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yanaromanov · 19 days

Text

in unholy denial

･｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you’re the perfect all-american girl; a good student, a weekly churchgoer, you’re even dating the high school quarter back. so it’s all a big shock to you when your family decides to send you to a conversion camp, claiming they believe you’re a lesbian. you don’t agree with their accusation, telling everyone that you don’t like girls at all. but then you meet your camp mate wanda maximoff, who seems determined to sway your mind in another direction…

warning(s): conversion therapy, homophobia (externalised and internalised), religious mentions (christianity), smut, fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, hickeys, slight dubcon (only kissing), swearing, pet names (princess, honey), wanda and r are in high school but of age (over 18), cheating (r has a bf), slightly innocent reader, nude magazine, etc. minors dni

author’s note: this is my first time writing and uploading smut so i really hope it’s not terrible 🙏🏻this is heavily inspired by ‘but i’m a cheerleader’, only this time it’s with teenage wanda and much more smutty :) i also took light inspiration from @imaginedanvrs and her fic ‘atonement’, and though i did take a different turn, check it out because all of their writing is amazing :))

wc: 11.7K words

The car is quite on the ride up. You stare out the window, watching as your world begins to disappear. The camp is just under two hours away from your home town; far away enough that it feels like a whole different world, but close enough that your parents can still come visit on the weekends.

You’re not being punished. At least that’s what your parents have told you. They just want what’s best for you, want to help you find the right journey in life. Apparently this camp was supposed to do that for you. Though, you could quite see how - the apparent problem they claim to be able to fix, not identifiable to any part of your mind.

When they’d first brought up the idea, you’d been quick to confusion. A conversion therapy camp? But you weren’t gay. You had a boyfriend, the football team’s best quarterback at that, and you two were very happy together. He was handsome and kind, and you loved him. Except for maybe when he tried to kiss you, always left feeling grossed out by the encounter as his tongue tried to play with yours. But he must just be a bad kisser. That was at least what you always told yourself…

Aside from that, there were so many things that couldn’t have possibly lead your parents to believe you were gay. You were one of the top students at school, always getting the highest grades. Every Sunday you attended church, said your nightly prayers each evening before you slept. You were in the church choir, for goodness sake!

Still, your parents had sat you down in the living room one night and had a very serious conversation with you. They were concerned mostly, worried that something sinister had crept in and was tainting your life. You’d used all of your excuses in protest but they’d came prepared with their own.

A few posters from your room, filled with woman in bikini tops. You liked the patterns. Songs from your playlist that held ulterior meaning. You just liked the way they sound. The fact you hated kissing your boyfriend; a few comments you’d made to your friends about other girls at church. You thought everyone felt that way…

In the end, they’d convinced you to come along to the program, claiming it was in your best interest to attend and get the help you need. Although you didn’t believe you needed any help at all, you had agreed. If this camp was going to help them feel better, you were willing to give it a go, even if it meant getting treatment for a nonexistent problem…

Still, your heart aches a little as your small family car drives away from the suburbs you are used to, the view soon replaced by dense forest trees and vibrant undergrowth. The program was set out almost like a Summer camp, out near a lake where members could swim during their free time. That was one of the activities you’d read in the pamphlet your parents had handed you, the camp explained in its entirety alongside its promise to guarantee positive results. You’d initially asked your parents how long you would have to spend there, worried about being forced to remain when there wasn’t a problem with you to begin with, but your mom had simply smiled back softly and replied, ‘let’s just see how you get on’.

You’re almost lost in thought when the car finally turns on to the last stretch of its journey. The sight ahead of you drags you back to the present moment, eyes now searching the wide opening in the trees as the camp comes into view. It’s easy to spot, the only buildings around for a long while, and the white shutters standing out vibrantly against the green trees. The lake comes into view too, shimmering in the morning summer sun.

Soon the car slows, coming to a halt outside what looks to be the main building, its size large compared to the other’s dotted around. The ranch-style house is painted a soft blue, the fixtures and wrap-around porch shining dazzling white. All in all, it looks rather beautiful.

Your parents are the first out the car, looking around as they close the doors. You follow a moment later, eyes drifting over your surroundings as you inhale the sweet smells of the forest air. A pair of footsteps soon diverts your attention, your gaze falling to a tall blonde man making his way in your direction from the large blue house. He’s dressed very similarly to the men you see at church; a pair of neat navy slacks and a matching blue and white gingham shirt. You and your parents come to stand together on one side of the car just as he reaches your feet.

“Good morning,” the blonde says, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, isn’t it?” There’s an exchange of hand shakes as your parents confirm his assumption. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you must be young Y/N.” His gaze falls to you as he speaks, a hand outstretching in your direction.

You take it, shaking it gently as you nod your head. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

The blonde lets out a low chuckle as he releases your hand, his attention turning back to your parents. “What a polite little girl you have,” he says, his smile widening. Your parents seem to take pride in his compliment, inching closer together as they stand and look over at you. “But please,” the man continues, turning back to you. “My name is reverend Steve so you can call me as such. Or just Steve if you prefer.” He smiles again as he shrugs his shoulders. “Sir always feels a bit too formal.”

There’s a trade of small laughter between the adults but you don’t find yourself joining in, still feeling a little apprehensive about this whole scenario.

“I do hope your journey here was alright.”

“Oh, just fine,” your father replies in response to reverend Steve’s question, smiling easily back at him.

“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. We’re just so happy to have Y/N here. And don’t worry, your daughter is in very good hands.”

Just at that moment, you notice another figure approaching your group, a woman, originating from the same place Steve had. When she reaches you, there’s a soft smile on her face, her red hair dazzling in the Summer sun. The reverend reaches one of his arms out, bringing the woman close to his side as his hand rests on her hip. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Natasha. She helps direct things around here, especially with the girls.”

Her hand also extends out to your parents to meet in a soft handshake as she smiles widely back at them. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your parents, reciprocating the sentiment, the redhead then turns her attention to you. Her eyes sparkle a bright shade of green as the morning sun hits them. “Hello, Y/N,”

You find yourself momentarily stumbling over your words, something about the woman distracting you until she speaks. “Good morning,” you manage eventually, smiling back nervously.

In the time you’ve greeted her, it seems your parents have retrieved your luggage from the back of the car. “These are your bags?” Reverend Steve asks, reaching to pick them up. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed them being moved there. “I’ll just take these up to your dorm room, Y/N.” He smiles once more at you before he turns, walking towards the house with your belongings in tow.

“I’ll give them a little check over once we get there,” Natasha says, drawing your attention back to her. She passes you a playful wink that causes a strange feeling in your chest. “But I’m sure there’s nothing in there that will get you in trouble, hm?”

“I don’t think-“ Your response is cut off by your sudden realisation you’re standing alone, your parents retreating back to the car and already starting the engine. “Wait I-“

“Don’t worry.” The redhead’s words yet again distract you, pulling your attention away from the vehicle behind you. “They’ll be back at the weekend to visit. You’ll be seeing them again in no time.” Natasha turns to stand side by side with you, her hand resting on your back as she gently begins to press you forwards. “Now how about you just come with me and I can show you around the place. How does that sound?”

“A-alright,” you stumble, giving one glance back to the car that has already pulled away from the camp. You let the woman by your side guide you as you watch it slowly move further and further away up the road, officially leaving you all alone.

The tour Natasha gives you, however, helps to lift your spirits a little. The camp grounds are rather beautiful, the grass vibrant and speckled with small colourful flowers. The buildings themselves are also very pleasant, all adding to the soft summer camp feel the area had. Natasha first directs you to the small bunker home her and Steve resided in, claiming members were not allowed inside but there was a small bell if you ever needed them at any time. Next, she shows you the church; a small yet grand building with dazzling stained glass windows. As you walk the pews, Natasha tells you how their service is held each morning, directed by Steve himself.

“I hear you’re in your church choir?” Natasha quips as you take in the way the light hits the windows, spreading bright colours across the floor of the building.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your head and smiling sheepishly. “I have been since I was thirteen.”

“You’ll have to sing for us one time,” Natasha says playfully, before beckoning you out of the church and off to your next destination. On your way, she explains a little of how their program works; a mixture of group lessons and singular sessions to help you understand your problem. “Do you still attend bible study, Y/N?” Natasha asks as you approach the main building.

Shyly, you turn to face her. “No. I stopped a few years ago when I turned sixteen.”

The redhead clicks her tongue but overall doesn’t seem too disappointed, still smiling over you. “Don’t worry,” she replies. “I’m sure our study will set you just right again.” She passes you another wink before you step in through another door that she opens ahead of you.

The building has a wide front opening, a set of grand stairs set out ahead in the expanse of the tall ceilings. At the bottom of them, you suddenly notice a tall girl standing there. She’s wearing a neat uniform, her long black hair pulled back into two braids. “Y/N,” Natasha says, gesturing towards the girl. “I’d like you to meet Kate. She’ll be your mentor while you settle in.”

The raven-hair girl smiles at you as she extends a hand. You shake it, sharing a quick greeting before she hands you a welcome packet. Natasha explains how all of the rules are written inside, alongside a list of other expectations and your schedule for your stay. You hold on to it against your chest as the pair walk you around the house on your continued tour.

Inside of the main building, it feels somewhat like a mixture of a house and a school. There are two classrooms, both filled with a set of students learning from a tutor at the front of the class. A large dining hall was also set up, functioning like a school canteen. Downstairs there were a few recreational spaces with small couches arranged around card tables, all littered with various bible verse posters along the walls. As you move upstairs, Natasha shows you the bathrooms and the couple isolation rooms they had, though she assured you, you most likely wouldn’t be spending any time in there.

“Now, let’s get you some uniform, hm?” Natasha says, moving further down the corridor. She opens a long cupboard, filled with rows of pleated skirts and crisp white shirts. She looks through the rails before handing you a set of uniform in your size. Her and Kate then give you some privacy in the cupboard to change while they step outside.

The uniform is light blue, the skirt pleated through with lines of navy. The sweater vest is a matching dark blue, the logo of the camp embroidered onto one breast. You pull it on over the white button shirt, followed by the long white socks and black patent shoes Natasha had also provided. When you step out of the cupboard, the older woman takes hold of your old clothes, claiming she’ll take care of them for you until you’d be needing them again. You’re not entirely sure what she means but she’s continuing on with the tour once more before you can truly give it much thought.

“These are the girl’s dormitories,” the redhead says as she opens another door, guiding you inside. As you step in, you notice two rows of small cots, lined up with matching pink floral bedsheets. You notice one on the end, your bags sat atop waiting for you. But what catches your eye even more, is the brunette girl splayed across one of the middle beds, a magazine between her hands. She looks up as all three of you walk into the room, her green eyes meeting directly with you.

“Miss Maximoff,” Natasha says as soon as she notices the girl. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your lessons right now?”

The girl diverts her gaze to the camp director. “I didn’t feel well so I came to lie down.”

