#humble yourself at the feet of God | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 2 months ago

Text

[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic.

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle.

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.”

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie.

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo x reader #yandere rollo #the test of faith #the test of faith prologue

468 notes · View notes

lokisgoodgirl · 4 months ago

Text

Daylight Orgy: The Rite (IV)

Masterlist for The Rite is HERE My regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (4) You confront Loki about Fandral - and the rules of the Rite are bent to breaking point. (w/c 4.1k) Warnings: 18+ only. Minors DNI. Asgard Loki! x FReader. Smuttish (+ 3rd party smut). Jealousy. Loki being a naughty prince.

Had you been expecting Loki to follow you?

That he’d thunder down those spiral steps and throw the bronze door open? Tear across the market square half-naked and yank you by the shoulders to say, ‘Stop – that scoundrel is a lying vagabond…’ ?

Yes, obviously.

But he didn’t.

You couldn’t settle back in your chambers. Picking things up, putting them down, moving to the window - always on edge for a knock that didn’t come.

‘The pleasure of the subject is only one part of the ritual. You cannot possibly fulfil the second.’

The fuck was that supposed to mean? Loki never mentioned a second part. As far as you knew, all you had to do was lie there and let him eat you out, not contain any enthusiasm, and try not to die from overstimulation. Sure…there might be other weird shit, it was the Asgardian Royals after all – but this seemed important.

If Fandral’s telling the truth, that is.

You frown, staring at a wiry bird shifting over the rooftops. Clearly, Fandral's a shit-stirrer. Clearly, he’s jealous, Loki had said as much. You’d be pretty jealous too if you were the only person in the inner-circle Loki hadn’t fucked over the past five centuries. An unexpected wrench of envy twists your stomach.

But the prince you’d seen in the Weaving Rooms was entirely different to the one that stared down from frescos and observed his worshippers with cool disdain. A smile that lit up his eyes, the inflection of a breathless chuckle as you caught him by surprise, a faint blush that could be mistaken as humble, the hesitant lust which thrummed beneath his skin as you’d pressed to him –

‘I need to see you,’ he’d said. ‘Every day from now until then.’ Like you meant something to him, and it felt…real.

Was it really a game? Would he pull the rug at the last minute before the ceremony? It was very on brand, you’d admit. The thought sends a violent shudder up your spine.

The next morning, there’s no knock at the door from Loki’s apprentice. No letters, no nothing. Anxiety creeps to anger, and with every inch the sun moves up the sky, your feet get itchier. Does he think I’m just going to sit around and wait for him? Fucking gods. Maybe I should just tell him no – then he’ll have do the Rite with Fandral, see how that works out. Serve him right.

But then… the thought of Loki crawling on top of that smarmy, coiffured arsehole invades your brain. Shit. You shift down the corridors of the court towards the interior palace. No one looks at you today. The golden doors of the main entrance to the royal quarters loom, and you swallow, heart loud in your ears. A guard side-steps in front of you with a cock of an eyebrow as effective as a raise of his hand. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say. The eyebrow cocks higher. “You know how many people try that every day?” He looks down to your feet, and back to your face with a sneer. “Most of them dress better for the occasion. Or at least bring a bribe.”

You stare at him with heat creeping up your neck. “He knows who I am.” He laughs. “I bet he does.” “He does!” “Look…” The guard cups your elbow and ushers you to the side, glancing towards his peers at the other end of the door. “I don’t want to embarrass you, love. Just do yourself a favour, and leave.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m here to see Prince Loki,” you say again, harsher this time. “Can someone just go and tell him I’m here? He’ll be pissed if he finds out you turned me away.” The guard flinches fractionally, studying your face. Eventually he leaves, and five minutes later, he’s back. “Come on,” he says gruffly. No apology, very nice. The gold door slams and the bustle of the outer court disappears. The air is cooler in here, a strange stillness hanging like perfume. More marble carves in large arches along the corridor, open to garden running up the middle of a courtyard. Somewhere, water trickles - but you can't see it. “He’s drunk,” the guard says without looking back. “Excuse me?” “The Prince. He’s drunk, and he has company.” You frown. It isn’t even midday. Suddenly your throat feels very tight, and you feel very small. If Loki had wanted to see me, he’d have asked. He’d have sent for me. So much for being aloof and interesting. Your irritation towards Fandral blooms with new fervour: not only has he ruined your excitement; he’s ruined your hot-girl-mystery.

The guard stops abruptly and you collide into his shoulder-guards. He clears his throat, stamping a staff twice.

You roll your eyes, shuffling around him. Through an open set of doors is a room like something from the whispered tales of olden Asgard. Chiffon flutters at the windows, long plush cushions lining the floor draped with blankets that shimmer in sunlight. In the corner, some blindfolded guy is plucking at a lute. Platters of nuts, grapes, sweet cakes lie half-demolished across the floor, and twice the amount of goblets as people. And then...your jaw goes slack.

Bodies shift in the room, two dozen, at least - all moving to their own rhythm like waves rippling to shore. A woman sits perched on the windowsill; you can’t see her face, only her legs wrapped around a man’s arse as he slowly thrusts into her. Her hair shimmers like spun gold; lips stained with rich juices while she pants to the ceiling. On the cushions, a man and woman lie side-by-side, kissing languidly as two other men busy themselves between their respective thighs. People are fucking…everywhere: sets of two, three, four. Norns. You’re trying to find somewhere to set your eyes that doesn’t involve breasts, or glistening body parts, or faces twisted in pleasure that you definitely shouldn’t be witness to. And then, they land on Loki. He's looking directly at you with a lazy, dark delight. The Prince lounges across a gilded chair in the corner; one thigh hiked over the armrest and the other stretched to its full length. His boots look more obscene on him than usual, today – sprawling like that.

