM track drowning out your words. The subwoofers continued barking; the bass vibrated in the floorboards beneath your very feet. "Idia! Can you hear me?"

A woman standing next to you who was tipsy on spiked punch heard your cries and turned around to ask you if anything was wrong.

"I'm looking for my friend," You told her, hoping she wasn't too drunk to help you. "He's about this tall, kinda pale, got pointy shark teeth, and has bright blue hair that looks like it's made of fire--well it is, but most people don't believe us when we tell them that--and he's got a big jacket on. Have you seen him?"

The woman gaped at you for five whole seconds before slowly shaking her head and making her way back to the punch table.

"Well, she was no help," You grumbled bitterly, continuing to push through the congregation of swaying people, squinting into the neon-illuminated darkness, looking for any signs of your partner. You debated calling his name again, and after a few moments of internal discussion, decided against it since it was pointless, and kept searching quietly. Then you caught sight of a flicker of bright blue that glowed like eerie fire from a ghostly candle, the kind you normally only find sitting around in Halloween.

"Idia, there you are!" You couldn't help but hiss, as you bounded over to the source of the flickering blue flames. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the floor, his nose buried in not a book, but a glowing game console, his pale skin given a sickly glow by the white-appearing bluelight. He didn't notice you approaching him at all, not until you knelt down and gently flicked his forehead.

"Oh, hey," He droned emotionlessly. "Nice of you to come visit me." His words were dripping with sarcasm, a fact proven in the little eyeroll he gave you before returning to his game.

"Now stop that," You began, before catching yourself and realizing how nagging you were beginning to sound. "Look...uhh.." You found yourself scratching your head, unsure of how to proceed. "I'm sorry, for dragging you here. I really shouldn't have asked you to come, but I see now that this was a mistake, and--hey, are you listening to me?"

Judging from the vacant, almost lifeless expression in Idia's eyes, no, he wasn't.

Blowing out an irritated sigh, you placed your hands on your hips and began pacing back and forth in front of him, trying to work out a plan of action. You could try to drag him away, but he looked pretty comfortable in that spot, and since his fingers were mashing buttons like crazy, he was in the middle of something so important, he might get mad if you interrupted him. Then again...he was so invested in his game, he might not even notice you pulling him away until you were already back home. Oh, what to do, what to do?

"Save me already, what are you waiting for?" Idia suddenly mumbled, though it was unclear whether he was talking to the game or you. You decided to seize the opportunity, blame it on miscommunications if he got upset, grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him towards the exit. Surprisingly, no one noticed the unusually tall, pale man with flaming blue hair who was swearing at his game console while literally being towed to the door. Ah well, it's all for the best.

[valkierrie]

ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡɪɴɢ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀꜱ.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warning(s): (Liam Gallagher smut), swearing, alcohol.

Plot: Y/N was considered by others to be tied down by her religion. She didn't think she needed anything apart from her bible, but upon meeting Liam Gallagher, he shows her the pleasures of life she was taught was taboo and opens her up to a world of Enlightenment.

Word count: 6.4K

A/N: A story I've been dying to get out, don't worry, I will be back on the requests for the Damon girlies and the one Noel request as well as Ian Brown. This story was hell to write and even worst to edit. Enjoy.

X

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chapel was packed, as it normally was on Sunday mornings. The church was bigger than most and could hold twice the size. The soft smell of freshly baked chocolate chip biscuits filled the air as worship leaders served them to entering bodies of people. I chose to sit towards the front. Not the front row, but two or three rows behind it. My own biscuit rested on top of a white napkin and set beside my Bible on the wooden bench.  

As people filed, filling up the seats left and right, I wore the usual. A long-sleeved shirt tucked into a long skirt, finished off with the usual smile that was on my face when my eyes met someone else’s. There was the familiar sound of chatter as couples greeted couples and families greeted families.  

Pastor Thomas took his place on the high platform, behind the large, white altar. His tall figure stood before the church, looking over all of us with an intense level of authority. Which to some extent, one could argue he had. The chatters turned to murmurs before it went to silence. He had that power. He didn’t need to speak to command a room, but when he did, everyone listened. Myself included. I admired him dearly. Always impressed with his self-control and discipline—qualities I lacked and wished dearly to grasp with the same firm hold he had on them. 

“Good morning.” Pastor Thomas greeted. 

There was a chorus of greetings all throughout the congregation. 

“Now, today’s sermon is going to be a little different.” He glanced around at the rows of families, his face in an expression that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Let’s have our little ones onto the room next door, please.” He signalled for one of the worship leaders, who was guided the kids towards himself.  

Parents ushered their small children towards the worship leader, some tinkering or fixing their clothes before nudging them towards him. He led them out of the large worship hall we were in and took them elsewhere. There were small conversations and shuffles as the transition occurred. 

Pastor Thomas gathered everyone’s attention back. “Right.” He coughed. “Dear brothers and sisters in Christ—” His voice falters, as if the titles were poison at the edge of his tongue. “Though, I hesitate to call you that. Let’s not lie in the house of the Lord, you are all sinners.”  

There was an echo of whispers all around the flock. 

“Yes, each and every single one of you.” Pastor Thomas didn’t waver; his tone was cold and convicting. “As I am very clearly pure in the eyes of the Father, I am your shepherd, and it is my duty to make sure your souls aren’t dragged to the pits of hell.”  

There was a small pause between his words, allowing us to take it all in. I wasn’t too sure I was taking it in well. I understood what he was saying, and it wasn’t anything new. He always spoke in this tone, but lately something strange had been simmering. I didn’t know how to go about it, really.  I found myself doing less of the expected head-nodding and seal-clapping, instead my brow rose.  I may have looked up to the man, but one couldn’t help but...inquire on his choice of words when he preached. I tried to orient myself in the way he preached, and the more I tried, the harder the feeling unsettlement settled. Even now, I was uncertain, but there wasn’t exactly anyone I could go about my thoughts with.  