The way the girl lay across her stomach, face perfectly amused as her eyes flitted across her magazine didn’t exactly come across to you as unwell. It seems that Natasha too picks up on her lie, simply passing the brunette a small scowl. “Nice try.”

There’s a moment where the girl stares back, almost daring the women with her gaze, but she soon gives up, instead rolling her eyes as a long frustrated sigh escapes her lips. “Fine,” she mumbles, lifting herself up from the bed and slowly walking towards you. As she does, you notice how her shirt is unbuttoned further down and how her skirt is rolled at her waist, climbing the front of her thighs.

Natasha seems unfazed by her antics, simply holding out her hand which the brunnete places her magazine into with another sigh. The redhead gives it a once over before staring back at the girl. “This is contraband. Where did you find it?”

The brunette simple smirks in response. Her shoulders briefly brushes against yours as she squeezes her way through your group, headed towards the door. Before she leaves, she turns, walking gently backwards as the smirk widens on her face. “The Lord showed me the way to it.” She turns again quickly, disappearing from the dormitory alongside her lingering gaze.

Natasha doesn’t make any move to follow her, simply inclines her head as as she shouts down the corridor. “Roll down your skirt, Miss Maximoff!” Her voice still echoing, the redhead then turns back to you, that perfect smile returning almost as quickly as it at dropped. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says, glancing down at you. “Some of the other girls are a little…challenged in finding the light. Sometimes they can be a bad influence but I’m sure if you just stick with Kate, you’ll be just fine.”

You glance at the tall girl stood beside you, her soft grin looking back. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask Kate. Or of course, me or Steve at any point,” Natasha adds, drawing your attention back to her. You nod in response and she smiles back, placing a hand on to your shoulder. “Now, how about we take a look at your bags?”

———

Settling in isn’t as hard as you thought it might be. Kate is nice, you discover quickly, and helps you get unpacked. You tuck your things away into the drawers under your bed, then some more of your belongings in to the bedside table - next to the complementary bible you find tucked inside. Kate explains you can put up some photos with blue tac if you wish, pointing out to some of the other girls’ beds who have done the same. You borrow some of said blue tac from her as you stick a photo of your family alongside one of you and your boyfriend up on to the wall.

Afterwards, Kate sits with you while you look through your welcome packet. A lot of it relates to the pamphlet your parents had given you before your arrival, talking all about the camp and its methods of tackling what they phrase, ‘the misdirection of youths towards homosexuality’. The entire idea is still a little scattered in your head, but you brush it aside as you delve further into the rules and scheduling of the camp.

There are quite a few rules written down, a lot of which you recognise from your own home regulations. No curse words are to be used, nor any other inappropriate language. The Lord’s name must not be used in vain. Members must pray before each meal and every night before bed. Uniform must be worn at all times.

Then there are other rules that make you feel a little more uncertain. There is strictly NO fraternising between members. No member is permitted in the opposite dormitory to which they are assigned. Any inappropriate belongings will be confiscated.

The last rule makes you wonder back to the girl you’d seen sat inside the dormitory. There have been something ‘inappropriate’ about her magazine, obviously leading to the confiscation by Natasha. You weren’t quite sure what about it could be so bad, the name you’d glanced at briefly unrecognisable before Natasha had quickly stashed it away from your sight. If anything, the whole ordeal had only made you more curious about the strange girl and what exactly she had been reading.

As if the universe could hear your thoughts, it’s barely a few hours later when you collide with the girl once more. It’s lunch time, Kate and you just having sat down with your plates of food after she’d explained how they were set out each meal time. The dining room is filling up, all of the other camp members filing in to take their place at differing tables. It’s as your inspecting the meal in front of you that a very particular member sets herself down in front you.

“Hey, newbie.”

Your head raises from the table as you hear the voice, looking up to meet the same pair of green eyes that you recalled from earlier. The brunette stares back at you, a small smile playing at her lips as she watches your face. “Uh…hi?”

You don’t get to say much more before Kate is speaking up, leaning over the table with a scowl. “Get lost, Maximoff. We don’t want you to sit with us.”

The brunnete turns to look at the other girl, a frown of her own appearing between two perfect brows. “Loosen up, Bishop. I just wanted to say hello to our newest addition.” As she finishes, her eyes trail back to you, the scowl dropping away to that same smirking expression. For a moment it seems as if she looks you up and down, scanning over your uniform before studying your face again. “I’m Wanda,” she says eventually, voice light. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You smile back a little awkwardly, torn between your polite nature and the instructions you had received to avoid this exact girl sat opposite you. “Y/N,” you reply, letting your manners overtake the situation.

“Just go away, Wanda,” Kate butts in suddenly, her voice raised. “I’m her mentor, not you.”

The brunette screws up her face as she turns to the raven-haired girl, scoffing under her breath. “God Kate, you’re so fucking uptight.” She sighs loudly as she pushes herself up from the table. As she does, you notice how her skirt is still rolled at the waist. But you don’t settle on it too long, distracted as she begins to speak again. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice playful once more. Her eyes train on you for just a moment as she backs away from the table, another girl soon taking her place.

“Just ignore her,” Kate grumbles over to you. She begins to list a string of complaints about the girl but doesn’t get far, soon interrupted by Reverend Steve calling for grace at the front of the room. You bow your head as he begins to pray, clasping your hands under your chin just as you did with every meal you ate at home. A chorus of ‘amens’ rings out as the prayer finishes, all heads lifting once more to begin eating their lunch. As you lift yours, your gaze briefly flashes across the room, catching across the way, a pair of green eyes staring back at you. Wanda sits smirking, but you don’t see much else, quickly finding yourself flustered and looking away, turning your concentration instead to the plate of food sat in front of you.

———

Natasha’s office is very nice. That’s your first thought when you enter through the door, guided by her hand on the base of your spine. There are a few wide windows on one wall, white shutters open to give a view of the lake just down a grassy hill. Her desk sits in one corner, a plush vibrant chair close by, then across the way, a small couch. There are shelves littered with both plants and framed pictures, most depicting some sort of bible verse.

You sit yourself down on the sofa while Natasha settles in her chair beside her desk, pulling out a notebook as she turns to face you. There’s an exchange of pleasantries as she explains exactly how these private sessions will go and how anything you say is entirely confidential. You nod, sitting rather folded in on yourself, uncertainty still coursing through your body.

“So Y/N,” Natasha says eventually, crossing her legs over the other. “To start off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about the first time you experienced homosexual tendencies.”

The request is one that leaves you stumbling a little. “Oh I- well…” You swallow, landing on the same response you’d had every time your parents had suggested the idea. “I’m not actually gay. Everyone just thinks that I am.”

Natasha’s face changes, taking on a soft but curious expression. “And why do you say that?”

“Well I’m not,” you reply. “I don’t- I don’t like girls. I have a boyfriend.”

That fact alone seemed enough to you for this whole endeavour to be needless. You didn’t like girls, couldn’t like them. You and your boyfriend had been going strong for over two years. He was handsome, funny, and you were sure you loved him. Even if you did feel slightly disgusted every time his lips touched yours…

“Listen Y/N,” Natasha says, her voice calm. “I know this whole experience can seem a little daunting but we’re here to help you, okay?” She smiles softly, the intention of her words feeling truthful. “But the first step of your journey needs to be your admittance to your problem.”

It isn’t that you don’t feel comfortable telling Natasha about your problem, in fact you actually feel a strange warmth in your stomach whenever she talks to you, but in your mind, there was no problem to begin with. “I’m not gay.”

Natasha sighs at your answer. She adjusts herself in her seat, her soft gaze looking back at you. “Think about it like this; homosexuality is like a disease. These thoughts weave their way into your mind, changing your behaviour.” The redhead raises a set of perfect brows. “But we can’t begin to heal if we don’t have a proper diagnosis. Can’t administer the right treatment if we can’t admit we’re ill, right?”

Her analogy isn’t lost on you, somewhat similar to something you’d heard your pastor say back at your home church. “Yeah…I guess that makes sense.”

“Now what you’re experiencing can be fixed,” Natasha continues. “I’ve seen it fixed many times before. You can heal Y/N, break away from this and find the light of our good lord.” With his name, Natasha glances up to the cross hanging on the wall beside you. Your eyes follow too. “Don’t you want that?”

You turn back to the woman, your voice sounding small. “Of course I do.”

Natasha smiles. “That’s good.” She rearranges herself again, adjusting to hold her notebook and pen better. “Now, could you maybe tell me first time you can remember ever having thoughts about other women?”

“I don’t-I haven’t,” you stumble. “I don’t think about them like that.”

Like that. It was a phrase you’d repeated like a mantra in your head. You didn’t want a girlfriend, you didn’t want a girl to kiss you. You thought about girls the same way everyone else did. Sure, sometimes your eyes would fall to their ass when they walked to the front of class, or perhaps you got a bit hot and bothered in the changing rooms before gym, maybe even your favourite movie scene was the one where all the girls would go to the beach and play in the water. But that was what everyone else thought too…right?

“Alright,” Natasha says, sighing again. “I can see you’re really struggling with this, but that’s okay. I’m here to help you.” She smiles. “How about we take a little look at your family history, hm? See if that can get things kickstarted for us?”

You spend the rest of your session talking about your family. Natasha asks about extended members, questioning about any problems there may be down your blood line. But as far as you know, it all comes up clean, your entire family the same good Christian folks you’ve always known them to be.

Finding nothing of interest, Natasha moves on to talk about your childhood. She asks about your time at school, how long you’d attended church, what sort of friends you had. It’s all scribbled down on the notebook in her hand as you list off answers, all the perfect idiom of what a good Christian girl should be.

By the end of your session, you’ve spoke about almost everything that’s led you up to where you are now. Natasha asks again about your feelings towards women, trying to compare the reasons your parents sent you here to real acts of homosexuality. But all in all, it’s no use. At the end of the hour, you’re still in denial, refusing any accusation of your alleged problem. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t seem angry, still smiling softly as you leave her office. She send you away with an assignment to think about what could be your ‘root’, what she terms the initial source of your unholy thoughts, determined once you figure this out, it will begin your journey to sanctuary.

———

The next few days pass by without much excitement. You begin to settle into your lessons, listening as a few ex-members of the program give speeches of their experiences, or as Steve talks about how God can help give meaning to your life. There are group therapy sessions you attend, though mostly sit quietly through, but listen while others talk about their own experiences and thoughts. It’s in them you notice a certain person who seems to stare at you from across the room. You try to avoid making eye contact but it seems each time you glance over, Wanda’s stare is trained on you.

Following what Natasha had said when you first arrived, you tried to stick to Kate’s side as much as possible, avoiding the other girl who seemed to look at you more often than not. When you weren’t in lessons you could avoid her, instead hanging around with Kate and her friends in the recreational spaces, sometimes watching one of the approved DVDs that lay beneath the TV. At meals, your group sits together, always saying your prayers before eating your food. But it seems even there you can’t escape the strange brunette, always catching her stare from across the room. It’s only in bible study, on the day that marks a week since your arrival, that you actually get to speak to her again.