The laces of his shirt are undone, dark tangles of hair spread over his shoulders and pearls of sweat glistening on his collarbone. With a mildly horrifying lurch of your stomach, you notice the ties at his groin are loose, too. But he’s not got someone squirming around his cock, and that’s something, at least. His lips move, but no sound comes out. You frown as he waves a hand, beckoning you through the doors. Dangling on the precipice of a flee, you feel one foot move in front of the other – and then your face feels like its slathered in jelly: cool, wet slime sliding over your skin. You lurch out the other side of the doorway with a gasp...and then the sound hits. Moans of pleasure ring to the high ceilings: grunts, mewls, groans of names you’ve never heard as they wring pitched ecstasy from each other. Loki’s smile grows. “Just a small silencing enchantment.” He shrugs and clicks his fingers. The door slams behind you. A few pairs of eyes flicker in your direction before re-focusing on their work. You can’t blame them – you’re entirely overdressed. Picking your way across the floor, you come to a stop beside him.

This…isn’t what you’d expected. He rests his head back, half-lidded eyes clouded by whatever’s swirling in his goblet. “You realise it’s not even midday?”

An impish smile lifts Loki’s lips, a flash of tongue nipping over the bottom one. “I am a second son of the crown, famed for hedonism and the sensual pleasures…how else should I fill my days?” Your eyes rise to the couple fucking on the windowsill. “Could we talk somewhere?”

A frown ghosts his forehead, and Loki reaches for your hand. His eyes have sharpened, and he looks almost sober. “We’re all friends here, it’s just…a release. A club, if you will. We can talk here, unless you’re uncomfortable.” Your tongue pokes against your cheek. You have no right to ask this, and yet, “Have you ‘released’ today, then?” One of Loki’s brows rise, lips rippling in a closed smile. “Yes.”

That jealousy you’d been fighting settles like a stone. Loki’s eyes slide between yours, slivers of sapphire sparking beyond deep pools of black. “Although not with any interference from another,’ he adds huskily. “I’m…saving myself, it seems.” “Oh?” “Mmm. Delayed gratification is a powerful lure.”

As the hum leaves his lips, Loki shuffles on the chair: back straightening and the leg hoisted on the armrest shifting. You try not to let your gaze drop to his crotch, but it’s a moth-flame situation. He’s hard, of course. Behind you, someone orgasms.

Heat pools in your lower belly, arousal blossoming like liquid shadow, and you know for a fact if you move – there will be a slip between your thighs. You’ve never been somewhere like this – sex has always been private, quiet. Loki’s looking at you with something close to innocence. Perhaps it’s the way you know there absolutely no way you can fuck him – no way for him to touch that hot mess gathering between your folds, and no way for you to suckle the head of his cock as he tangles those long fingers in your—

“Did you hear what I said?” You clear your throat, swallowing. “Sorry, I was…somewhere else.” “Mmm,” Loki hums again, brushing a finger by his lips to stifle a smile. He lowers his thigh from the armrest and pats it: once, twice. Like a magnet, you slide onto his lap. Across the room, a woman being fucked against a pillar frowns at you over her partner’s shoulder. An arrogant thrill soaks up your spine while Loki’s nose brushes down your cheek; lips lingering on the curve of your neck, his breath gloriously cool against the heat of your skin.

“What did you want to discuss, little owl? Here, in my den of debauchery.” His fingers dance up the folds of fabric at your midsection, cupping a breast and beginning to toy at the nipple. It feels so fucking good: too good. He pinches it gently, rolling against his thumb, knowing exactly what he’s doing; you exhale against his cheek, and it makes it almost impossible to whisper, “Fandral.”

The fingers still, and you can feel Loki frowning without even having to look. “What?” he growls. It’s all you can do not to grind against his thigh. He’s wearing a tight pair of leather trousers, so at least none of the mess between your legs, probably soaking through your dress, will get on his skin. But he might touch me. He pinches your nipple, eyes narrowing. A hiss erupts from your throat, tapering to a moan. “Fandral,” you say on the exhale. “If it’s not too much trouble, desist from moaning that rube's name in my presence, darling.” You frown. “He said you’re messing with me; said you don’t have any intention of us doing the Rite together, and that he’ll be the—”

Suddenly you’re airborne, Loki’s strong hands scooping you like a bag of feathers and manoeuvring you to one of the long pillows on the floor. He looms over you on his hands and knees; one set on either side of your left leg, a wild veil of black hair hanging around his jaw. His lips part, and the impossible muscles of his shoulders shift beneath the drape of that slutty shirt. “He will not,” Loki says. “Did that cunning little mouse say he was visiting Lagertha for any other reason than to have his doublet mended?” His breath is tinged with the sweetness of primrose wine. “You are my chosen partner; he has no sway in it – and certainly no say in it.”

The gravel of his voice is bass to the continuum of groaning that sings between pillars. Desire scorches your skin, tightening your thighs and twisting your stomach so taut it might snap. Your gaze shifts fractionally to the side, catching sight of a beautiful man with bronze hair glittering like a copper coin as his cock sinks inside against another man’s ass: again, again - a hand fastening to the back of his lover’s neck. The second man moans: guttural, primal. “Do you like that?” Loki’s breath licks the shell of your ear, his hands shifting the skirts of your loose dress up your parted legs like water. The digits slide down your arms, guiding them above your head. You can’t look away: the men are poetry together. The one taking everything the other has to give grips the back of a chair, his knuckles white, his jaw trembling and cock hard at his stomach as the fingers cradling his neck tighten.