“Today, I bring upon you a topic that has been plaguing our youths and poisoning them, worse than any alcohol and drug in the world.” He spoke gesturally, using his hands to emphasise his point. “Fornication. Sexual intercourse before marriage.” Pastor Thomas’ hands touched the pulpit softly, though his grip was firm. “This topic isn’t up for debate, it is clear in the book, First Corinthians, chapter six, verse eighteen. You are to ‘flee from sexual immorality’ but instead today what do I see? The complete opposite. One can only wonder what our Lord in heaven and what I think about it all.” 

There was silence, only sounds being made was the silent shuffling made by the movements of heads in agreement.  

“Even something as small as the thought of fornication is destined take you to eternal hellfire. Unless you follow me, your fate is sealed.” 

I adjusted my posture uncomfortably, moving my shoulders slowly. That last sentence felt targeted towards me specifically. Though there wasn’t any logical explanation or concrete evidence that it was, that didn’t stop my mind from betraying me. As of recently, I’ve been having... less than holier thoughts. The fleeting, unbidden thoughts. The kind that left small yet remanent wet patches on my undergarments. The yearning desire was strong, I didn’t understand why I felt this way, nor did I want to know. There was no way I was going to talk to anyone about it and risk the inevitable judgement that was to come. I couldn't. I picked up my Bible, like a sigil that was meant to protect me from the civil war in my mind. It wasn’t me anymore—the girl who found peace in a place like this. The sentiment was nothing show of a distant memory; I wasn’t so sure that I fit in anymore. 

“I decree today...” Pastors Thomas set his gaze firmly on the congregation with importance, as if the following words that would come out of his mouth would become the next testimonies of the New Testament. “That as long as you abide to my words, your soul will be saved. If you don’t, don’t expect to be remembered for anything aside from choosing to separate yourself from God, after all, no one mourns the wicked.” 

That was the last of what he said about it, and it left a dry taste in my mouth. Something felt wrong—something was wrong. Ironically, it felt like God was trying to tell me something at that moment. Pastor Thomas’ words covered my ears and his presence blinded my eyes. As the rest of the service went by, rather forgettably, my regard shifted to the glass windows. For what seemed like a few seconds, my thoughts drifted to what could have been, without any of it. The judgement or the expectation. The light peering through was bright, enticing, almost beckoning. Pastor’s Thomas’ words still lingered in my head as I walked home.  

“You finally back to the land of the living, love?” Eliza called out as I walked into the flat. Eliza, my darling antithesis of a flatmate, laid on the sofa, feet tucked under her as she applied layers mascara over her eyes. 

I sighed, removing my flats and leaving them beside the door. It took a few strides for me to reach the sofa and plop down beside her. 

“How was it?” She asked, her gaze still fixed on the small mirror on her lap. 

“Fine.” 

“Uh, oh,” she teased, “that sounds eventful.” 

“Eliza, please, save the sarcasm for another time. I’m not in the mood.” 

Eliza smirked, moving her gaze from the mirror to me. “What’s going on?” 

“Why do you think anything’s going on?” 

“You usually have that stupid smile on your face after ev’ry church visit.” 

A tired sigh escaped my lips. “Do you...” There was a flicker of hesitation in my tone. “At church today, something felt off...” 

Eliza rose a brow. “What do you mean?” 

“Well...” I sat up, straightening my back. I wasn’t exactly sure how to sum up what was going through my mind in simple words. “Pastor Thomas was preaching about fornication.” 

“Is that what’s got your knickers in a bunch?” Eliza rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you once and I’ll say it again a million times, getting a few good shags once in a while won’t kill ya.” 

“It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it.” 

Eliza adjusted her position, turning her crossed legged self towards me, her head tilting ever-so sightly. 

“He was authoritative, it felt as if he was playing God—or he thought that he was God. It felt cultish.” I sighed, this time not out of tiredness, but in discord. “It’s stupid. Maybe I’m just overthinking it...” 

“It’s not stupid, you’re just...curious, that’s okay.” 

“It shouldn’t be like that though...right?” 

“How should I know, I haven’t been to a church in years, let alone picked up a bible.” Eliza snorted. 

The humour in the situation hadn’t caught up to me, Eliza could see that. She placed the tube of her mascara on the coffee table, grinning. “Tell you what—I’m going to the pub downtown with a couple mates, why don’t you come?” 

“A pub, really?” I blinked. 

“Hey, don’t knock it,” She laughed, using her knee to nudge mine. “A change of scenery’ll do you some good. In addition, you get to see me in ideal element—chugging down pints.” 

“Of course.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t sure what prompted me to accept her invitation, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt, especially since it I was adamant that this was going to be a one-time thing.  

Eliza squealed, pulling me into a small hug as a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. 

The evening took over quicker than I had anticipated, and I found myself stood at the entrance of a dodgy building, adjusting the blouse Eliza had begged me to wear. 

“If you’re not going to wear anything flattering,” She had told me, rummaging through her closet. “Then at least wear this.” She had pulled out a small white blouse. The shirt was cropped at the bottom, the neckline was a low V-neck. Not low enough to give my mother a heart attack—just low. 

Eliza pulled me by the arm into the pub. The place was packed despite the size.  

“I swear,” Eliza tried to speak over the other loud conversations. “It’s never this crowded, must be a match day or summat.” She pulled me through the crowd of people. Her theory might have held validity because a few—a lot of a them wore jerseys. They stood, crowded near the bar, their gazes fixed on the small TV mounted on the wall. Screams and shouts were all over. 

Eliza led me to a small table towards one of the corner windows. She greeted the strangers sat there with a smile and a simple, “Alright?” 

There was an ensemble of greetings returned to her.  

“I brought me mate, Y/N.” Eliza nodded towards me.  

The row of eyes that fell onto me felt a bit intimidating. I gave them a simple wave before taking an empty seat. Eliza began chattin’ up one of her mates. It was clearly one she was very familiar with; anyone could tell by the way she moving her hand up and down his shoulder. From how he looked like and how Eliza had described him in prior conversations, I assumed it was her boyfriend, Alexander. I sat there awkwardly, not really sure what I could’ve done. My mind was all over the place and contrary to what Eliza had claimed, this was doing nothing to help. The yelling and rowdiness of it all rendered me unable to think clearly in the sloghtest. 

“I leave my seat for 3 seconds, and some bird’s already nicked it.” A voice broke my thoughts. 