Kate was sick today. She’d caught a head cold, presumably from her parents who came to visit her at the weekend. You had also had a visit, your mother and father asking every possible question about your stay and how you were finding camp. The visit had went well, but now a few days later you were left with no mentor to guide you throughout your day. It isn’t too much of a worry in your mind though, the layout and scheduling of the camp already becoming a familiar routine to your body. But what you aren’t used to, is a certain strange individual sitting in the seat where your mentor usually sat.

You don’t notice it is Wanda at first. Feeling the body slide against yours on the bench, your first thought is perhaps that Kate has made a miraculous recovery. But when you turn to face the individual and are met with piercing green eyes, you are certainly even more surprised. “Um,” you fumble, looking back at the brunette as you try to stumble for words. “That’s Kate’s seat.”

Wanda raises a brow, her head spinning to look around the room before it returns to you. “I don’t see her.” She smirks. “Besides, no seating arrangements, right?”

Technically she is correct. There is nothing actually stopping her from sitting beside you apart from your slight aversion to interacting with her. You slide your body away a few inches to the right, shifting away from the touch Wanda had initiated as she sat down a little to close. The brunette seems to notice, glancing down at the gap now settled between you, but she doesn’t say anything about it, instead just looking up at you as she flashes a set of white teeth. “So Y/N,” she begins, rolling your name easily over her tongue. “Where are you from?”

“Not far,” you reply, still inclined to politeness even with your anxiety around the interaction. You elaborate further, telling her the name of your town just two hours north of the camp.

Wanda hums at your response then crosses her legs on the bench. You try not to notice the way her rolled skirt flashes a pair of smooth pale legs. “I’m from down south,” she says. “Further than you, though. About six hours. My parents only come to visit about once a month.”

You met her eye as you try to think of a response, but before you can, you’re being interrupted. Reverend Steve calls out at the front of the class, silencing everyone so that he can begin calling the register. As names echo out across the room, you and Wanda’s conversation dies, but the soft warmth emanating from her body close to yours, does not leave for the rest of the lesson.

Having quit bible study over three years ago, you were a little worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up, but as Kate had told you last week, some of these kids had never even been to church, so the pace was definitely slow enough for you to follow along. The story Steve told today was one you knew rather well actually, one of the most prominent ones you could recall from your early teens. Still, you pay the upmost attention throughout the entire time he talks, eyes trained on his figure at the front of the classroom. What makes that a little difficult however, is the girl sat right beside you.

Wanda is easily distracted you notice quickly, constantly fidgeting with the pen in her hand - your pen actually, borrowed by the brunette when she claimed she had forgotten her own. You sit a little in shock as she casually graffitis the open bible sat upon the desk in front of her, mindlessly drawing squiggles and random shapes into the margin. You try your best to ignore her antics but it’s a little hard when she accidentally tosses her pen across the desk, following a failed attempt to spin it around her fingers. It lands over on your side, just to the right of your own bible. You go to reach for it to hand back to her but it seems she’s already moving before you can even get the chance.

Her body lifts slightly from the bench, stretching out across the table with one arm for her lost pen. As she does, her chest is brought closer to your face. Your eyes fall on the black cross hanging around her neck, then suddenly dip lower, catching the area of her shirt where her buttons are undone further than they should be. There’s the briefest of moments where your eyes linger there, passing over the ever so slightly visible cleavage that swells on her chest, but it’s less than seconds later you’re darting away. Wanda eventually picks her pen back up, after what feels like an eternity, and pulls back in her chair. You glance momentarily over at her, then quickly return to the bible open in front of you, trying your best to follow along with the passage Steve reads aloud while ignoring the strange sensation that has settled in your lower stomach.

———

Camp isn’t quite the way you imagined it to be. Before you arrived, you thought it would be entirely awful, like a prison only with more…God. But for most of your experience, it just feels like you’re back in school. Although, now your lessons about maths or science are replaced by those about God and the way into his heart. Just over two weeks in, you’ve picked up the swing of things quite nicely, falling into an easy routine as you move through the services and lessons with ease. The one thing you just can’t quite seem to grasp is the understanding of why you’re here in the first place.

You’ve had three private sessions now with Natasha, each of them as feeble at finding a change as the last. You’re still not ready to admit your problem, as Natasha puts it, reluctant to find the issue within yourself. But as you’ve said since before you even came, it’s a simple fact you aren’t gay. Natasha seems determined in her ways to make you see something different.

She’s handed you a book, walking out from your last session. The title reads, ‘My Sexuality and Me: Finding the Root of Homosexual Tendencies’. You’re tasked with reading it before your next session in hopes it might finally help you understand your own thoughts. For now, however, it has to wait. Leaving your session, you go up to the dorm to drop it by your bed, taking just a moment before you have to head to your next organised activity.

The camp helps run on a set of scheduled chores that the members have to carry out. It’s on a rota, something Kate had shown you on your very first day, and changes each week. There’s everything from weed picking to cleaning dishes, all work that helps to keep the camp in shape for everyone staying there. Reverend Steve mentioned something about the work ethic helping everyone be grateful for what the lord had given them.

You have to go down to check the rota, forgetting what was scheduled for you this week. Most of the others are already dotted around the camp doing their chores, apparently your one-on-one session running over slightly and causing you to be a little late. You make your way down the stairs to the main room where the rota is located, pinned into a notice board on the wall. But as you turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you notice that you are in fact, not alone.

Wanda turns almost immediately when you round the corner. She’s stood up against the notice board, back resting upon the wall with one foot lifted against it. A smile appears on her face as you come into view, her teeth shining around the piece of pink bubblegum she chews. “Hey, princess.”

You try not to scoff at the name - an endearment the brunette had coined after seeing you one night writing in your diary about your boyfriend, claiming you were like a locked away princess longing for her prince to come save her. You’d rolled your eyes at her comment at the time, and had to deal with its return each time you’d bumped into her in the past week. Now, you try to ignore it as you walk past her and stare up at the notice board trying to find the chore schedule. However, Wanda is speaking again before you even get the chance to locate it.

“Looks like it’s you and me this week.” You glance over at her, watching as a pink bubble forms at her lips. You want to ignore her teasing, looking back to the board to locate where you would be stationed, but when your eyes fall upon the schedule, you realise she is right. Written on the notice board, right below the date of the beginning of the week is your and Wanda’s name, then below it; house duty.

You turn back to look at her, a pair of green eyes glinting your way. For a moment you think there’s some kind of mistake. After all, you had always been with Kate before. But then, not far away from yours is indeed Kate’s name written, not on house duty, but on pantry organisation.

Wanda smirks as she rolls the gum in her mouth, eyes fixated on you as she blows another bubble. When it pops, she finally speaks again. “You’ve never done house duty, have you?”

She’s right. You’re in unfamiliar territory and you don’t have your usual mentor to help guide you. “No,” you reply simply, gently shaking your head.

Wanda breathes out a laugh, throwing her head back slightly as she drops her leg from the wall. “Come on, princess,” she says teasingly, walking to close the gap between you. “I’ll guide you.”

Her hand is reaching for yours before you can protest against it. Soft skin slips into yours, gripping hold and quickly dragging you down the corridor. You stumble slightly, surprised by the whole encounter but Wanda doesn’t seemed fazed. She simply pulls you along the hall like a lost puppy. When your brain restarts from the initial shock, you look down at the way your fingers are grasped between hers. It’s a simple interaction at its core, an innocuous hand hold as she shows you the way to go. You’d done the same thing with your own friends back home many of times, but something about this one feels a little different. Something about the way her soft skin is warm against yours creates an odd fuzz in your head.

“Here we are,” Wanda announces, suddenly dropping your hand. You try not to think about the way it now feels cold as you watch her reach for a door handle. It opens to a cupboard, full of what looks like cleaning supplies. “We basically just dust everything,” the brunette continues, turning back to look at you. “Just dust and vacuum the floors in every room in the house. Oh- but not the bathroom, someone else will be doing those.”

You find yourself nodding, the task seeming simple enough. You’d dusted plenty of times at home, this couldn’t be any different.

Wanda lets out another laugh, seemingly at your immediate obedience to follow through with your task. “Alright, princess,” she says, cracking her gum. She reaches in to the cupboard, picking up a cloth and a bottle of disinfect spray. “I’ll do upstairs, you do downstairs?”

There isn’t much room for objection even if you had any, Wanda already beginning to walk away with the cloth thrown over one of her shoulders. You reach down to grab similar materials, standing back up to watch her figure moving down the corridor. “Stop calling me that!” You call out, but the girl is gone before your sentence is even finished, the protest seemingly falling on deaf ears. A sigh escapes your lips as you close the cupboard door, determined to just ignore the other girl while you begin your designated chore.

You start with the class rooms, wiping each desk with the spray and then dusting the other surrounding surfaces. You quickly find nothing was too dirty, the uphold from the other members ensuring the work wasn’t too difficult. You move next to the dining hall, then the recreational spaces, your cloth picking up any small specks of dust that have come to rest on the furniture and surfaces. When you’ve wiped down each room, you return to the cupboard for the vacuum you’d spied earlier. It’s older than the one you have at home but easy enough to work, quickly making light work of vacuuming the entire bottom floor.

It’s probably half an hour later when you finish, at least that’s the guess you make without a watch. You tidy away the cleaning supplies back into the cupboard before doing a quick inspection of everything to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Satisfied everything is clean, you turn your attention to your missing task partner. You haven’t seen Wanda once, barely even heard her moving upstairs. So, devoid of what else to do, you decide to head up to check if she needed any help.

You check a few rooms before you find her, the closest spaces absent of her presence. It’s only when you open the door to the girls dormitory that you finally see her. Except, she’s not cleaning like you expected her to be, in fact the cloth is entirely disregarded on the bedside table. Instead, Wanda sits with her back against the headrest of her bed, legs crossed over the top of her floral sheets and a magazine sat across her lap.

The door almost slams behind you as you catch eye of her, shock and repel taking you over. “You’re supposed to be cleaning!”

Wanda’s eyes pick up as she hears you yell, meeting your stare across the room. A smirk appears on her face, her expression seeming very amused by your sudden entrance. “Believe me, what I’m doing is much more enjoyable.”

You scowl back, annoyed by the fact you’d just spent the last half hour cleaning the house while she had been sitting up here doing nothing for who knows how long. If you were more argumentative, you would think of something to say in retaliation, some quick quip to get back at her for being lazy. But you’d never been very good at arguing, never very good at holding your temper. So instead you simply hold your tongue as you walk further in the room, watching Wanda as she stared back at you. Suddenly, your eyes fall to the paper in her hand, reminded of how similar this situation felt to the first time you’d met her. Like then, the same curiosity comes over you as to what she might be looking at, particularly how it could be classified as contraband. With that in mind, the next words you utter are not with anger anymore, but instead interest. “What are you reading?”