If Loki can’t ravish you, if he can’t touch your cunt which aches for his tongue – then you’ll settle for his voice. And the heat radiating from the collar of his shirt. And anyway, you’re pretty sure his voice alone will make you climax in 3…2…1— “I want to know everything,” Loki says: dark, filthy, and…honest? Your pussy clenches so hard you almost whimper. “You’ve told me about your life, but now I wish to know your desires…your deepest fantasies. I crave that knowledge like an orgasm I cannot sate.”

His husk lingers heavy over any other sound, filling your mind with strange, inadvisable, thoughts of forever. “What you like,” he hums, “what you want…how I can pleasure you beyond anything you’ve shared with another, and how I can haunt every moment your mind wanders from now until eternity.”

The god’s lips graze your pulse point, and you can feel the thump of blood beating against his skin. “So, I ask again,” he says as the figures fucking in front of you blur, “do you like that?”

A stab of air rips down your throat as you gasp, “Yes.” Norns, right now you’d let him flip you over and sink into your ass in a second.

Without warning, one of Loki’s leather clad thighs presses against your clit. Sparks explode from your centre, tendrils of utter desire rippling across your body like the drag of a lit match. Fear widens your eyes, and amusement dances in his. “Your arousal cannot touch me through these,” he says coolly, taking his time over every syllable. “My hands remain here…” Loki’s eyes dart up to his fingers encircling your wrists, and squeezes. “My sword remains sheathed, and my leathers are merely...” He presses the flat of his lower thigh against your clit again, “A tool.”

“That’s cheating,” you say breathlessly. Loki’s lip twitches in a knowing smirk, a half shrug conveying, ‘What did you expect?’ “Don’t you want to play with me?” His eyes narrow, and another lance of need spears through your core. Your lips roll together, stifling a moan as your brows draw tight. “You’re drunk,” you say. But you don’t believe it. Loki’s pupils are still wide and deep enough to drown in, but it’s not the primrose wine. Unbelievably, it’s you. For now, you decide to let yourself imagine he doesn’t just need you for the Rite; that it could be more – that he could be yours.

The weight of his attention lies heavier in the air than the aroma of sex, and his thigh grinds against your pussy; catching the spot above your clit with each, gentle tug.

“Fuck…Loki,” you whisper, back arching off the cushion. His chin rises, smouldering beneath half-lidded eyes. “Talk to me,” he breathes. You want to dig the heel of your palm against his solid cock bound beneath the crotch of his leathers. You want to feel his animal god-lust pulsing under your hand - more fuel for the violently dirty fantasies you’ll create in your head later as you writhe beneath the sheets alone.

Loki tuts, squeezing your wrists again. You offer a weak, breathy struggle. “No, little owl. Not today, not yet. I want to be destructively engorged with the sight of you…denied what I want while I hear you come undone.” “Loki,” you whine again, face hot and a hum growing in your ears. This is crazy. And yet…

Loki’s thigh moves in wicked waves against your clit; his eyes burning into yours, those thin lips parted and flushed, and ragged exhales scraping from his throat like he’s sinking inside your cunt. “Talk to me,” he says again, but this time, it’s a beg. A silky voice sounds from behind his broad shoulders, accompanied by an immaculately shaped set of nails sweeping across his collarbone. The woman who was glaring earlier. She lowers to his ear. “Can I offer you relief, my prince? Since this one cannot?”

It’s hushed, but you were meant to hear it.

Loki doesn’t even look at her; his fingers stay curled around your wrists. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. She slinks away and the flames licking up your belly burn brighter. The meat of his thigh muscle stills, and the ache of its absence makes you frott against his knee.

“Talk to me,” he commands with an air of finality, chin lowering. “Tell me what you like, what you want.” Even if he let go of your arms, that stare would pin you in place. Every inch the prince; every inch the god – even in the middle of a daylight orgy.

“I want your mouth on me,” you whisper; squirming beneath his mischievous smirk. “I want it…slow, then heavier…then slower.” “Slow?” Loki hums, titling his head. That tongue darts over his lips. “And firm, but…soft. Wet. And loud…I want to hear you taste me.” Gods’ bones, has anyone ever been this ineloquent? But Loki doesn’t seem to mind. His face tells you he knows exactly what you mean; exactly how you like it. He’s imagining it, just as you are.

Your eyes dart to his crotch and the thick outline of his manhood strains against heavy creases. His hips shift, a small hiss filling the air between you. “What else?” he asks in a breathless voice that’s so unlike him. You bite your lip as his stare falls down your chest - flimsy drapes of silk threatening to expose your breasts. You wonder if he’ll let go of your wrists. And if he can control himself if he does. “And I want your cock, too…obviously.” “Obviously…” he goads with the spectre of a smile. The god leans forward, nudging the silk aside with his nose and capturing a nipple with a firm suck. Loki’s thigh begins to shift against your pussy again, and a strangled moan rattles in your throat. The groans of the men fucking a few meters away reach crescendo and they tumble over the edge in a sweaty, groaning slip of sex.