“Excuse me?” I turned to the side, where the source of the voice came from, only to be greeted by a tall bloke. He stood with a lanky build, and short, shaggy, dark hair. He had a light blue jersey worn over his torso; the colour was almost as blue as his eyes. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips. I couldn’t lie; he looked quite fit under the low lights. 

“I said,” he repeated. “You’re in my seat.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling the fumes, tapping the butt of his cigarette. 

I was taken aback by the tone, and bit annoyed. “I didn’t see you sitting in it, nor did I see a name on it.” 

“Got a right gob on ya, don’t ya.” He crossed his arm.  

I opened my mouth, ready to say something, but whatever was about to come out of my mouth was cut short when Eliza approached. “Liam, finally. Didn’t see ya, was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” 

Liam, scoffed. “I wouldn’t show,” he mocked. “Yeah right. City’s playing United, like I’d miss that.” 

“’Course, good old Liam Gallagher just couldn’t stay away.” Eliza chuckled; she turned towards me. “Y/N, you’ve met Liam, right?” 

“Can’t say that I have.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Liam smirked; he turned to Eliza. “You’re—uh mate here stole my chair.” 

“Can’t steal something that doesn’t belong to you.” I retorted.  

“That’s Y/N for ya.” Eliza shook her head, laughing. She turned towards the bar. “I’m gonna get a drink. You two want anythin’?” 

“Just a pint for me, yeah?” 

I simply shook my head. 

“Suite yerself.” Eliza shrugged.  

“You not drinkin’?” 

I shook my head. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nowt, just askin’.” he chuckled, pulling up another chair that was left unattended. “You’re at a bar, figured you’d get a drink or summat, but then again...” His voice trailed off, and his gaze lowered to my chest, where a small, gold, crucifix necklace laid. 

“So, why’d you ask?” 

“Didn’t wanna assume.” Liam shrugged. He exhaled another cloud of smoke, allowing it to curl between us. His gaze was set on necklace once more before his eyes met mine. “What brings a bird like you out here, then?” 

“Stretching my horizons.” I responded light and sarcastically, placing my hands on my lap. 

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, tapping his cigarette against the table. “And I’m the bloody Queen.” 

“Eliza’s idea. She needs someone who isn’t pissed to take her back to the flat at the end of the night.” 

“Nice thing, that.” Liam nodded, as if processing the information. “That shirt also her idea?” He nodded towards my top. 

“Why d’you think that?” 

“It’s actually got a neckline. Gives a blokes summat interestin’ ‘bout ya to look at.” 

The statement caught me off guard, before I could respond, Eliza interrupted me once more, this time coming back with a long glass cup filled with the beverage Liam had requested, a cloud of foam overtaking the top. 

“Cheers, love.” He thanked Eliza. 

Eliza gave him a smile before returning to her other mates. Liam took sip of his drink.  

“You’ve ever had one of these?” 

I shook my head. 

“Tragic, you’re missin’ out. This is heaven, this.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” 

“It is,” Liam nodded in agreeance. “You should get one.” 

“I don’t drink.” 

“Ah, you one of ‘em proper good girls?” He smirked. 

I didn’t like that question, at all. Liam could tell; the smirk grew wider. He kept going, as if getting a rise out of me was some kind of funny humorous thing. I didn’t feel like dignifying his taunts with a response. I stood up, ready to find Eliza or elsewhere to sit.  

Liam’s hand caught my arm with a gentle grip. “C’mon, I’m just takin’ the piss. Fair play an’ all that.” His tone was still the same, but I could tell that he wasn’t outright trying to mock me. 

“Right.” I pulled my arm away. 

Liam raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, I’ll back down.” 

I sat back down.  

Liam smiled. “Let’s try again.” He stuck out his hand towards me. “Liam. Liam Gallagher.” 

My eyes flickered from his hand to his face. “Y/N,” reluctantly, I took and shook it. “Y/N L/N.” 

Liam leaned back, his grin widening. “So, Y/N. You ever head of Oasis?” 

“Oasis?” I repeated, trying to figure out if the band held a place of familiarity. “I’m not sure that I have, what is it?” 

Liam chuckled. “Only the best band in the fuckin’ world.” 

“Is that right?” I rose a brow. “Why’s that?” 

“’Cause I’m in it.” Liam stated it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That sounds biased.”  

“It’s not biased; It’s just a fact.” 

That was the first thing that evenin’ that managed to get a smile out of me, I didn’t know why. His confident demeanour almost made me want to believe him. The rest of the evening went by pretty fast with Liam keeping me ‘entertained’ with stories about his band. They were unusual for sure, but somehow, they had managed to tug at the corners of my lips or made a chuckle escape my lips before I could stop myself. 

By the time Eliza made her way back to me, the time was well past when I’d be in bed, and Eliza was stumblin’ about. 

“That’s my cue.” 

Liam nodded. I placed Eliza’s arm over my shoulders, my arm going around her waist for support, and helped her out of the pub. I wanted to say that I had a lousy time, but it wasn’t all bad. 

Eliza mumbled some slurred intelligible statements in an effort to convey something, whatever it may be. For someone so tall, she was pretty lightweight. It was darker outside than a had been when we arrived, the temperature seemed to have dropped as well, the cold air hit me like a slap to the face. Almost made me regret leaving the flat without a jacket. It made sense as to why Eliza had gone without out. She’d be too out of it to complain about the cold.  

We passed a strange-looking building; one I saw frequently on my way to church. It hadn’t paid much attention to it—mainly because it blended in well with the other buildings. Tonight, however, it was lit up. Coloured lights everywhere, mainly red ones. Women, many in various stages of scantily clad clothing, stood outside. Some leaned against the lamp posts while others were near the entrance or likely inside. 

I paid them no mind, I had no business with them—plain and simple. As I gently dragged Eliza forward and down the street, something caught my eye—rather someone. Coming out of the building was a tall man, a woman’s arm interlocked with his. I recognized him immediately, and holy fuck. 

Pastor Thomas. 

Pastor Thomas grinned as the woman pulled him forward. Their lips were moving, but I couldn’t quite make out what was being said. But from the smiles on both of their faces and the ease between them, as well as the way her face lit up with a grin when Pastor Thomas handed her a few note, it was obvious what was going on.   