“Oh this?” Wanda replies, closing the magazine and holding it up briefly. She smirks your way, the grin wide against her cheeks. “Playboy.”

The word was unfamiliar to your mind. “What?”

Wanda’s brow raise. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a playboy magazine.”

You notice in that moment she’d lost her gum from earlier. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stuck it under a piece of furniture somewhere. But still trying to focus on the conversation at hand, you simply shake your head in response.

Wanda looks surprised, her brows raising even further. You think she’s going to jest you further, make fun of you for not recognising the name of her treasured magazine, but instead she simply extends it out. “Look.”

You move slowly, slightly hesitant to approach. You know Natasha had confiscated something like this from Wanda before and you didn’t presume this new magazine was much different from that previously banned material. Still, your curiosity seems to be getting the better of you because you slowly sit down on Wanda’s bed, your legs hanging off the side whilst the brunette crosses hers. Against the covers of the bed, Wanda slides the magazine between the two of you, opening it to a random page. What is plastered over it causes your eyebrows to raise completely in shock.

Women. But not just any pictures of women. The magazine was covered in dozens of images of women in differing stages of nudity. Immediately when you saw it, you felt the need to pull your eyes away, knowing that these kind of images were most definitely not the kind you should be looking at. But at the same time, it was like you couldn’t stop. There are about four models across the two pages scattered with different images, sometimes wearing sets of black lacy lingerie, sometimes wearing nothing at all. Theres a strange sensation bubbling in your gut, an odd warmth spreading through your mind as you look down at the pictures. The pure immorality of it all is enough for you to shake your head viscously.

“This is-we’re not-you shouldn’t have that.” You stutter, the images imprinted in your brain making it harder to focus and find the right words. You’ve never seen anything like that before, never looked at a woman’s body so out in the open. Now you could see why Natasha had quickly confiscated Wanda’s magazine and hidden it away from your view. “How do you even have this?”

The brunette seems utterly unfazed by the material in front of you. More so, her face looks amused at your alarmed reaction. “I steal them out of my brother’s backpack when he comes to visit,” she replies casually, as if this is something she’s been doing for months. “He’s pretty oblivious so he never notices, always thinks he lost them. Besides, even if he did know, he couldn’t tell my parents. He’s not allowed them either.”

While Wanda explains, you have to fight against yourself to hold eye contact. In your peripheral, you can still see the open page of nude women, restraining yourself from your body’s seemingly natural instinct to look down. “This isn’t right,” you reply, shaking your head. “We shouldn’t be looking at that.”

Wanda scoffs, looking displeased at your disapproval. She reaches out for the magazine, pulling it back into her own lap as she glances down at the images. Then, she’s looking back up at you, face inquisitive. “You’ve really never seen one before?”

You’re not sure exactly where she thinks you were going to find such a thing, but you’re certain you’ve never seen anything of the sort before. “No,” you reply sternly, shaking your head once more.

Wanda laughs to herself, rolling her eyes. “You call yourself a lesbian and you don’t even know what a playboy is.”

Her words cause a deep frown to appear on your brow, your voice raising to almost a shout. “I’m not a lesbian.”

A perfect brow raises in your direction as Wanda looks at you. Her expression seems particularly amused. “No? How’d you end up here then?”

The question hits you hard, the same thing you’d been pondering to yourself over the last few weeks of your stay. “I’m not gay,” you reply harshly. “Everyone just thinks that I am.”

“And why do you think they think that?”

Wanda’s eyes meet your own as she speaks, the question another one familiar to your own mind. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Stupid reasons.” You think back to the conversation you’d had with your parents, the first time any of this had even cropped up into your mind. “A few posters I had up in my room, a couple songs on my playlist. Oh, and I told my boyfriend I don’t like kissing him. Which is totally stupid. I’m pretty sure he’s just really bad at it.”

A chuckle emanates from Wanda’s throat. You’re not quite sure why, watching as she leans in closer to you. When she speaks again, her face is barely inches from your own. “Oh honey, you don’t like kissing him because you like kissing girls.”

“What?” you exclaim, taken aback by her accusation. That couldn’t possibly be right. “No! I don’t! I told you, I’m not a lesbian.”

Wanda smirks, her eyes trained on yours. “Okay, maybe not a lesbian but I bet you’ve thought about a girl while he’s kissing you.”

The idea was entirely preposterous. “No!” you yelled back. “I haven’t!”

But your anger is only met with amusement on Wanda’s side, her smirk only deepening as she leans back on the bed. “You’re cute when you lie.”

The words have you recoilling, the inclination behind them picked up on yet rejected by your brain. And yet, you could feel a warmth spreading to your cheeks, embarrassment flushing in.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

You snap on to Wanda as her question rings out, watching as she casually slides her magazine back behind her bedside table. “No,” you reply firmly. “Of course not.”

“Then how do you know you don’t like it?” The brunette sits up again, leaning in closer to you. Her eyes meet your own, a strange shadow seemingly passing over them. She watches you for a moment, in almost unreadable expression moving across her face. “Surely theres only one way to find out.”

Wanda’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. You find you’re too busy watching her lips to notice her leaning in even closer, face barely centimetres from your own. Suddenly, you pull back. “What are you doing?”

Wanda doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to lean in even as you pull away. One of her hands comes to rest on your thigh, fingers grazing the material of your pleated skirt. “It’s okay,” she says lowly. “I’m just trying to help you.”

Her advance doesn’t stop, face moving closer and close towards yours. It’s only when she’s almost touching you, you realise she’s trying to kiss you. “No,” you say quickly, pushing her back by the shoulders. “We can’t do that. It’s not right.”

Wanda sighs, relaxing her posture a little. She shifts in the bed, eyes still trained on you. For a moment she simply looks over your face before that smirk appears once more. “Maybe…” she says, angling her head. “But isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” The question slightly throws you for a loop, your confusion allowing Wanda to move closer to you once more. “Don’t do you want to be a good girl and finish the program?”

The way her breath fans across your face sends an odd shiver down your neck, goosebumps appearing on your arms. Her choice of words seems to form an odd feeling in your stomach, but you try your best to brush it off, nodding your head in response to the question. You did want to finish the program. You wanted to be able to go back home to your family.

Wanda smiles at your answer, her head angling to the side as her voice takes a caring tone. “Well we both know what the first step is…You have to admit to yourself you like girls.” She leans in closer, her eyes briefly flashing down to your lips. “You can’t heal if you don’t admit you have a problem.”

Her words mirror those of Natasha’s, the same thing she’d been trying to get through to you for weeks. But you can’t help but fight the part of your brain that recalls everything you’ve been taught about attraction. “This isn’t right,” you say quietly. “You have to stop.” And yet you find yourself making no move to pull away from the girl whose face sits mere inches from your own.

“As I said, I’m just trying to help you.” Wanda’s voice is calm, understanding. “Once you realise you like girls, you can move on with the rest of the program.” Then the brunette shrugs a shoulder. “Or hey, you maybe hate it and realise you actually are straight.”

It makes some sense in your mind but you’re still hesitant, knowing that what Wanda was even suggesting was against everything you wanted to believe in. “I don’t think that we should-“

“Just don’t think.” Wanda cuts you off before you can finish, and before you can even process what’s happening, she closes the final gap between you. Her lips meet yours, soft and warm against your skin. It’s gentle but rough at the same time, your eyes fluttering closed. Then immediately, as the warmth leaves, they snap back open.

Wanda’s staring back at you, face smiling. “How’d that feel?” You notice that her eyes look a little blown out, pupils wide against the sea of green. “Feels good right?”

Suddenly you realise what’s just happened, every part of your upbringing screaming inside your head. “What? No!” you reply, flustering. “No, it didn’t feel good. It felt wrong.”

But some part of you creeps up in the back of your mind, a part you recognised and yet wanted to snuff out more than anything, a part that knew you were lying.

And apparently, Wanda can see right through to that part too. “I can see it on your face, honey,” she says, voice now teasing. Her eyes trace over your features and you wonder what exactly gave it away. There isn’t much time to think however, as before you know it, Wanda’s leaning in again. Her lips meet yours, a hand sliding to your thigh once more.

“Stop,” you reply, pulling away. “This isn’t right. We’re not supposed to-“

Wanda cuts you off again. “Don’t think about what we’re supposed to do. Think about what feels right.”

You notice again the wildness of her pupils, only for a moment, before she leans in again. Your eyes close on impact, her lips crashing into yours in another kiss. Only this time you instinctively lean into it, pursing your lips against hers. Wanda pushes back, her mouth opening just slightly to take in your lips and you find yourself leaning in. There’s a reminiscent taste of bubblegum, sweet on your tongue as her saliva begins to mix with your own. The hand on your thigh tightens, another placed on to the side of your face. For a second you don’t think about anything other than just how good this moment feels.

It’s seconds later Wanda pulls away, her touch lingering but her lips missing. You find your eyes opening, gazing back at the smirking brunette staring back at you. “It feels pretty good doesn’t it?”

You’re lost for words, sure of your answer to her question but so reluctant to admit it. Wanda smiles back at you, her grip on your leg slowly raising up, ever so slightly bunching the fabric of your skirt. Before you can formulate a response, she’s moving in towards you. Her face disappears into the crook of your neck, her warm breath fanning out across your skin before her lips attach. Without thinking, your head falls back, only giving the brunette more access to nip at the skin of your neck. Your eyes feel heavy, an odd sensation pooling deep in your body. “I can make you feel so good…”

The words reverberate across your skin, sending shivers down your neck and across your chest. A small whine exits your throat, unintended by any part of you but seemingly drawn out by the gentle touches of both Wanda’s lips and her fingers dancing across your skin. “Wanda…”

The brunette slowly pulls back, her face rising to meet with yours. Theres a look in her eye you can’t identify. “You’re already a sinner now, right?” she says, voice husky. “No harm in twisting the knife.”

There’s a moment where you want to turn away, to listen to the rational part of your brain that tells you this is all wrong. But right now there’s only one thing you can truly think of; just how good it felt with Wanda’s lips against your own.

Your hands grab at the brunettes shoulders as you pull her in, the pair of you colliding before you even recognise what you’re doing. The kiss comes fast, clashing together in your desperation for the girl to stop talking and just to feel her against you again. Wanda smirks against your lips, humming an amused noise before she’s all over you.

Her hands find purchase in your hair, entangling in the strands at the nape of your neck as she pulls you in closer to her body. Her kiss becomes fiercer, control quickly being regained as she presses her lips into yours. A small hum of your own escapes as she presses her tongue into your mouth, quickly taking over as you simply let her in without protest. And in that moment a thought crashes over your mind; gay or not, your boyfriend was definitely bad at kissing. Furthermore, Wanda was very, very good.