“I want you everywhere,” you gasp, losing any shred of remaining modesty with the smear of your heat against his leathers. “My cunt, my mouth, my ass—” “—Like them?” he stammers, thick brows drawn together. “—Like them. I want you so deep inside me I forget my own name, want your skin smacking my shoulders, want you pulling me onto your cock as you fuck me like I’m in heat and you can’t control it—” “—More,” Loki gasps, and your eyes fly open. His face is twisted with furious need, lines deep in his forehead, strands of onyx hair buffeting at his lips. His thigh slips against your slit – it’s absolutely soaked, and his hands tremble where he’s holding you in place. The words that shape your lips are calculated in their depravity: aimed to kill. “I want your cum dripping between my thighs; dripping between my breasts…” At that, Loki groans. “I’ll lick it off myself…before I suck you clean, and swallow everything you have left…my prince.” Loki’s jaw slackens like the orgasm shattering him is an unseen foe with a knife to his neck. The jolt in his hips sends the thick thigh driving against your clit and you crumble right alongside him with a garbled cry of his name. He falls on top of you in a mess of ferocious need; lips working, breath gasping from your lungs and the beat of his heart strong against your ribs. But still, his hands don’t leave your wrists.

“You are a wonder,” he breathes, galaxies swimming in his pleasure-drunk stare. And for a moment, you forget that you’re a means to an end; that after the Rite you’ll go back to being a nobody - and you believe him.

Loki barely has his wits back when someone clears their throat at the door. “Your brother - Prince Loki.” “My what?” “Your brother, the crown prince. He’s outside.” “Nine hels. What does he want?” Loki didn’t wait for the man to respond – he’d save the wretch that particular misery, and Loki’s misery at having to listen to the bluster of his explanation. He dips to your cheek, drawing his nose down the line of your cheekbone, inhaling against your sweat-damp skin. “I’ll return shortly,” he whispers. And below him, you shiver. A thrill spreads in sharp veins under his flesh. Loki strides past the guard looking at the ceiling while his cheeks flush an alarming shade of scarlet – and the door shuts quickly behind them. Thor stands with his arms folded, one ill-groomed eyebrow rising as he says, “Are the reports true? That your Rite partner is in there?” Loki can’t contain the eye-roll. “If you think I’m so foolish as to compromise myself at the eleventh hour before my ascension to the royal line; then truly there is no hope for you, brother. And she has a name, you know.” Thor’s gaze drops sceptically to his thigh. “What’s that?” He gestures to the glistening slick down one of the leather-clad quad muscles. Norns. “It’s not breaking the rules, I checked.”

With a flick of his fingers, the slick evaporates. And even though he’s sure (almost, sure), Loki rubs his fingertips together. Nothing. He breathes a secret sigh of relief. It would just be like Thor to ruin everything without actually intending to. “Of course you did, Loki. How studious of you.” “Can you spell that?” He snorts. “Besides, your partner was Lady Sif – you had centuries to cultivate the bond. And father and mother were partners…it’s a completely different situation. I must do what I must within the confines of the ceremonial rules.” “And whose fault is that, Loki? You could’ve had your pick of partners had you not rutted through them in a jamboree of wine and carnal gluttony.” Loki’s lip twitches, and he sucks the bottom one between his teeth. “I couldn’t have selected better if I’d had the centuries to spare, actually. Not all of us need hundreds of years to woo someone.”

The bemused crunch of Thor’s brow makes a flutter of satisfaction blossom in his chest. “I assure you, brother – all aspects of the Rite of Successional Pleasure will be fulfilled, I’m sure of it.” Thor's eyes narrow. “She’s been told of the second requirement?” “No, but I believe doing so will make it unnecessarily…challenging. She doesn’t need to know, she only needs to feel.” “You realise her feelings for you must come willingly. Un-influenced by magic?”

Loki glares, spine stiffening. “I shan't need to use my powers to wring pleasure from her body, why should I require it of her heart? Is that so hard to believe?” “In such a short amount of time? Yes, brother. I’ve known you over a millennia, and most days I still don’t care for you.” Loki’s fist flexes at his side as Thor, regrettably, continues. “The Rite is an expression of our benevolence to bestow pleasure on another freely, but it is also a test of our means to win their affections; their loyalty.” “And I will not fail,” he snaps. He and Thor stare at each other, unblinking, until his brother breaks first with a long, whittling sigh. “I hope you’re right, brother,” he says. “And be more careful, it would be unfortunate if you were to be undone by your own…passions, as usual.”

Heat prickles beneath Loki’s skin. “What would you know of my passions? Thor’s cape flutters as he turns, before glancing over his shoulder: ignoring him. “As much as it pains me, choosing Fandral as your partner for the Rite may be the wiser choice…it’s not too late. You know he already harbours those feelings for you – the deep ones the ritual requires. If there is any doubt, brother—”

“—There is no doubt,” Loki lies, fingernails digging in to the soft flesh of his palm. “I still have two moons until the ceremony– wars have been won in less.” He keeps his expression flat as Thor’s eyes soften. “If only love was as simple as war, brother,” he says in one of those rare displays of wisdom that make Loki want to punch him in the face. “She’s not one of us. I would say try not to break her heart, but it’s inevitable, is it not.” It isn’t a question. Loki swallows as his brother’s footsteps fade, glancing back to the golden door. He waves his hand, releasing the enchantment muffling the guard’s ears.

“Get her out of there,” he murmurs. “Escort her, offer my apologies; instruct her to change, and meet me in the gardens at sunrise.” "My prince, she will ask—" "—Sunrise," he snaps. A pain throbs behind his eyes.

The guard nods, and Loki tries to ignore the pulse of his heartbeat in his throat, and the unfamiliar itch of guilt spreading with every echoing thud of his boots around Asgard’s gilded halls.

Next Chapter: Illusion & Truth The Masterlist for The Rite is HERE Comments in tags ❤️ Plz be silly with me 🍰🥳

#the rite🕯️#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x reader smut #loki x you smut #loki x female reader smut #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki #loki marvel #loki x yn

557 notes · View notes

thealtoduck · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Juice

Clark Kent x Male Reader

Content: Greek Mythology AU

Warnings: Smut, Bottom!Reader, Top!Clark, semi-public sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, drunken sex, skinny dipping, spit as lube, missionary position…

Summary: You’re a member of Dionysus following and during a feast you meet a demigod son of Zeus, Clark, also known as the man of steel…

——

You were a lesser deity in a world filled with powerful gods, monsters and heroes. You were the son of the now famous naiad, Daphne. Unfortunately though your mother was no longer with you as she had been turned in to a laurel tree as a form of mercy.