There wasn’t a single bible in sight.  

Of course, I was aware that people had lives outside of church, but seeing him coming out of somewhere like that? There was no logical way to put the pieces together without something being wrong. I couldn’t make sense of it. 

It should have been obvious what was going on, but my brain supressed the truth. My head didn’t want to allow me to get to that point of acceptance. Not yet. I almost dropped Eliza from my shock. I adjusted my grip around her waist as I quickened my pace, hoping to pass unseen. As we did, I turned back, silently praying that it wasn’t who I thought it was—that fatigue was just playing a cruel joke on me. 

Pastor Thomas’ eyes met mine. I couldn’t possibly tell you what going on in his brain. His expression changed, not to that of guilt, or embarrassment, or anything of the sorts. This moment felt like a page out of Animal Farm. I didn’t recognize him. His gaze felt like a was sort of a silent threat, a challenge of sorts. One that told me that he was aware of what I had seen and dared me to say something about it. I moved Eliza and I along until we reached the flat. I fumbled with the key until the door unlocked. Kicking it open, I helped Eliza inside.  

I helped her out of her shoes, taking her to her room. I wasn’t exactly sure how much she’d to drink, but I was certain it wasn’t enough to let her sleep on her back. I adjusted her position, letting her sleep comfortably on her side. 

In my own room, I changed out of my clothes and into my pyjamas. As I laid on my bed, sleep just wouldn’t catch up to me. My mind was begging for a conclusion—anything. It replayed what I had seen, searching and scanning for answers and loopholes. What I saw wouldn’t suffice. Was that what God was trying to tell me?  

God, I sounded crazy, getting warnings from God. Now I knew how Joan of Arc felt. Was this what I was warned about? That my pastor taught one thing and did the opposite. I was undeniably disappointed.  

If he couldn’t hold himself to the standards he had set, what did that say about what I stood for? 

My thoughts didn’t keep me up for too long. I wasn’t sure when I had fallen asleep, but I knew I had when my eyes fluttered open and bright light spilled into my room from the small available cracks on my shutters.  I blinked rapidly, allowing my eyes to get adjusted.  

In the kitchen, Eliza leaned against a counter, one hand on her temple and the other on a glass of water.   

“Remind me to never drink again.” She groaned.  

“That’d be in vain.” I spoke with a dry tone. 

Her head lifted, a small yet weak smile on her face. “Thanks for last night. Who knows where I would’ve ended up if you weren’t there.” 

“It was nothing.” I shrugged. “It’s what a friend does.” 

Eliza turned so her lower back hit the counter, she took a sip of her water. “How’re you holdin’ up?” 

“What?” I blinked. 

“Did last night help you clear your mind?” 

“No,” I shook my head. “If anything, it made things worse.” 

“How?” Eliza’s brows knit in confusion; her smile was replaced with a frown. “Was it Liam? You were talkin’ to him all night—did he say summat?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?” 

There was a hint of hesitation before I spoke.“When I was walking you back home, I saw something.” 

“Really?” 

I nodded. 

“Okay, well tell me.” 

“I saw Pastor Thomas coming out of a building—” 

“Is that it? ” She blinked. 

“I think it was a brothel.” 

Silence. 

“A brothel?” Eliza repeated, in surprise. “Are you sure?” 

“I know what I saw—” I said, my voice firm. “—and I didn’t see a bible or anything.  

“wow...” Eliza's mouth was still ajar from the semi bomb I dropped. “You plannin’ on going back to that church?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“I honestly wish I could help, really, I do.” She spoke, her fingers massaging her temple. “But this hangover is doin’ me head in.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.” 

Eliza gave me a sympathetic smile, placing her hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. 

—  

Days of loitering about on the sofa occurred. Times where I should have been at church, where spent in the flat, doing nothing in particular. Luckily, Eliza kept me fed and kept away anyone from the congregation who was “too curious” about my absence from the church. The weigh of it felt like a heavy rock pressing down on me. 

It felt ridiculous, something so small, yet it held significance and I wasn’t sure why. Was my “belief” truly a belief if it had managed to be shaken by something like this? 

“You can’t keep sitting around like this.” Eliza said, one morning.  

I sat on the sofa, pulling my blanket higher over my shoulders. “Sure I can,” I argued. “I’m doing it right now.” 

“You can’t.” Eliza rolled her eyes, settling beside me.  

I didn’t say anything. 

“If you’ve got nowt to do...” Eliza started.  

I rose my brow, I knew where this was going. “No.” 

Eliza’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You didn’t even lemme ask.” 

“Didn’t have to.” 

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I was gonna ask you to take me to the pub. Again.” 

“No way, that was a one-time thing.” 

Eliza stuck out her lips in a small pout. 

“That’s not going work.” 

“It works with Alexander.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Alexander.” I turned towards her, giving her a look. “And didn’t you say you were going to stop drinking.” 

“People change.” She shrugged. 

“Right.” I deadpanned. 

“C’mon, please.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” 

Eliza grinned triumphantly. 

— 

Eliza and I found ourself in the same place we had been. It was like déjà vu, minus the blouse. I chose to stick with clothes that came from my own closet, much to Eliza’s annoyance. The pub was tamer than it had been the other time. There were actual visible empty chairs. Eliza greeted her mates near the bar. I sat further away, not really having much interest in them.  

The scraping sound of a chair being pulled back caught my attention. My gaze turned to the side, there he was again, Liam. An ever-present and cocky smirk accompanied him. “Back again?” 

“Yeah, I am. You got a problem with that?” 

Liam shook his head, the smirk remained as he leaned back. “Not at all, didn’t see you for a while—got worried I might of scared ya off.” 

“Great, now you’ve seen me.” I deadpanned. 

“I would, but it’s not as fun, y’know what I mean?” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“What’s got you in mood, then?” 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but these last few days haven’t exactly been a cakewalk.” 

“Lemme guess,” Liam leaned back. “You havin’ trouble deciding which bible verse to read before bed?” 

My eyes narrowed slightly. That didn’t bother Liam one bit, if anything, it made his grin wider.  

“My problem isn’t exactly that simple.” 

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He chuckled.  

My expression remained very much the same. I adjusted my position, placing my elbow on the table and my chin on my palm. 