Your hands grips slightly at her shoulders as the brunette domineers the kiss, her lips almost possessive against your own as her hand clutches as your cheek, manipulating your position to give her full control. You feel her other hand begin to drift further up your legs, pushing your skirt up to your hips before climbing even higher. Delicate touches grace over your stomach, then softly against your chest. You release a small whine as Wanda nips at your lip with her teeth, at the same time, reaching to unbutton the top clasp of your shirt. Her fingers work faster than your mind can even process, too distracted by the touch of her lips to notice her quick work of opening your entire shirt. It’s only when she reaches to touch your chest, a gasp of realisation releases from your throat.

Wanda however, continues without missing a beat. As you gasp, she lets her lips leave your own, reappearing quickly on the side of your neck. Her hand tightens around the skin beneath it on your chest, fingers squeezing around your bra and grabbing hold of your breast beneath it. Her soft kisses continue to move lower as you whine softly, her touch against your chest sending shivers down your body.

Then, her mouth turns more aggressive, resting just at the curve of your breast she begins to suck on the flesh harder, nipping with her teeth before smoothing it over with her tongue. You whine softly, the new sensation novel to your body but so intrinsically intuned. For the first time your eyes open, looking down to where the brunette resides again your chest. You notice the way your necklace rests between the wisps of her hair, a silver cross that you’d worn every day for years. The image is enough to remind you of how wrong this is, how under no circumstances you should be letting a girl kiss you or touch your body like this. But before you can fully wrap your mind around the forbidden nature of the act, a new sensation is stripping a small gasp from your chest. Wanda’s fingers move back to your thighs, slipping up the exposed skin before coming to rest on your underwear underneath.

“Wanda…” you breathe heavily, worked up by her touch and yet knowing how wrong it all was. You shouldn’t be doing this, any of it, especially what Wanda was insinuating as she slipped her hand beneath your skirt.

“Shh, it’s okay.” The brunette replies with ease, her voice low and sensual. Her eyes raise back up to your face, meeting your gaze with a blown out expression. “Let me make you feel good, Y/N.”

And with that, her mouth is on yours again. Her kiss is enough to distract you from forming a response, eyes closing as the sweet taste of bubblegum coats your tongue once more. Then you feel her fingers again, pressing lightly against the material of your underwear, tracing the lines of your folds underneath. Small noises travel from your mouth to hers, receptive to her touch, but it’s when she presses her thumb to your clothed clit, a moan finally slips out.

The situation is entirely new to you, never having been touched by anyone this way before. You and your boyfriend had always said you’d wait till marriage, just like you knew you should. But here with Wanda, her lips against yours and her fingers tracing your most delicate areas, the endorphins flowing through your brain are enough to say to hell with it all.

You push harder into the kiss, grasping hold of Wanda’s shoulders as you try to gain the upper hand. But the brunette is much more experienced than you and doesn’t let up easily. Her hands move to your own shoulders and quickly begin to push the open shirt from them. Her lips remain on yours, strong and fierce, until the shirt has been slipped from your body. Then Wanda pulls away, her eyes drifting down over you for just a moment before she’s grabbing at you again. She spins you around, pulling you fully on to the bed as her hands press your shoulders down into the mattress. In a swift movement, she’s kicking off her shoes to the floor, then pulling yours off too. She comes to settle on top of you, knees placed either side of your legs as she looks down. Her hands are quick as she unbuttons her own shirt, tossing it to the side. Then, she’s moving to unclip her bra.

You feel your eyes widen slightly as Wanda’s bare chest is revealed to you. Before the magazine she’d shown you minutes before, it’s the first time you’ve looked at another woman so nude. And in that moment, despite what your brain is screaming out to you, you can’t help but think about how good she looks.

Wanda seems to notice your staring, her face pulling an entirely amused expression as she looks down at you. “I don’t see why you deprive yourself of this, Y/N,” she says, beginning to lean in. Her lips meet your neck, sucking gently as you feel her fingers slip behind your shoulder blades, seeking the clasp of your bra. “Can something truly be so wrong if it brings you so much pleasure?”

You try to reply to her question, brain racking all of the answers you know you should be saying. But then her lips are sucking at your neck and you’re arching into her touch, once again taken over entirely by the flush of pleasure underneath her control. Theres a release against your chest as Wanda unclips your bra, tossing it easily to the side along with her own. “So gorgeous,” the brunette murmurs, one hand coming to grab at your chest. Then her lips are on you again, kissing at the skin around your nipple. When she pulls it into her mouth, teeth grazing over the bud, a needy whine erupts in your throat. Wanda smirks against you, breathing out a laugh. “So sensitive.”

Her mouth continues to work around the skin of your chest, before you notice her fingers crawling over your stomach. They take hold of your skirt, pressing it up to bunch at your waist. Then Wanda is moving away, fingers quickly hooking themselves under the sides of your underwear as she begins to slide them down.

For a sudden moment, you’re acutely aware of what’s going on, of how you are quite literally in a dorm at a camp where this type of behaviour was attempted to be corrected. Not to mention the rule of any sort of fraternisation being entirely banned. “Wait,” you say, looking down at the brunette between your legs, suddenly afraid of what you were about to do. “I don’t think-“

“I told you to stop thinking,” Wanda replies, eyes snapping to yours. She continues to pull your underwear down, throwing them to the floor once they’ve passed your ankles. Before you can say anything more, her lips drown you in a kiss. The sweetness of it all is enough to wipe any of the doubt from your mind, so when Wanda’s hands dip between your legs, you don’t hesitate to let her. Deft fingers run between your folds, teasing you slightly as they brush gently across your clit. You sigh breathily between the breaks of your kiss, Wanda’s touch like electric to your skin.

“God, you’re so wet, Y/N,” the brunette whispers, pulling her face away to smirk down at you. “Is this all for me?”

She’s teasing you, making you think about how hesitant you’d been to this whole idea, and then about how receptive you were under her touch. But you don’t want to think about any of that, don’t want to remind yourself of how wrong this all was. All you want is for her to keep going. “Wanda…” you whine, squirming under her as her fingers teased your entrance. “Please.”

You don’t even truly know what you’re asking for her to do, all you know is you need her. Thankfully, the brunette is proficient in picking up your body’s signals. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers, breath fanning across your face. “I know what you need, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

It’s only seconds later you feel her middle finger plunge into you. You let out a loud gasp at the contact, feeling her finger begin to move inside of you like nobody’s had before. Her name drips off your tongue, laced with pleasure, as her head moves back to your chest, tongue playing with your hardened nipple. Theres a mark resting there, red and throbbing below the skin of your cross. In the heat of the moment, you hands reach out to grasp the back of her head, intertwining with her hair as you feel her add another finger inside you.

The pleasure rolls of you in waves, Wanda’s touch like a skilled professional highly attuned to draw sweet subtle moans from your mouth. Her thumb circles your clit as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you, curling them to reach that spot that sends shivers up your spine.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you murmur, nails lightly scratching at her bare back.

The brunette chuckles, raising her head from your chest. “Now that’s not a very holy word, is it Y/N?” She smirks, and for a moment her touch is gone. You whine, chasing her fingers as they leave your needy core. Theres a second she lifts her weight and you see her reaching to remove her own underwear, then she’s back on you, this time sitting against just on of your thighs. You can feel her wetness against your skin, a soft moan escaping as she makes contact. “I wanna cum with you, okay?” she says, eyes meeting yours. You nod eagerly but your reply is swallowed up by a low cry as her fingers suddenly sink back into you.

Her speed picks up as she begins to curl inside you once again, a soft stream of curses leaving your lips at the unexplainable pleasure of her touch. You can feel Wanda begin to grind on to your thigh as she works, soft gasps escaping from her lips each time her clit brushes beautifully against your skin. She showers your praises as you whimper noises of your own, breaths heavy and moans unrestrained as she brings you closer and closer to that edge.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, princess,” Wanda husks over you. “Such a pretty girl for me.”

Her words only add to the building feeling in your lower stomach, that familiar coil building from the times you’d reached down to pleasure yourself after your parents had went to bed - not that you would tell anyone that.

“Please, Wanda,” you whimper, back arching into her. “I’m close-please…”

One hand continues to pump inside you, paced perfectly as her curled fingers reached that spot with each thrust. The other come up to play with a perked nipple, the bud rolling though Wanda’s fingers as helpless whines spill from your mouth. “Just a minute, princess,” Wanda replies, her breathing heavy. “I’m almost there.”

Surprisingly, her pace doesn’t falter as she too climbs closer to her orgasm. Her moans grow louder, her cunt grinding harder against your thigh as she continues to swirl your clit at the perfect speed. It’s when you finally tense the muscles in your leg, that she finally falls apart.

You feel her soak your thigh, gasping desperately as she cums. You watch mesmerised as her face screws up, her jaw hanging loose as she rides out her orgasm on your leg, drunk on pleasure. It only adds to the bundling arousal pooling in your lower stomach.

“Cum, pretty girl” Wanda whispers, still coming down from her high. “Cum for me.”

And you do. With her fingers curling just right inside you, you finally tip over the edge. Your orgasm comes hard, crashing over you in a tidal wave as Wanda slowly circles your clit, guiding you through it. A guttural moan elicits from your throat, Wanda’s name lacing your tongue. That pleasant buzz takes over your mind as you feel her fingers slow, riding out your high, drunk on her touch. You’re on the brink of overstimulation when she finally removes her hand entirely. Eventually your eyelids flutter open, heavy from exhaustion, and you spy the brunette with her fingers deep isnide her mouth, her tongue lapping up every last bit of your arousal.

“So sweet,” she murmurs above you, both of your minds still fuzzy from the resounding pleasure. Eventually, the brunette moves herself away from your thigh, whining slightly as her core is exposed to the cool air. Her body flops down next to yours, shoulders touching as you lay cramped in the single cot. Your heavy breaths are the only sound for a long while, loud in the silence of the dormitory. Then finally, when you’ve managed to right your body again, your face turns to look at the girl beside you. Wanda is already staring back, green eyes wide as a huge smirk settles across her lips. She looks you up and down, her grin only widening as she husks, “You still wanna believe you’re not into girls?”.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #marvel

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cobrakaisb · 8 months

Text

ciao bella

summary: you and theo spend a summer in italy, and some insecurities are revealed

word count: 849

author's note: the ending is lowkey shit, but i really liked the concept.