It was considered mercy because the only other option she had was to be violated by Apollo, who was under the spell of Eros after an argument between the two. Apollo feeling bad about the whole ordeal apologised by finding you a place in the retinue of Dionysus and Ariadne.

You didn’t mind this as your duties were pretty much drink, dance, fuck, drink more and generally just to have a good time. It was just constant partying and celebration.

One night when the party had yet to start a visitor came for Dionysus. You were sat close to the god’s throne, you were petting one of his pet leopards when a strange man appeared and entered the god’s camp. He walked slowly towards the olympian. You noted his handsome appearance as he stopped in front of Dionysus.

”Lord Dionysus, you sent for me” the man said in a deep tone. ”I did” Dionysus confirmed before standing up saying loudly ”Everyone! Let me introduce to you to Clark, you may know him as the man of steel!… And also one of my younger half brothers”.

Dionysus followers broke out in cheers for the hero, who seemed slightly confused by the big welcoming. ”I’ve called him here to save us all from the cyclops that has been attacking in the night” Dionysus declared and everyone once again cheered.

”What?! You never told me of any cyclops?!” Clark asked agitated. ”Actually I didn’t tell you anything but you showed up anyway” Dionysus teased him. ”Why don’t you save them yourself?” Clark questioned. However Dionysus only responded with a simple ”Where’s the fun in that?”.

Clark looked irretated at Dionysus and said ”I will not be tricked in to fighting someone else’s battle”. Making the on looking crowd let out disappointed murmurs. Dionysus walked up to the hero and put a hand on his shoulder.

”Come on Clark, do us this favour and we’ll give you the biggest celebration you’ll experince in a life time, with the finest wine and feast, our best music and dancers and if you want you can take to bed anyone you fancy, we don’t judge” Dionysus offered.

Clark took a moment looking around at the crowd surrounding him until his eyes landed on you for a swift moment. He then turned back to Dionysus and said ”Very well, i shall do you this favour”. Once again the crowd including you broke out in cheers and applause for the demigod.

The very next day gifted Clark with a sword, armour and food by Dionysus as he and his followers saw off the hero on his way to save them from the threat of the cyclops.

I didn’t take long for Clark to return as he was back at the camp by next day. He came back in the afternoon covered from head to toe in dirt, dust and a little cyclops blood. Throwing the red painted sword by Dionysus feet.

”Well done” Dionysus complimented looking at the blood drenched sword. Dionysus then turned towards you ”Y/n, take our hero somewhere he can wash off” he commanded. ”Yes, lord Dionysus” you said with a quick bow. He then turned back to Clark and said ”When you return, we feast”.

You went and collected a basket with a bottle of scented oil, a strigil (a tool they used in ancient greece to wash themselves) and a new chiton. ”This way, my lord” you said to Clark and started guiding him through the forest. ”Please, just Clark is fine” he said humbly following you.

You guided him to a secluded pond. ”Impressive, how did you find this place so quickly?” Clark complimented. ”My mother was a naiad, it’s an instinct” you explained putting down the basket next to the pond.

”Would you like me to bring you anything else?” you asked Clark as he started undressing out of the dented armour and dirty chiton. ”You’ve already done enough for me, thank you” he said gentlemanly. Clark was now naked, revealing his muscled body and impressive manhood, which you tried not to look at.

He stepped down in the pond, the water reaching up to his hips. ”Why don’t you join me?” he suggested gesturing towards the water. ”I’d love too, but i have to help the others prepare everything for tonight” you said. ”Come on, only for a short time” Clark tempted. ”Okay” you said with a smile, taking off your chiton and sandals.

Clark watched your naked form with interest as you stepped down in to the water. ”See, it’s nice” Clark said starting to wash himself off using the scented oil you brought for him. You tried not to stare at his oiled up chest but you were 90% sure he caught you looking but he didn’t say anything, he only smirked.

You relaxed in the cool water for a while until you remembered you needed to get back to the others. You climbed out of the pond and started putting on your clothing once again. ”Thanks for the company, hope i’ll see you tonight” Clark said. ”Hope, i’ll see you too” you said and started walking through the forest back towards camp.

That night the music rang loudly through the forest as you celebrated the death of cyclops and your new hero, Clark. You drank and danced wildly with your friends. Some others were already passed out from drinking, some were gambling and playing games and one couple were fucking against a tree.

You saw Clark sitting on a pillow next to Dionysus talking, goblet in hand. You made your way over to the olympian and the demigod. ”Y/n” Dionysus exclaimed happily as he noted your presence. He patted a pillow next to him saying ”Come sit down”.

You took the offer sitting down next to the god, he made your empty goblet instantly refill and put an arm around you. ”I was just telling Clark of my inner circle” Dionysus revealed and continued ”Y/n, here you’ve met, he is my and Ariandne’s favourite attendant and friend” he said sweetly.

”Also he has a body as if sculpted by Pygmalion, carved and smoothed to absolute perfection. You should hope to have a look upon it someday” Dionysus said taking another sip from his goblet.

”Actually i already have” Clark stated boldly making Dionysus spill some wine on himself. ”Y/n, joined me for a swim in the pond” Clark explained making your cheeks heat up slightly. ”Is that so?” Dionysus questioned looking towards you.