“Y’know what’ll be bound to make you feel better?” 

“What?” 

“A cold pint.” 

“I don’t drink.” I reiterated. 

“C’mon, love, why sit and stress when you can drink and forget?” 

I just stared at him. From the short time I’ve gotten to know what he was about, I learned that he wasn’t what you’d classify as Harvard-level intelligence, but he wasn’t stupid. I wanted to get out of this funk—I really did. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and Eliza always did look happy when she drank.  

“...Fine.” 

Liam’s brows shot up, as if he didn’t quite believe what I’d just said. “Alright.” he nodded, standing up. He went towards the bar, telling something to the bartender. The bartender handed him two glasses. Liam sat back down at my table, sliding one of the drinks towards me.  

“Try it.” Liam encouraged, taking a sip of his own drink. 

I did so. The taste was...unique. I’ve had alcohol before, if you count the wine they offered at church. The liquid burned my throat, it tasted bitter. After I swallowed it, a strong taste remained. I shook my head a bit.  

“Atta girl,” he grinned. “You’ll get used to the taste.” 

“I’m not sure I want to.” 

“It’ll grow on ya.”  Liam encouraged with a chuckle.  

I took a few more sips of the liquid and true to Liam’s words, the bitter after taste was almost numb to me. 

“Feelin’ better?” 

“A bit.” I chuckled. “My head feels fuzzy.” 

I leaned back, unbuttoning some of the top buttons of my shirt. 

“Look on the bright side, you look fit.” 

I turned my head to look at him, a ghost of a smile playing at my lips before I could stop it. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Is that what you tell all the girls you trick into buying a drink?” 

“Only if they’re fit.” Liam shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” 

I leaned in close; Miscalculated my move. My drink to spill right on my lap. I quickly sat the cup right side up. 

“Bloody hell.” Liam burst into a fit of laughter. 

I stood up quickly, causing some of the drink to spill on to the ground. I released an aggressive sigh.  

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” I rolled my eyes. “I swear, I’m never drinking again.” 

“C’mon,” Liam stood up, grabbing my arm. “I’ll help ya.” 

He didn’t give me a chance to give him an answer. Eliza saw us as we passed, her brows knit, I had barely had time to register it. 

Liam led to the restroom, pulling me inside after him and closing the door behind him. He picked up a stack of paper towels, dabbing them over my clothes—uselessly. his efforts did less to help than he had likely hoped. I placed my hand over his, stopping him.  

“It’s alright, I got it.” 

“Lemme help.” he insisted. 

“I don’t think what you’re doing qualifies as help.” I giggled.  

“Counts as summat.” 

My shirt was tainted by the beverage. I was certain I looked absolutely ridiculous. Liam just stared at me. I wasn’t sure what expression he was conveying to me. 

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if atmosphere between us was sacred.  

“Go on then, tell me what’s been doin’ ya ‘ead in.” His voice was soft. 

“Just stuff with my church.” I spoke vaguely, hoping he wouldn’t pry deeper. 

“What happened?”  

There was the hesitation again. I looked at his face for any hint of malice or insincerity, but I found none. With a sigh, I spoke. “My pastor preaches about abstinence before marriage, while he goes to brothels.” 

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, laughter escaping from his throat. 

“Shut up, it’s not funny.” I hit in the chest; Liam only laughed harder. 

“Nah, it’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He grinned, wiping the corners of his eyes. “A brothel—now I’d pay good money to see that.” 

My eyes narrowed.  

“I don’t see how that would bother ya.” 

“He’s a pastor, always goes on and on about how that kind of thing is bad then goes around and does? He’s a hypocrite.” I looked down at my hands. “I looked up to him, now I just feel stupid.” 

Liam’s laughing subsided, fading. His expression fell to something softer. “Hey, c’mon, don’t say that. The tosser had no right to order you lot like that, ‘specially if he was doin’ that shit. You’re not stupid, alright?” 

I looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The warmth of his words spread all throughout my chest. “Thanks Liam.” 

Liam smiled, stepping closer. For a brief second, his eyes darted downwards to my lips, then back to my face. He just stared at me.  

Then, before I knew it, his hands cupped my cheeks, pulling me close and our lips met in a kiss. A startled sound escaped my lips. My hands found his shoulders, my conditioned state yelled at me to pull back—to push him away, but I couldn’t. Liam’s hands slid down, finding my waist. His tongue had made its way inside my mouth, wrestling with mine. 

He pulled away briefly, attempting to grasp as much oxygen as he could. I did the same, before I was pulled back, lips locking on to his.  

The buttons of my shirt were slowly coming undone until it was completely off. Left in my bra, the cold had goosebumps slowly making their way up my arms. It was strange standing like this in front of him, but I had a feeling, an almost animalistic desire—primal. It didn’t Liam long to get his shirt off and on the floor. At the moment, there wasn’t a care in the world about how dirty they were. Liam’s hands grasp my waist firmly, his fingers digging at them. It wasn't painful, there was just a feeling of pressure. 

His lips moved with mine, there was a strange sensation I felt as we moved together. I wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but it was...good. 

Liam slowly moved me back against the wall adjacent to the one that had the sink and mirror attached to it. The cold wall hit my back softly, lips still moulding against each other. Liam’s hand held my lower back, while the other grazed my thigh, slowly rising up and under my skirt. It moved gently, there was no haste nor rush in his touch, as if he wanted to savour every second. 

“You can... touch me, you know.” I told him. The brave tone in which I spoke with surprised myself. Perhaps the drink had an elixir-like effect on my brain chemistry. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” I confirmed, leaning back towards him for a hungry kiss. 

For once, I didn’t feel confined—trapped, that was how I felt and it felt fucking amazing.  

Liam’s hand flickered upwards, a soft whimper escaped my lips. I didn’t why it did, but it did. 

“Do that again.” I whispered. 

Liam complied; another sound was expelled from lips. The lace of my underwear was toyed with by Liam, brushing against my entrance with a frustrating slowness. 

Something between a gasp and a moan was the reaction that occurred when he slipped a finger inside. It stretched me in a way that made me shudder. The sensation felt odd—not in a bad way, just the unfamiliarity of it.  