“theo,” you called, waiting for your boyfriend’s hum of acknowledgment before continuing. “can you rub some sunscreen on my back? i don’t want to burn.” he grumbled a response in that low tone of his, but you heard the sound of the lotion bottle, letting you know that he was fulfilling your request.

you sighed in relief as theo rubbed the cool lotion on your back, arching ever so slightly as the feeling contrasted your sun kissed skin. he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, “relax love.” you sighed again, sinking further into the lounge chair set up on the balcony overlooking lake como. the stunning view, large villa, and established atmosphere reminded you just how rich your boyfriend was.

when he approached you after the holiday break during fifth year with a letter and plane ticket to italy, you were shocked. it was a little unexpected, considering that your relationship was relatively new, so you found yourself hesitant to agree. it took pansy, millie, and daphne’s words of encouragement to convince you that this trip was a good idea. spending a month in italy didn’t scare you, in fact it was a bonus to get away from your own familial issues, and of course, some alone time with your boyfriend couldn’t hurt. it was the itinerary, rather, that made you question your sanity and willingness to go.

you were flying in from london to milan, via muggle transportation, where you were spending three days in a luxury hotel. from there you were going to his family’s villa at lake como, where you’d reside for two weeks, soaking up the sun and rich atmosphere. at the beginning of the third week, the two of you were taking a private car to spend the day in florence before heading to rome for another three days. the remainder of the trip would be spent between the amalfi coast and sorrento.

the whole thing was a lot, and everything surrounding the trip exuded wealth. between the luxury hotels, first class tickets, private tours, designer outfits, and theo’s eagerness to take you on various shopping sprees, you felt like you were in over your head. granted, your family was well off, but not nearly as financially stable as theodore’s. maybe that’s why it was hard for you to truly relax; the worry about paying theo back was eating you away, slowly but surely.

“you’re not relaxing,” he mumbled, drawing you from your racing thoughts to the serene environment. you huffed at his words. “i’m trying too,” you replied. theo could hear the worry in your voice; he could feel it emitting off you like the faint blue glow of a patronus. he set the bottle of lotion down, climbing off your back to sit in his own lounger. he turned to face you. “what are you so worried about, darling? tell me and i’ll fix it,” he begged. you knew his blue eyes were wide and pleading behind the dark frames of his sunglasses.

“i don’t know how you’ll be able to fix it. it think i just need to figure it out on my own,” you explained softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, or make him feel like you were withholding information from him. (even though you technically were.) by the end of your sentence, theo had moved from his chair back to yours, taking a hold of your hand.

his olive skin was warm and a shade darker than usual, probably from all the sun you’d been getting these past couple of weeks. his thumb rubbed gently across the back of your hand, a habit that he developed as a way to soothe your nerves and anxiety. you sighed, a deep one at that, before opening your mouth to confess. before you could truly process what you were saying, filtering the things that you didn’t necessarily want him to know, you had told theo everything; how you felt like you’d never be able to pay him back, and how you wondered if splurging on you was really worth it.

once you finished, you took another breath to calm yourself down. you risked a hesitant glance at theodore, who’s grip on your hand had tightened over the course of your rambling. it was silent between the two of you, and you were afraid to break it. finally, theo licked his lips before looking towards you. “fuck darling, don’t ever worry about that. you being here is all the payback i need,” he explained softly, his free hand tracing the bridge of your nose.

“theo,” you trailed off, but he silenced you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “you’re wearing my ring, yeah?” he asked, gesturing to the silver ring that hung on a chain around your neck. “always,” you answered. “exactly. what’s mine is yours, and it forever will be,” he replied, kissing the back of your hand as you felt your cheeks heat up.

“now sit back and relax.” maybe spending a month with theo, the boy you loved, in italy wasn’t such a bad idea.

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #harry potter imagine #cobrakaisb writing

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wrongplacerighttime · 2 months

Text

fratboy!harry x you

hi hi! its been awhile. finally finished this after 3834273 weeks it feels like. its also my first reader fic so....hope you like it HAHAHA.... :)

the one where your friends introduce you to Harry, you go on a trip and things get interesting. featuring a lake house, hiking, and a cherry sucker.

wc: 5.8k

tw: smut 18+, spanking, choking, light dom!harry dynamic, brief clit slapping, brief face slapping, lil bit of cum play, size kink, breeding kink if you squint. idk if i missed anything but as always let me know if i did :)

cherry sucker

Finding solace in the chirping birds and chattering on the street that could be heard from your open window, you stood in front of your closet, clad in a little white tank and baby blue undies, preparing your bag for a camping trip you and your friends had planned. Spring semester has concluded and this trip will commemorate the start of summer vacation. You daydream about the sun glistening off the ripples of the lake water, the smell of the grass wafting in the wind as the sun warms the earth while you pack your bag.

While you were excited for summer, you wanted to get a head start on your reading for fall semester. You had a textbook or two in the bottom of your bag—poli sci books, because you had heard the professor was relentless with his lesson plan and you wanted to go in with no surprises. You hear the faintest footsteps down stairs, growing louder the closer they drew up the stairs. Your door swings open and Faye strides through, red hair flowing behind her at the pace she was walking. She comes up behind you, smacking your ass making you yelp.

“Faye!” You squeal, clutching the cheek that was now turning red with your best friend's hand print.

“I’m so envious of your ass, I just had to.” She falls backwards on your bed, arms sprawling beside her. “It’s just so tempting.” She giggles and you turn back to your closet.

“I’m so glad we actually have time to see each other now that classes are over. School’s been so busy I feel like all I’ve done is sleep and go to class.”

“Is that why you have a fucking textbook in your bag?” Faye raises her eyebrow at your duffle and picks one up. “Russian socioeconomic structure? What even is this?”

“It’s for Professor Sykes. I’ve heard he's brutal and I want to be prepared.”

“You are not bringing this. You have a whole summer ahead of you to study.” Faye scoffs, pausing for a moment. “If you bring this book on this trip I’ll throw it in the lake myself.”

“Then you’ll owe me $200. Besides, what if I get bored?” You cross your arms over your chest and Faye looks at you like you’ve grown another head.

“There’s a lake! A lake!” She throws her hands up in the air, laughing at your determination. You bend down, opening your drawer and pulling out a skimpy yellow bikini to throw in your bag. “By the way, Josh is bringing a friend. His name’s Harry…Styles I think. Do you know him?” You shake your head.

“Know of him, don’t know him though.”

“Oh. Well he’s single…and kind of hot.” Faye giggles and you shake her head again.

“No thanks. I’m not really into the dating scene right now.”

“No one said anything about dating. Just maybe for a little…fun.” This time, it’s your turn to look at Faye like she’s the one who’s grown another head. “Fine. If you don’t want to…maybe he’ll be our third.” She wiggles her eyebrows and you widen your eyes in horror at her suggestion of asking Harry to join her and her boyfriend in their sexual endeavors.

Before you can get another thought in, heavy footsteps clamber up the stairs and it’s Josh, Harry in tow with a backpack slung over his shoulder and suddenly your room feels very small. Josh flicks his eyes to you, smiling and sitting next to Faye on your bed.

“Pauly and Alex are on their way. We’re putting all the shit in their car and you guys are gonna ride with us.” He says, gesturing his finger between the two of you and you nod. The window open brings a warm breeze into the room, blowing your sketchbook pages until it lands on one with a drawing of a man.

Not just any man…it was your ex. Your eyes flick to everyone and you rush over to shut it before anyone can catch it. It was an old drawing, and a hobby you hadn’t picked back up since things ended and you really didn’t feel like rehashing the breakup with Faye. Faye wasn’t the biggest fan of him, and for good reason after he cheated on you with the TA in one of his classes last semester.

Harry stands in the doorway, chewing gum between his molars, his jaw flexing and glances around your room—the bedroom of a girl whom he’d never met, and it felt very personal…like he was getting a peak into who you were as a person. An overflowing bookshelf, handmade drawings stuck to a corkboard on the wall over the desk. Faye and Josh were talking in hushed whispers and he tilted his head to the side as he had the perfect view of your ass as you were turned around and facing your desk. He smirks at the red hand mark left there, and he could feel his cock twitching in his pants at the thoughts running through his head. He drops his gaze as you turn back around to walk towards your closet again. His eyes meet yours and you smile, a greeting showing you were just being nice, and he wonders if you always walk around half dressed in front of strangers. He clears his throat.

“Sykes next semester?” He asks, voice with a hint of an accent you weren’t expecting and you nod.

“How’d you know?” He gestures his elbow towards your bag, the textbook on top of your clothes and your mouth forms and “O” and you nod.

“He teaches that entire fucking book every year. It’s such a snooze fest.” He pauses. “Do you like Russian literature?” You nod again, gesturing to your bookshelf filled with classics and fantasy and romance. You had a few authors on the shelf, but not as many as you would like. He brings his backpack around to his side, unzipping and reaching in. He pulls out a tattered book, crinkles in the cover and the corners turning up, all characteristics of a well loved piece and hands it to you. “Read this instead. A lot more interesting.” He smirks and your gaze drops to the words on the cover. A collection of poems by Anna Akhmatova. In the short conversation you were having you didn’t realize that you had been left alone with him. He smiles, a sly grin spreading on his lips almost like he knew he was about to be a menace.

“By the way, blue looks good on you.” He flicks his gaze down before meeting your eyes again. You feel your cheeks burning instantly as he walks out the door laughing to himself as he stumbles his way down the stairs, leaving you to finish packing alone.

The car ride to the cabin had everyone buzzing with anticipation. Faye had called shotgun, and you and Harry shared a look when she did. He smirked and you looked away and quickly climbed into the backseat. The entire ride you were consumed with a nervous energy that you couldn’t quite place. Harry had his hand splayed out on the seat beside you and when he leaned forward to talk to Josh, the tip of his pinky barely brushed your skin and you tried not to think about it too hard for the rest of the ride over.

It took no time for you to clamber out of the car and claim your room inside for the weekend. Tossing your bag onto the floor by the door, you flopped down on the fluffy mattress holding the book Harry lent you to your chest. You were fiddling with the cover when Faye waltzed in and leaned against the foot of the bed.

“Get up. We’re going on a hike.” She said giddy with excitement and you cocked your eyebrow at her.

“Think I’ll pass.”

“Not an option. Everyone else is going.” She crosses her arms and leans on the doorframe.

“I didn’t bring shoes for a hike.” You half laugh at her with a shake of your head and she narrows her eyes.

“You can wear a pair of mine. Let’s go.” Faye gestures and you groan, tossing the book back onto the bed with a soft thud against the duvet. You pad down the hallway after her, slumped over feigning protest like a toddler and she hands you a pair of her sneakers once you reach her room. Slipping them on, you plait your hair behind your head quickly and messily as you find your way to the foyer where everyone is gathered and waiting to leave. None of them look thrilled either as they follow Faye out the door to the path behind the house.

The June sun was high in the sky and the only reprieve you were able to get from the heat was the occasional shade of the trees along the path. You and Harry had fallen behind, the rest of the group up ahead and through heavy breaths you would sneak glances from the corner of your eye as the sun glistened off the light sheen of sweat coating his shoulders and his chest. He had popped a cherry sucker in his mouth not long ago and you watched as he moved it from one cheek to the other with his tongue and caught your mind wandering to what his tongue might feel like running along the expanse of your skin. You walk in silence, hands brushing slightly from the uneven terrain and you want to apologize for repeatedly bumping him but you don’t.