”Well, i’ve got to go find Ariadne” Dionysus said getting up leaving you and Clark. ”Are you and Dionysus-?” Clark started but you cut him off saying ”No, he and Ariadne just have a very open relationship”. ”How has your night been?” you then questioned the hero.

”Enjoyable but i’ve never been much of a party person” he said then taking a sip from his cup. ”I get it, before i came here i wasn’t either” you told him and then got an idea. ”Wanna go for a walk for some peace and quiet?” you asked. ”Sure, i’d love too” Clark said and the two of you stood up and walked off in to the forest behind you bringing your goblets with you.

You walked and talked for a while, drinking until your goblets were didn’t have a single drop left in them. Dionysus must’ve brought out the strong stuff because you and Clark were stumbling around and slurring your speech, you were laughing loudly at each others stories, sitting very close together.

Finally the two of you ended up behind some bushes close by to the party. You started to passionately make out, you laying on your back in the soft grass and Clark on top of you. Clark tore open your chiton and undressed you, leaving your naked form beneath him.

He then took off his own clothes revealing his muscular body and his hard cock. Clark took his hand and brought it to your mouth, you sucked on his fingers to get them wet, then he brought his moist fingers to your enterance and started pushing finger inside you.

You let out a small gasp as Clark started to finger you open, he added another fiinger and then another until you were ready to take him. Clark spit in to his hand and rubbed it over his erect manhood.

”It’s time i claim my reward” Clark said spreading your legs, he lined himself up with you and started pushing his hard cock in to your warmth. Clark loved the seeing the face you made as his cock slowly filled you up.

”Fuck your so big” you hissed as the demigod was fully sheated deep inside you. He then slowy started moving pushing himself in and out of you as a wave of pleasure started washing over you.

Your legs were wrapped around Clark as he thrusted in to you. ”I’m gonna fuck your little nymph hole full with my seed” Clark groaned in to your ear and placed kisses all along your neck. The demigod started speeding up his thrusts.

”Clark, fuck yeah! Take me” you said in ecstasy grabbing at his back as he fucked your hole. Both of your bodies had started gleaming from sweat as he mounted you under the moonlight, as his reward for defeating the cyclops.

Clark’s thrusts became rougher as he wanted to take you like a real demigod would, he loved how your walls clenched around his thick cock. He brutally fucked you with all the strength of his godly heritage to bring you to your release.

You let out breathy moans as Clark pounded your gaping hole, thrusting against your prostate. You felt yourself getting close to your orgasm. You dug your nails in to the grass below as Clark’s cock made you see Mount Olympus.

”Clark, i’m gonna cum” you said panting heavily making Clark thrust deeper as he wanted to push you over the edge. Then your cock started spraying cum all over your and Clark’s stomachs. Clark’s own release was getting close.

”I’m gonna plant my seed deep inside you” Clark moaned and his rough thrusts became uneven and sloppy. Clark delivered one last deep stroke in to you and he erupted inside you, he flooding your insides with his cum.

Both of you panted heavily and Clark rolled over and layed next to you in the grass. ”You were amazing” Clark praised while softly stroking your cheek. The two of you then used your torn clothes as blankets as you cuddled close together and you both fell asleep under the starry sky.

#clark kent x male reader #clark kent x male!reader #superman x male reader #superman x male!reader #dc comics x male reader #dc x male reader #x male reader #male reader #x male!reader #justice league x male reader #clark kent x male reader smut #male reader smut #x male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

cower-before-power · 7 months ago

Text

Holy, Holy, Lover Divine

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: You've never felt worthy of praise, until it's Gale kneeling at your feet.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, religious imagery, Gale may get a bit blasphemous ha

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: Just another little Gale ficlet because I love him so much and this idea has been in my head for ages. Thanks for reading!

In this moment, you feel divine.

The term has followed you around, exaltations such as “saviour”, or “goddess” leaving the lips of those you’d saved. But it had never felt right, never felt like such praise should be heaped upon a mere mortal. Right place, right time, is what you always assumed should be your words. A simple soul who simply had the means to do what needed to be done. Hardly god-like, hardly worthy of the celestial.

But here, in the privacy of your bedchamber, under the gaze of your beloved, you finally understand that you are holy.

“You are beautiful,” Gale breathes, dark eyes roving over your face, your body, “I swear, there is no more magnificent creature on this plane or any other.” You feel your skin heat beneath your new nightgown, a flimsy scrap of gossamer lace you’d chosen with him in mind. It seems to be well appreciated.

“Don’t let the gods hear such blasphemy,” you murmur, wanting to both further expose yourself to him as well as shyly hide away, “a few of them might disagree.”

Gale shrugs, and you watch the motion of his broad shoulders greedily. “Let them hear me. I no longer care what she….what any of them think of me, of who and what I devote myself to. That right was lost long ago.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you are not surprised. Magic may still be bound to a goddess, but your lover has long stopped bending a knee. Prayers are offered not out of love, but duty, necessity. He gives thanks for the Weave, for spells and knowledge. But he hungers for her treasures no more.

She has long lost his piety, and you do not complain.

“Oh?”, you say coyly, shifting so your gown slides further up your thighs. You do not miss Gale’s eyes following the movement intently, and your skin burns with want. “And what are you devoted to now, Gale of Waterdeep? Where does your worship lie?”

Gale strides towards you, slow and measured, like a cat waiting to pounce. You know what he will say, but you want to hear it all the same. You want to bathe in it, this new feeling of righteousness, of being the idol of such great love and passion. This man makes you feel as if you have wings on your back and a halo over your head.

You vow you will not squander it.