I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. Maybe it was the weird buzz in my head from the drink, or maybe my thoughts had been cleared and I had subconsciously realised that maybe those standards that I held myself to wasn’t how I felt anymore. 

Whatever the case might have been, it felt liberating. A feeling of liberty. 

Liam’s finger managed to get a hold of a spot that had my head tilting back and my vision blurred. Then he inserted another one.  

“Ahh—” I gasped, my hand holding onto his shoulders tightly as his fingers thrusted inwardly. His angles changed ever so slightly, eliciting a feeling of anticipation. 

I wanted—no, I needed more. 

My hips bucked almost instinctively towards his hand. Incoherent babbles were all that were coming out of my mouth. Liam kissed the corners of my mouth, his wet kisses slowly trailing downwards. My breath hitched when Liam’s lips met a particular spot slightly above my collarbone. 

I could feel a smirk forming against my skin. Cheeky bastard. 

One particular thrust of Liam’s fingers made me jump, sending an intense feeling throughout my entire body. It felt as if I was having a heart attack, but without danger. My heart was racing, palpitations sending heavy vibrations throughout my body. The rate of my breathing increased rapidly, rising and the decreasing as the foreign, yet satisfying, feeling went away. 

Liam’s fingers pulled away gently as the intensity slowly dissipated.  

“You good, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” I panted. 

“Good.” Liam’s hand remained on my back. 

Liam’s face came close to mine once more until our lips met once more. His hands rose to my upper back, fumbling with the hooks of my bra until it came loose. The light under garment fell with ease. My hands instinctually fell over my chest. I’d never been exposed to this degree if front of anyone, it felt new. 

“None of that.” He gently pulled my arm down. “You look beautiful.” 

My breath hitched. His lips grazed my collarbones, going lower and lower. My hands raked him dark brown hair.  

Liam reached down to undue his belt, letting his jeans fall to the floor. His length looked firm, pressing against his boxers. 

His eyes flickered onto mine, as if he were silently asking me for permission. I nodded. Liam pulled me close. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I hadn’t anticipated the stretch I felt when Liam slowly pushed inside me.  

I took a sharp breath, my hands squeezing his shoulders. It hurt—it did. Liam did his best to accommodate that, moving slowly.  

Liam groaned softly, muttering obscenities. “Fuck...”  The pace wasn’t rushed—it was slow, but steady, slowly allowing the discomfort to be transformed to pleasure.  

I couldn’t believe it, genuinely. I was having sex, and in a pub bathroom no less. It wasn’t at all how Pastor Thomas had painted it out to be. This didn’t feel dirty or wrong, not at all. I felt connected, our pleasured sounds over taking the bathroom. 

It was simply too much. I caught sight of Liam’s damp forehead, his hair clinging onto his forehead. His pink-tinted swollen and moist lips kissed mine with ferocity. It was hard to keep up when his hips kept colliding with mine faster and faster... 

I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t think at all. I wasn’t even kissing Liam at this point, instead I gasped and moaned into his mouth.  

Liam’s pace quickened. “Fuckin’ hell... Yeah—fuck, so good...” Liam moaned. With a couple more sloppy thrusts, Liam let out throaty groan, his head falling on my shoulder. An intense feeling that I could only describe as pure euphoria took over. It felt like death. A heavenly way to die. My head tipped back once more; I was releasing sounds I didn’t even know I could make. I felt a warm, liquid-like substance filling me up. As soon as Liam soften inside me, he pulled out.  

As soon as he did, the liquid dripped down my thighs.  

I attempted to catch my breath, and he seemed to be doing the same. “You, okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah. You?” 

Liam nodded.  

There was a small moment of silence. It wasn’t awkward or anything, quite the opposite. 

“Reckon we’re proper filthy, eh?” Liam teased. 

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we are.” 

Liam helped with me get sorted with my clothes before getting to his. His hands shrugged mine off as he buttoned up my shirt. When he finished, his hands found my cheeks again. He didn’t kiss me this time, just looked at me, as if I was someone important. Someone worth looking at like that. 

My mind was racing, not with stress, just confusion. I wasn’t what this meant. Did this mean that my faith was tarnished?  

I enjoyed it, I did.  

What did it mean? 

[wheredafandomat]

Blood Lust

Written by @wheredafandomat and @simplyholl 🖤

Welcome to Whore-O-Ween everyone!!

Summary: You're sent to live with Father Laufeyson who is known for his work with wayward young ladies. But all is not as it seems.

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Blasphemy. Loki going down on you while you're bleeding. Loss of virginity. Masturbation. Voyeurism.

W/C: 3K

Part of the Whore-O-Ween Spooktacular

The glow of the candlelight flickered. You stood to place another log on the fire. You were locked in your room for the third time this week. Since you had come of age, the young men of the village had taken notice of you.

Now you were twenty years old, and your family was desperate to marry you off. But you had gained a reputation among the village. You were to marry the innkeeper’s son, Jonathon. But his family broke the engagement once word got to them.

You had been seen with two men alone. This was all so silly. You had never even been kissed. You were saving everything for your husband, like any devout girl would.

Your father walked in, taking the wood from you, and placing it on the dying flames. “Daughter, you know there has been talk of your sins around the village. I cannot wed you to any of the young men. Even old Mr. Smith wouldn’t accept my offer for your hand.”

Your breakfast threatened to come back up at the mention of him. He was a strange, bald man who lived a few houses down. His wife had died of influenza years ago, and he never remarried.

“Harvey told me about a priest who takes in young girls who find themselves in trouble. He will pray over you and reform you until you are ready to come home. He lives two towns over. His name is Father Laufeyson. I sent him a letter asking him to take you. His reply came this morning, and he agreed. Pack your belongings. We will make the journey when the sun rises tomorrow.”

When you arrive, you notice Father Laufeyson’s house looks more like a castle from your storybooks than the cottages you were used to. That’s probably why it was tucked away far into the woods, away from the other houses.

Two people stood outside the large house waiting for you. One was Father Laufeyson. The first thing you notice is how handsome he is. You blush, God forgive me for thinking inappropriately, especially about a man of the cloth you silently pray.