“Does she always make you do shit like this?” He huffs from behind you, stepping over a fallen limb.

“Unfortunately.” You grumble back, trying not to roll your ankle stepping over rocks bigger than the palm of your hand.

Even though this hike was the last thing Harry wanted to be doing, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed your company, though little conversation had been exchanged since the moment in your room. His eyes trailed over your body, noticing the bead of sweat rolling down your chest and his tongue darts out over his lips, wanting nothing more than to trail his tongue down the same path. He watched the way your thighs flexed as you stepped over limbs and branches and he thought about them wrapped around his waist, driving into you over and over while your fingers leave marks over his torso. He pulls his shirt over his head, unable to take the heat of the afternoon any longer and he tucks it into the waistband of his shorts. He’s noticed you watching him too, stealing glances out of the corner of your eye and biting your teeth into the pillowy flesh of your bottom lip. He’s convinced that he could do anything and you’d melt into the palm of his hand, so desperate to please him and be good for him. He smirks to himself as you divert your eyes ahead, away from his now bare torso and towards the ground.

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick ahead, and you don’t know that he’s judging how long it would take for your friends to notice if he pulled you out of sight for a moment. He decides it’s worth the risk, lightly grabbing your arm and pulling you behind a nearby tree. You feel the bark against your back as he cages your head between his arms and you look up at him with wide eyes. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart against your ribcage at his close proximity.

So close you can smell the cherry on his breath, hear the faint sound as the confection clatters against his teeth. Your eyes focus on the white stick poking from between his lips and he watches you. His hands dig into the roughness of the oak and his chest pressed against yours. Suddenly the heat of the afternoon feels suffocating. He brings his own hand to his mouth, plucking the stick from between his teeth and the sticky residue touches your lips. Upon instinct, your tongue darts out to collect, catching the sweetness and savoring it for a moment.

“Open.” His voice is low and gravelly, and for some reason you find yourself obeying his command before you can even think too hard about it. Your lips part and you stick out your tongue in anticipation, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you and he hums. “Can y’hold this for me, puppy?”

A heat swirls in your core, and without noticing your thighs clench together and a whine escapes your throat as you nod. Harry places the sweet candy on your tongue and your lips wrap around the stick slick from his own salivation. “Good girl.” He mutters, stepping away and creating space between the two of you. You snap out of the trance you seemingly had fallen into and scurry away, catching up to your friends and leaving him laughing behind you.

Nightfall comes before you have a chance to think about it. You had taken a quick nap after you returned from the hike and it was much needed, considering your mind was going haywire and you just needed a break from your thoughts drifting to Harry. It was quiet out here, you and Harry the only ones left sitting next to the fire Josh and Pauly had started a couple of hours ago. You were huddled up under a blanket, the air blowing off the lake making it feel colder than it actually was. Frogs were humming by the water and the crickets were chirping in the grass, the sounds of nature around you made you feel calm. You had the book Harry had loaned you resting against your thigh as you read the prose on the weathered pages. Harry had his head leaned back, fingers weaved together on his chest with his eyes closed. Occasionally you would peek over at him and he seemed tranquil. You weren’t sure why he was still here with you, but maybe he was just enjoying the fire like you were. You had purposely avoided him after the incident on the hike, the memory still causing an arousal to pool beneath the denim of your shorts and you tried like hell to push it from your mind.

“Let’s swim.” He states, pulling you from your thoughts. You raised your brow at him, a quizzical look.

“I’ll pass.” You blow out a laugh and he turns his head towards you then.

“Why? Faye and Josh are off somewhere, probably fucking, and Pauly and Alex are doing bong rips inside. Not really a fan of that…they're incessantly annoying when they’re high. So let’s go swim.” He says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as if it was the most sound choice of activity for this time of night.

“It’s cold, and I’m actually enjoying this book of poems you lent me.” You tell him, and because you’re not looking at him at that second you don’t see the way the corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile.

“Anna Akhmatova is interesting. But you have all weekend to read it.” He turns to face you then, you catch the movement out of your peripheral.

“I also have all weekend to swim.” You tease him. He’s silent for a moment and you turn the page to read the next poem. He shifts in his seat.

“Alright. I didn’t want it to have to come to this…” He says, sighing. He stands, making his way over to you. Before you can process what he’s doing, he snatches the book and throws it onto a neighboring chair. In one swift movement, he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he walks towards the dock. You thrash and kick but it’s no use, not when he’s stronger than you’ll ever be.

“Harry! Put me down!” You exclaim, laughing in the process and you feel his chest against your thighs. He doesn’t respond. “Okay! I surrender. I’ll swim with you. Please just don’t throw me in.” You try to reason with him and he stops, pausing his movements and taking in your words. He plants your feet on the weathered wood, and you look up at him with narrowed eyes as he smiles down at you, a crooked grin that had your knees feeling weak. “That wasn’t funny. I don’t have a swim suit on either.”

“I guess that gives us a perfect excuse to go skinny dipping then.” He states as if there’s nothing wrong with that scenario.

“Respectfully, no. I’ll swim in my clothes.” You counter back.

“Sweet girl, it’s nothing you or I haven’t seen before. Be mature.” He teases and you want to laugh, but you cross your arms over your chest, instinctively making yourself smaller. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts before looking back at you, noticing your hesitation and he stops. “We really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He puts his hands on your arms, and you shake your head, looking out at the ripples on the surface lit by the moon.

“No it’s—I’m not—it’s fine. I want to. I just haven’t really taken my clothes off in front of a guy in—since…” You pause, collecting your thoughts before looking up at him. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I’m being this way. I think I’m just nervous.”

“You don’t have to feel that way around me. Promise.” He smiles and turns back around, pushing his shorts down so you have a view of his bare ass. Your cheeks redden as you avert your gaze elsewhere, and he jumps into the water with a splash. You can’t see him, not until he pokes his head back up and shakes the water from his hair. “It feels great.” He covers his eyes with his hands. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to. Not until you’re in the water.” He says and you nod, and then realizing he can’t see you clear your throat.

“Okay.” Your voice feels small. Hesitantly you unbutton your shorts, sliding them down along with your underwear and pulling the sweatshirt over your head leaving you bare and exposed, and you hoped and prayed that Alex and Pauly weren’t watching out the window. You drop it to the dock, your clothes and his making separate piles, taking a step towards the edge and looking down into the water. Here goes nothing, you say to yourself and leap in. And he was right, it really did feel great. It envelopes around you as you swim upwards and breach the surface, wiping your eyes and opening them. He’s there in front of you, a smile plastered on his face.

“See, s’not so bad, right?” He asks and you shake your head again as you tread the water. And you both stay like that for a while, swimming and floating. He floats on his back and you try a little too hard to not let your gaze travel south, focusing on his face and how content he looks with his eyes closed. You’re too busy staring at the tattoos littering his torso when he says something you don’t quite catch.

“Hm?” Your gaze flits back to his face and he’s smiling.

“I said,"Do you like what you see?” He laughs and you can feel your cheeks redden because he caught you staring at him.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly and he swims over to you, closing the distance and you bite back a grin at the close proximity.

“Don’t need to apologize, sweet girl.” He says, his voice low and he brings his hand up to thumb over your lips, parting them before his thumb runs over your cheek. “Be lying if I said I haven’t been staring at you all night.” He confesses and you think if you were nervous before, then you’re not sure what you’re feeling right now. It feels like a stampede of elephants is running through your belly as he runs the backs of his fingers across your cheek. You decide to just rip the bandaid off and go for it. Your hands find his face and you crash your lips to his, and he’s taken off guard but the next second his hands dip under the water and he pulls you into him, the warmth of your bodies melding together underneath the surface. Upon instinct, your legs wrap around his waist as you push your chest into him, causing him to tighten his grip on your waist, dimpling the skin beneath his fingertips.

It was almost like neither of you needed to speak, once the kiss had broken you both swam fervently towards the dock. He hoists you up by your waist, quickly dressing just to go inside and get undressed again. He pulls you by your hand towards the cabin, and you say a silent prayer that your friends who were in here made their way outside.

By the grace of some higher power, the house was empty and the air inside was cold and smelled of the aftershocks of bong rips and a half smoked joint. Harry pulled you down the hall, into his room, and shut the door behind him with a click of the lock.

He smirks and he pushes you down into the bed, hair wet and sticking to the skin of your neck. He crawls over you after pulling your shorts off and throwing them somewhere across the room, slotting a knee between your thighs and instinctively you grind against him, gripping onto his biceps. He hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and slides them down your thighs in one swift move, and you kick them the rest of the way off in anticipation.

“Been thinking about taking those off since I saw you prancing around your room in them this morning.” His voice drops an octave as he ghosts the tip of his nose along your cheek , tracing the outline of your jaw as you desperately move your hips seeking for any friction it would give you. He pulls back, looking over your features and you can see his pupils blown from his own pleasure.

“Look at you.” He coos, clicking his tongue behind his teeth. “Taking before I can even give anything to you, so selfish.” He purrs, and somehow the tone of it makes you stop, halting the movement of your hips.

“No. Go ahead, angel. Wanna watch you get yourself off just from riding my thigh. Need it so bad, can’t even help yourself.” He coos, but his tone is condescending and you almost question him. He raises a brow, running a thumb over your cheek delicately. The harsh tone of his voice and the softness of his touch playing mind games with you. “Do it. Be a good girl.” He encourages you, and you feel like it’s a trap.

“N-no. Want whatever you wanna give me. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” You pout your lower lip out and he thumbs over it, pulling it down before it bounces back into place. You like that he takes initiative, being dominant over you like it comes so easily for him. He can see the wheels in your mind turning and he cocks his head to the side.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just never done this before. Never had someone be…” You trail off, but he nods like he already knew what you were going to say.

“I see. Sweet girl’s never had someone take control over her?” You shake your head. He rolls his lip between his teeth, eyes flittering around your face. “But you crave it, don’t you? Just wanna be a cock-drunk little slut? Wanna have someone filling you, telling you what to do?” His words penetrate your brain and your eyes flutter closed. “Answer me. Is that what you want?” He demands and you nod, faster than you ever have and he flashes his pretty smile at you.

“Yes. Please.” Finding your voice, begging him. He shifts, pressing his thigh into your center and a whimper falls from your lips, the heat growing between your thighs.