“I am in service of a new goddess now,” he says, and mirth twinkles in his lust-glazed eyes. Your lips quirk upward-your wizard of words is about display his prowess.

“This,” he gestures to the room you share, to the bed you’ve come together in more times than you can count, “this is my temple. The sacred place I give my humble sacrifices, make my loving prayers, pledge my undying service.”

He’s close enough to touch now, bare chest within reach of your gluttonous fingers. Before you can grasp what you crave, his catches your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press small kisses to your fingertips.

“These are my offerings,” he guides your hand to touch his temple, down to his chest, and further, further, until your finger brush over his desire. You whimper eagerly. “My mind, my heart and my body, all given freely and eagerly to please the one who has saved me time and time again from my own folly.”

He drops your hand and nudges your legs apart, sinking to his knees as he slots himself between them. You think you might combust with how hot the flame of passion is burning within you. Gale never fails to set you on fire from the inside out, but it seems tonight he aims to upstage himself.

“This is my altar,” his voice grows more sinful, his eyes even darker, “the place I will kneel in reverence eternal. Day after day, night after night, I will worship here, a thrall in my Lady’s service. For as long as she will have me.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your inner thigh. You mewl softly, threading your fingers through his silky hair. Encouraged by your ragged breaths, he roams the giving flesh freely, littering your thighs with warm, bruising kisses.

“These are my hymns, my canticles of homage. I will bestow them upon every inch of this heavenly flesh. As many and as often as my Lady allows."

A gentle, teasing kiss is placed over your smallcothes. You gasp and tug him closer, a spark of white hot pleasure shooting up your spine.

“Gale,” you beg, thinking you may just go mad from his teasing, his honeyed words. “Gale, please-“

But instead of continuing, Gale pulls back and surges upwards, capturing your mouth in a heady kiss. You delightedly take what you are given, groaning as his taste explodes on your tongue. You will never get enough of kissing him, you decide. Gale always kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. Like he's trying to merge not only your bodies, but your very souls as well.

It never fails to set you on fire.

“This is my baptism,” he pants as he breaks your kiss, fingers flexing on your thighs, barely concealed restraint pulled taught like a bowstring. “I am cleansed of my sins, my foolish ideals, my bitter and lonely existence. To feel my Lady's love and desire in every kiss, every touch, every time I am inside of her- it is to be born anew."

Gale does not stay parted from you for long; his lips soon find their way to your neck, his fingers brushing your sensitive skin reverently.

And you are drowning. You whine and whimper and mumble intelligible pleas as your lover ravishes you with lovebites and praises. You fingers tangle in his hair and you pull-the groan that rumbles from his throat nearly makes your eyes kiss the back of your skull.

“Let me worship you,” Gale moans into your skin, pushing the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. His mouth ghosts over the tops of your breasts. Gooseflesh rises in it wake. "Let me show you my supplication."

"As if you aren't already," you giggle breathlessly, falling back on the bed as Gale crawls over you. You welcome the heat of his body as it hovers above yours, close but not nearly close enough.

"Oh, you know I can do so much more," he grins wolfishly, eager hands helping you to slip off your nightgown. When you are spread nude before him, he slides out of his own trousers, laughing as your eager hands grope at every inch of bare skin they can reach.

"Shall I love you now, my Lady?" he asks, settling between your legs. A gentle hand cups your cheek, and you melt into the tender touch. "It is all I desire."

You brush a stray lock of hair away from his beautiful brown eyes. Happiness bleeds through the air around you, encasing the two of you in a world all your own. A sanctum most sacred and blessed.

"Love me then,” you sigh dreamily, “love me, and know how much I love you in return, you darling, wonderful, worthy man.”

And oh, how you are adored! How your lover makes your body and soul sing, more radiant and joyous than a choir of angels. How he plays your desire over and over, bliss unending, until you are left boneless and spent, a puddle of happiness in his arms.

And as you lay cradled carefully against Gale, enveloped in his ardor, you feel as if you are weightless. There is no more stain upon your soul, no mortal tarnish on your skin. No fear, no insecurity, no wondering. You are eternal. You are blessed.

You are divine.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x reader #my writing

711 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 9 months ago

Text

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

643 notes · View notes

wh0re43van · 9 months ago

Text

And they were roommates (Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Description: You and Peter are long time best friends and now roommates. Things take a weird turn when he admits that he found your sex toy drawer.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving)

A/n: this is based off this request! I’m sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations, I’ve been having writers block. I’ve also been a bit inactive bc college rawdogging me without lube rn :/ (also I left this open to possibly a pt 2 with pegging Peter?? 🙊)

Peter sits on the edge of the couch clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, playing that mindless video game that he loves so much. His skilled fingers move in a blur across the plastic controller, the sound of the rapid clicks on the joy stick and buttons are drowned out by the blaring music coming out of the stereo. The music is so loud in fact, that the boy doesn’t hear you stumble into your shared home, dropping groceries and cursing at him as you stagger towards the table.

“Goddamnit Peter!” You groan after dropping off the bags of food, stomping into the living room as you dodge empty bottles of soda and dirty clothes on the floor. “Peter!” You gripe, now completely out of patience. But Peter is so fixed on the game and the music is so loud that he isn’t even aware of your arrival.

You let out an irritated sigh before ripping the cord to the stereo out of the wall. “Peter Maximoff!” You shout, crossing your hands over chest. He jumps a bit, startled by your sudden appearance, but soon enough his signature smirk is plastered on his stupid face.

“Hey babe! Where’ve you been?” He asks nonchalantly-choosing to ignore your obviously pissed off stature- as he shifts his attention back to the video game.