The other was a tall brunette woman. She appeared to be a few years older than you. She beamed, walking toward you. She pulls you in for a hug, “I’m Esther.” You introduce yourself, returning the hug. She takes your hand, leading you into your new home.

That night at dinner, the three of you talked like old friends. You were starving, you notice Father Laufeyson doesn’t eat much. He just sips his red wine, listening to you and Esther chatter.

The following morning you change into your best church dress, meeting him and Esther downstairs. You and Esther take a seat in the front of the church. You look at the congregation, taking note that it’s mostly women. How unusual you thought.

Where were their husbands, brothers, and fathers? You shrug it off. Church was the only place a lady could go without the company of a man. You carefully watch Father Laufeyson as he begins the service.

There was something off about him, but you couldn’t place it. It could be that you were attracted to him. That had to be it. The priest in your village was old when you were born. You just weren’t used to priests being this young. After church, he took you and Esther on a picnic for lunch. You two ate the delicious sandwiches he prepared, but he refused saying he wasn’t hungry.

You had free reign of the house except for Father Laufeyson’s room. All three of you had rooms on the same floor. Yours and Esther’s were beside each other, making it easy for late night talks. His was down the hall.

It had been four weeks since you first arrived. You liked it better with each passing day. You could take walks along the property. You could read all day, if you liked. He had quite the extensive library.

You wake up in the middle of the night when you hear Esther cry out. You leave your room, candle in hand walking toward the noise. You stop at Father Laufeyson’s room. The door is ajar just enough to peek inside. You see Esther against the wall, head thrown back in ecstasy, legs wrapped around his waist. He thrusts up into her. You gasp, covering your mouth when he looks toward the door.

You know you should leave, but you stay glued to your spot, never taking your innocent eyes off of them. Esther moans when his hand moves between them under her dress. He gathers her hair off her neck, pale face leaning down toward her.

The candlelight in his room shines on his face, putting a spotlight on his long fangs sinking into the side of her neck. He feeds on her slowly as she slumps in his arms. You press your hand harder to your mouth to stifle your cries. Tears streak down your face as you run back to your room.

You had heard about vampires before. Your village and the surrounding ones were once overrun with them. The pale beasts were all destroyed. But here you are living with one who disguised himself as a man of God.

You keep replaying what you saw over and over. He bit Esther, but she seemed to be enjoying it. You feel an unfamiliar ache between your legs from thinking about it. You run your hand up your thigh to your core. You were most likely going to die by the hands of the handsome vampire. You might as well experience a little pleasure before you do. You would beg for God’s forgiveness later. Your fingers swipe through your untouched folds, taking the slick arousal to your clit.

You move clumsily, hesitating at first. Then you imagine Father Laufeyson holding you against that wall, his teeth on your neck. You shake as your very first orgasm hits you. The following morning, it’s just you and the fake priest. “Father, where is Esther? Is she unwell?” You ask him, studying his face for a change in demeanor.

“She’s well. Her family came back for her before daylight. She went to your room to tell you goodbye, but you were sleeping so soundly, she didn’t want to wake you.” You put on your best fake smile. Esther was dead, and the beast before you killed her. You tried to avoid him as much as possible in the following days.

But you had to dine with him, even if he didn’t eat. You still had to attend church with him. Other than that, you stayed hidden in your room. You were terrified of him, but that didn’t stop you from fantasizing about him. You spent your nights with your hand under your nightgown or humping your pillow thinking of him.

It was shameful, but you couldn’t stop. You felt so guilty after making yourself cum twice in one night, you got down on your knees, praying for forgiveness, begging for it. That night, you dreamt that you drove a stake through his heart, ending this misery. You took it as a sign from God. This is what you were meant to do.

Father Laufeyson took you into town. You waited until he went into the store, and you walked to the woodworker’s shop. You commissioned an oak stake. They looked at you like you had lost your mind. They told you the last of the vampires had been destroyed long ago. But the coins Laufeyson gave you put food on the table for their families.

You had to wait three long weeks before he took you into town again. When you got the chance, you went to retrieve the weapon. That night, you decided it was time. You couldn’t live with him anymore, not after knowing what he is. You had to fulfill your purpose. You knew he was at the church preparing his sermon for the next morning. You ran the whole way there, heart racing.

You stepped inside cautiously, trying to ignore the chill of the air telling you to turn back around, to run away. But you couldn’t. Your feet carried you forward, surprisingly confident, unlike yourself. Confidence, that’s what you needed, what you tried to embody, that was your protection against the pale beast.

You flinched as a jolt of lightning shone through the church, lighting everything in a quick spark of chrome before you were in darkness again, except for a few candles. You knew you had to act as if nothing was wrong, as if you didn’t know. Survival was only guaranteed that way.

“Y/N.” You took a deep breath hearing your name fall from his lips in a honeyed utterance. “Father.” You greeted him, the faux priest, as you stepped towards him. “Come, child.” He gestured to the organ, prompting you to follow him. “Sit.” You fought to keep your breathing steady as you approached him, biting your lip to stop it from trembling as you observed him.

You were told that his kind would perish in a place like this, that they would burn. But here he was making a mockery of God, wearing an idle collar and parading around untouchable. But not after tonight. Many times, you had shared this seat with him, ignoring the cold that his presence brought, ignoring the call to sin when he looked at you, emerald green eyes boring into yours.

Tonight was different, you couldn’t relax. “What ails you?” He questioned, lifting his hand and stroking a key with one of his dexterous fingers. “I believe I may have found my calling.” You answered, taking a deep breath as you raised one of your fingers onto the keys. “Your calling” He repeated almost questioningly. “Other than to serve your god?” My God?” “God.” He corrected. “Yes, I believe he has asked me to serve Him in another way.” You continued, both of you gently playing a familiar tune.

“Pray tell, what is this other way? What is this newfound calling?” “I must protect this Earth.” You stated, using your free hand to clutch the weapon in your pocket. “From what?” He questioned, turning to look at you with a small smirk. “From me?” “What?” You gasped, trying to keep your breaths even. “Do you really think a piece of oak would be enough to stop me?” He snickered.