“Go.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your pulse point and trailing kisses down your collar bone. Slowly, your hips begin to move and you’re almost embarrassed at your arousal coating his skin, glistening in the soft glow of the lamp. You push the thoughts away, focusing on your pleasure as you feel his hardening length against your thigh, pressing into you. You reach down, palming him through the material before he grabs your wrist and pins it above your head. “Didn’t tell you you could touch.” He mumbles against your skin and you whine in protest. Your hips move faster now, and you’re so close. Just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls away and your lungs deflate, a breath being taken away from you. He stands over you, pushing his shorts down and your eyes widen at the sight of him. You want to reach out and grab him, pump his cock with your hand but you refrain. He leans over you again, planting kisses down your chest and dipping in the valley between your tits, his nose ghosting over your skin.

“Want you to tell me red if you wanna stop, okay? Green if you wanna keep going. Got it?” He asks and you nod. He peeks up at you through his lashes and cocks his brow. “Words, puppy. Can’t hear a nod or a shake.”

“Yes. I’m—yes. Got it” You’re breathless with your answer. He peppers small kisses over your navel, gripping your hips between his fingers as his head dips lower, kissing the insides of both thighs, trailing his tongue over your skin and purposely skipping over your weeping hole just to make you squirm under his grip. He parts you open then, collecting your arousal on his tongue and the wicked sensation makes your back arch from the bed, pushing your core closer to him and he forces you back down.

“Uh-uh. Stay still or I’ll stop.” He mumbles, and a whine bubbles in your throat. He laps lazily st your core, circling and flattening his tongue over your clit as you try your hardest to keep your hips still. His fingers dimple your skin, digging into the muscle underneath. He knew he was gripping hard enough to leave small bruises in the shape of his fingertips, and he wanted to. Wanted you to remember his head between your thighs as you shattered just from the flick of his tongue against your sensitive bud. You’re a mess of moans and panting his name over and over. He pulls your clit between his teeth and your hips jolt upwards and he pushes you back down to the mattress. He pulls away, and your chest heaves at the loss of contact but a cry escapes your throat when he lands a light smack to your center, and the pain morphes into pleasure as tears well up in your eyes at the sting.

“Told you to stay still. Can’t follow simple directions, angel?”

“M’s—sorry.” You gasp and he glances up at you, noticing your wet lashes and he props himself up on his elbows.

“What's your color, sweet girl?” His tone is gentle, planting a soft kiss to the top of your thigh and peeking up at you from under his lashes.

“Green.” You answer eagerly and he smiles against your skin, crawling back up to level with your eyes. His lips find yours and you open, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth against your own, the room around you melting away. It’s slow, sensual and full of desire. He doesn’t pull away as he lines himself up with you, the tip of his cock teasing your aching hole and you move your hips trying like hell to get him further inside.

“So needy.” He mumbles against your lips and pulls your bottom one between his teeth, nipping gently. He pushes into you slowly, your mouth dropping open as he lays his forehead against your collarbone. “So tight, sweet girl. I don’t think m’gonna fit.” He pushes into you further, teeth marking your skin as he groans against your skin and you whine at the sting of him stretching you.

“Fuck, Harry.” You whimper, he cages your head between his hands, holding himself up as his biceps flex and extend, the sinewy tissue underneath his skin prominent. He looks down between your bodies, where he's halfway sheathed inside your pussy and he chuckles, a breathy laugh that morphs into a sigh.

“Pretty little pussy looks so pitiful like this. Can’t do it, puppy.” He pants, and you know somewhere in the back of your mind that he’s just playing a part, but it doesn’t stop the cry that escape from your throat as you beg him to fuck you.

“Please, Harry. Need you. Want you so much. Can take it, promise. Please.” You look up at him with wide eyes and he admires you for a moment, taking in the pout playing on your pretty mouth that he just wants to kiss away, the tears welling in your eyes that he’ll wipe away if they fall. The need in your voice letting him know you’d do anything he asks of you in this moment.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you. Gonna go slow til you’re all stretched out f’me.” He palms your thighs, hiking them around his waist and continues to fill you, your head lulling to the side as your eyes flutter closed and your jaw falls slack when he reaches to the hilt, balls resting against your ass as his head falls back. “So fucking good, angel. Look at me, wanna see those pretty eyes.”

So you listen, do the best you can to force your eyes open as he starts to rock his hips into you, pulling out to the tip before filling you up again and again. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, kissing down your calf as he sets his rhythm, going deeper from this angle. His eyes never leave yours as he groans and nibbles on your skin, peppering small bites and then soothing with his tongue. He hits the right spot every time, and when your eyes finally betray you and fall closed, you feel a smack land on your cheek. Not hard, but just enough to sting and you whimper.

“Thought you were a good girl.” He says through gritted teeth and he drives into you harder.

“I-I am. Want to be good for you.” He grunts at your response, he pulls out and flips you over before pulling your ass up in the air so you sit on your knees with your face down in the mattress. He palms your ass, landing a smack to your cheek. He rubs over the spot gently, soothing as you push closer into his touch and he's climbing behind you, lining up and pushing back in and it feels even better from this angle. Hitting every spot just right and you swear you see stars. He reaches around you, pushing on your tummy just under your navel and wraps his other hand around your throat lightly, pulling you up.

Your back is flush with his chest, skin sticking together from the light sheen of sweat coating both your bodies. One hand squeezing the sides of your neck and the other pressing still on your belly and he nips at your ear.

“Can feel me all the way in your tummy, can’t you? This is what you like right? Nobody’s ever had you like this have they?” He whispers and you shake your head. His hand finds yours and he brings it back to the spot just below your belly button. “Feel that? Feel me so deep in this pretty pussy. Gonna get you all full of me, fill you with my babies.” He grits and squeezes your neck a little harder, the corners of your vision darkening before he lets go and you take in a full breath, feeling high on him…and he’s all you know. His words, his hands roaming your body and his cock stretching you.

“Harry, I’m so close.” You breathe out and he grunts, lips ghosting over your shoulder blade.

“I know…can feel you squeezing my cock so tight angel. C’mon. Cum for me.” He encourages you and you shatter around him, pussy pulsing around him bringing him to his own release as he paints inside you. He wastes no time pulling out and you topple over from your legs feeling weak and he dips down behind you. You feel him dripping out of your hole, and his fingers spread you open. Pushing one inside with no warning, he fucks his cum back inside of you with his fingers and you hum, unable to make any other noise and he chuckles behind you.

“Like being filled like this? Look so pretty full of me, dripping out of you. Never gonna forget it.” He mutters, planting a kiss on the small of your back before standing. Finding the energy to roll over, he offers his fingers to you and you take them between your lips and taste the mix of both of you on his fingers. He curses under his breath at the sight of you, feeling his cock twitching back to life and he pulls them away to stop himself thinking about fucking you again and again.

You slept in his bed that night.

The weekend ended all too quickly, and you were half asleep in the back seat of Josh’s car with your head resting on the window, holding Harry’s book on your thighs and fiddling wither cover, something you had become accustomed to as you read the prose on the pages or when you closed in while engaging in conversation. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you’d see him in that capacity again after this weekend and didn’t know if you wanted to go back to being strangers that passed each other in the economics building on campus.

Josh pulled up to the house you and Faye shared, and Harry follows you out of the car. He retrieves your bag from Pauly’s car for you, carrying it up to your room and putting it down on your bed. You almost felt like you were having deja vu, the scene similar to one from Thursday afternoon, except this time you weren’t half naked in front of him and he wasn’t just a stranger in your room anymore. You look around, then to the floor before meeting his eyes and he smirks as he leans against your doorframe.

“Here.” You hand him the book but he puts his hands up, shaking his head.

“Keep it.” He says, and you almost refuse but accept it anyway. He bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets. He steps closer, brushing your hair behind your ear as you look up at him. “Don’t be a stranger, angel.”

“I won’t be.”

He leaves you there, standing in the middle of the room with his book clutched to your chest with a cheesy grin plastered on your face.

And you knew it wouldn't be the last time you saw Harry Styles.

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too-deviant · 2 months

Text

The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

#the title is a play on words #cos it wasn’t just the physical wounds #get it?#i’ll shut up #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson

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joelsgreys · 10 months

Text

fall into temptation | one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader

series masterlist l next chapter

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

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

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

word count: 8.4k

Jackson, Wyoming

Fall 2024

Joel had seen him around the community before.

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

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

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

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

Joseph? Was that it?

He couldn’t be certain.

Not that Joel really even cared to know his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorted sharply through his nose. “Hope?”

“Yes, hope,” she snapped at him.

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

Shit.

He’d been caught gawking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel tossed him a skeptical look across the table.

“She really as innocent as she seems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the old man doesn’t know?”

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

He smirked. “Which part?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s she been holdin’ up?”

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

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

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

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

You were leaving. Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

Kent was going after you.

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

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

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

You were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kent.

That couldn’t fucking be good.

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

That’s when he heard it.

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

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

Red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared at him with wide and fearful eyes.

A single tear slipped down the side of your face.

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

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

But he’d heard it loud and clear.

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “Un—Understood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel felt a strange warmth radiate in his chest.

Fucking hell, Tommy had been right about you.

You really were too good.

“Darlin’ I already told you m’fine—”

“Please?”

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

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

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

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

“That really ain’t necessary.”

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

There it was again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You disappeared down a short, dimly lit corridor.

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

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

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

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

He averted his eyes, turning away from it.

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

A fucking slab of carved wood.

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

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

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

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

“No offense taken, Joel.”

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

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

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

Smiling politely, you told him your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer took him by complete surprise.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel—”

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

Your eyes widened ever so slightly at his words.

You had never thought about it like that before.

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

He was right, after all.

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

Oh. That’s what he meant.

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

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

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

“The wrong path?”

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

“By controllin’ you.”

It had been a statement, not a question.

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

There was another short bout of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S’right.”

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Want, sure.

He had wanted Tess. He had wanted Esther.

But Joel didn’t just want you.

He fucking needed you.

And he didn’t know why.

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

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

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

You breathed out a shaky, “I’m sure.”

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

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

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

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

“I—I want you to kiss me.”

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

You heard him chuckle softly.

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

“Please.”

“S’much better.”

Your heart pounded with anticipation.

It was almost too much for you to handle.

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

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

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

What the fuck had he been thinking?

And what about you?

Where the fuck had your common sense gone?

Probably ran off together with Joel’s.

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

You were having none of it.

None.

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

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

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

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

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

Desperate, you uttered one final, “Please.”

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

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

“You sure ‘bout this?”

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

“C’mere then, darlin’ girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You, Joel. I need you.”

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

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

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

“Darlin’ are you—?”

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

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

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

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

“Then what’s the matter?”

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

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

“You’re a what?”

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

“Turn around, sweet girl.”

Joel’s command was firm but still gentle.

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

“Look at me.”

You tried, but couldn’t.

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

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

Close, but somehow not close enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, what?”

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

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

You nearly moaned around his finger. “Yes.”

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

“Yes, please.”

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

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

He almost laughed at your expression.

“C’mon, don’t give me that face.”

“But Joel—”

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

Your answer came without an ounce of hesitation.

“Of course,” you breathed.

You would wait an eternity for Joel Miller.

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