“I mean honestly” He continued, leaning towards you, his mouth dangerously close to your neck as you froze. “You underestimate me.” He noted coyly, reaching around you, grabbing the cross stake from your other hand. “No!” You cry, still frozen in fear as he threw it across the room. “On the contrary, I do believe you have another calling.” He stated, standing before stepping behind you.

“A more carnal one.” He continued; his voice sharp in your ear as he leaned over you. “I mean you serve a man no more virtuous than yourself” He paused as you gasped. “I’ve read the books.” He cut you off. “You serve a man no more virtuous than yourself, yet you reap no rewards.”

“I will be rewarded with an eternity in His kingdom.” You spat. “How about a night in mine?” He smirked against your ear, causing you to spin around. “You’d never admit it, but you’ve sinned more than me.” “Don’t you dare say that!” “You think I don’t know you touch yourself thinking about me, yearning for me, even after you found out exactly who I am, what I am?”

“S-stop.” You stuttered. “Grinding against your pillow, moaning my name. Oh! It’s music to my ears.” He cheered. “I’m offering you a night of sin, a night with me.” He proclaimed. “I won’t judge you. I welcome your debauchery. I’ll cherish your moans. I’ll reward your praise.” “St-stop it.” You continued to stutter, clenching your thighs together.

“Burn with me, Y/N, just for tonight.” He whispered, leaning closer to you, his lips brushing against yours as you close your eyes. “I’ve never been touched.” You emitted nervously; eyes still closed. “I know, but you want to be. It’s what you have spent so long desiring.” He spoke against your lips, one of his hands ghosting down your body as your breath hitched.

He didn’t have to push your legs apart; they were already gapped from your quick spin around. You inhaled sharply as you felt him cup your sex, eyes opening to find him staring into yours. “Is this where you touch yourself when you think about me?” He smirked, his hand moving up and down, massaging against your clothed heat.

“Rubbing yourself, imagining me, my hand, my body until you reach there, that sweet release.” He almost cooed, his hand more pressured now. You tried to stave away the temptation of bucking your hips into his touch, but it was hard. It felt too good. You wanted more. You needed more. You needed him to do what he did to Esther. “Tell me what you desire, and I’ll do it.” “Take it.” You answered almost breathlessly. “It?”

“My purity, take it.” “That’s my girl.” He purred in your ear again, before his free hand gripped your chin, pulling you into a deep kiss. His tongue pushed passed yours, exploring your mouth. His other hand was still between your legs, your hips thrusting into his touch.

Now that his lips were properly on yours, you realized how cold they were, how gelid. Your hands reached upwards, cupping his cheeks which were no warmer than his lips. You tried to stay silent, but you couldn’t, not when you felt his hand slipping underneath your skirt, fingers smoothing over the cloth material of your panties.

“Father!” You gasped as two of his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, meeting your clit. “Loki.” He corrected. “Loki” you moaned, eyes closing as he drew languid circles over your clit. “You virgins are so receptive.” He sniggered. “You’re already so wet for me.” His name fell from your lips again as he continued his movements, his fingers growing slick from your arousal. Lost in the pleasure, you almost didn’t realize that his fingers were venturing lower down your center.

Your eyes flew open, feeling him enter you slowly. “L-Loki” You stuttered feeling full. “Do you like that?” He asked, leisurely pumping his fingers in and out of you. “Yesss” You hum in response, drowning in the sensation. You felt overwhelmed, you were wetter than you’ve ever been.

Small moans escaped you as Loki continued thrusting his fingers inside of you. A metallic scent evaded your nose. As if he could smell it too, Loki stopped his movements causing you to open your eyes, only for them to round in surprise at the sight of his fingers. They were practically glistening crimson. You barely had time to react before Loki was bringing them to his lips, licking off the blood.

“What’s happening?” You panicked, despite not being in any pain. “It’s normal.” Loki answered, releasing his index finger with a pop. The remembrance of what he was overcame you as a blanket of guilt shrouded you. You didn’t feel good anymore. Before Loki could continue, you began closing your legs wanting to leave. You wanted to forget about all of this, but instead you yelped, feeling him grab one of your legs and pushing them further apart as he got to his knees. He slid your panties off your legs, discarding them on the floor.

“One can’t prepare a feast and expect others not to dine.” He spoke cryptically before you felt his cold, wet tongue against your core lapping up the blood dripping from you. Your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tightly as he entered you with his tongue, washing any hesitation away. You couldn’t help but scream in pleasure at the feeling of his nose rubbing your clit as he feasted on you.

“Delicious.” He spoke against you as you shamelessly ground your hips against his face. You were overcome with delectation despite the fact that this was more than just a carnal encounter. “I need you, Loki.” You finally implored, interrupting Loki’s banquet. Glancing up at you, he lifted his head from between your legs, licking his lips clean as he lowered your leg. His hand found yours as he prompted you to join him on the floor.

You did so, wordlessly straddling him like you imagined so many nights alone with your pillow. He felt good underneath you, like it was where he belonged. Your bare sex rubbed against his clothes as you readjusted yourself, Loki looking up into your eyes. “Is this how you want me to take you?” He spoke, breaking the silence. “Yes.” You replied, trying to quell your nervousness. Loki didn’t talk as he unsheathed himself before guiding you above his manhood.

He watched your expression as he thrusted up into you, his hands on your hips pushing you down against him. You couldn’t help your moans as he filled you, burying himself inside you. You move your hips against his, living out your fantasy. You found yourself growing closer to the end, to your release, to his demise. He was obviously moving slower for you, you had watched him move a lot faster for Esther, and for that you’d make sure you were as quick as you could be.

Leaning down against him, your lips almost brushed his again as you reached out, your fingers wrapping around the discarded stake. Loki was right, it was oak. Well, most of it. What he didn’t know was that the tip was willow, lethal. “You feel so good, so pure.” Loki groaned from beneath you, gripping your hips tightly as you sat back up.

His eyes were closed, that’s how he didn’t see it, how he didn’t know he was in danger. You continued grinding your hips against his, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you neared your climax. Walls tightly gripping Loki’s length, you raise your hand before plunging the stake into his chest.

Loki’s eyes flew open, the betrayal evident on his features as his life slipped away. You felt powerful, immensely so, as you took his life, draining him, milking him. You moaned as your climax shook you. This was it; this was your calling.

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