“Are you- oh my god,” you groan, completely exasperated as you pinch the bridge your nose. “I’ve been out for three hours getting shit for my party tonight. The one thing I asked you to do was clean up this mess!” You pace infront of the tv like a disappointed mother- a feeling you’ve become all too familiar with since renting an apartment with your man-child of a best friend.

“I don’t think four girls in their 20s getting wine drunk and talking shit for hours on end counts as a party,” Peter snickers before he zooms around you, now between you and the television with his nose nearly pressed to the screen in attempt to finish his game. Your blood is boiling at at this point.

“Beats locking yourself in your room and playing with your dick to those old VHS tapes you still have from high school,” you roll your eyes. “Atleast get with the times and use the internet,” you add with your lips pulled taught in an unamused line, you reach down to unplug the console. Peter of course grabs your hand before you reach the plug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“And abandon my girls? Come on babe, don’t be ridiculous. We have history!” Peter snickers, unfazed by your attempt to humble and embarrass him.

Peter finally beats the level, sounding off the victory music. With a proud smile, he sits down the controller, finally giving you his attention. “Plus, don’t act like I don’t know about your drawer of toys. Neither one of us are getting laid,” Peter laughs casually as he walks back over to the couch, leaving you with wide eyes and blushed cheeks.

“What the fuck! H-how-Peter! Dude! What-what the actual fuck!” You look at him dumbfounded, now twice as furious and extremely embarrassed.

“Oh, so you can go through my stuff, but I can’t go through yours?” He smirks as he takes a swig of soda out of a two liter bottle, looking at you with pure amusement on his face.

“I-I don’t go through your stuff, Peter!” You shriek, looking down at your feet in attempt to escape his gaze. When you do, you notice a bright orange plastic rectangle on the ground amidst various snack cake wrappers. “Th-there’s a tape literally laying right here!” You chuck the VHS at him, he catches it, sitting it on the couch beside him.

“Alright you’ve got me,” Peter holds his hands up in defense with playful grin. “But you can’t blame me for snooping. You don’t exactly make an effort to keep quiet. Our rooms are right across from each other ya know,” he chuckles as he settles into the couch, wiping his Cheeto covered fingers on his grey sweatpants. “So yeah, maybe I was curious to see the loud ass vibrator that you abuse most nights of the week, and maybe I found a lot more than I was looking for,” Peter laughs at how red your face is. He’s clearly enjoying your utter humiliation.

You feel mortified. You can’t believe he would just reveal that he knows you about your dirty habits so casually. Had he seen everything?

‘Why would I keep everything on the same place,’ you internally facepalm as you imagine Peter digging through your underwear draw to see your Hitachi, the vibrating dildo, the strap.

‘Jesus Christ does he know I have a strap on?’ Panic begins to set it. ‘How long has he known about this?’ Your mind is racing almost as fast as your heart.

You swear you’ve never felt so embarrassed in your life. Despite the snow on the ground outside, you feel like your skin is on fire. You’re a clammy, stuttering mess that wants nothing more than to vanish into thin air, but you can’t even will yourself to move.

“Y-you can hear it?” Is all you dare to ask sheepishly, your eyes still wide in horror at the conversation that’s unfolding between you and your best friend.

“Mhm,” Peter snickers as he stands up, nonchalantly stretching and flexing all the muscles in his bare torso. You think for a moment that he might be flexing on purpose as he walks over to inspect the groceries you’ve brought home. “And I Gotta say,” Peter hums as he pops open the new box of twinkies you got for your party. “I’m really not impressed with the settings on that thing,” he says through a mouth full of yellow sponge cake.

You don’t know what to think of the situation. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what he’s playing at, but to no avail. He seems to be amused more than anything; at the very least he doesn’t think any less of you.

You sigh, walking over to the boy, prying the blue hostess box out of his hands. “T-these are for tonight, Peter,” you make a meek attempt of scolding him, but you can’t even look him in the eyes right now as you trip over your words. This only fuels Peters teasing.

“I’m serious babe,” he grins as he slowly rests his hands on either side of you. His bare biceps and chest tense as he grips onto the table, trapping you right in front of him. “I can show ya real speed if you’d let me,” his voice is low and silky smooth as he lets out a small laugh. You blink at him, not sure if you’re understanding him right.

“I-uh…well… if-I uhm-” Your voice is shaky as you stare up at him with wide eyes. At this point you’re sure that your face is as red as those cherry slushies that Peter always gets from the corner store.

“Am I making you nervous?” Peter asks as he leans ever so slightly closer to you. His sultry tone sends heat straight to your core.

“N-no,” you whimper. As if your tone didn’t give you away, you instinctively pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says lightly as puts a gentle hand on your face, his thumb pulls your lip out from under your teeth. “This always gives it away,” Peter hums.

You feel ridiculous at how worked up Peter has managed to get you. You chalk it up to being dick deprived and attempt to pull yourself together before you literally start drooling. But before you speak, Peters next words make your mind go blank.

“These pretty lips of yours are always getting you in trouble, huh?” Peters voice is husky as he drags you lip down with his thumb, focusing on your mouth with a lust laced gaze.

He’s right. Your entire time growing up together your nervous habit of chewing on your lip has always gotten you caught in your lies. It’s a little weird to think about all the adolescent trouble you and Peter got into as he’s standing only inches away from you; very obviously not that little boy anymore. No, Peter is definitely a man now- his mind may not have matured past 15, but his body absolutely has.

He brings his other hand to the back of your head as he steps closer to you. You can feel his warm breath fanning on your face, as your knees begin to go weak.

“Okay Peter that’s enough teasing. You got me. j-just clean up your mess so I can get ready for my party,” you say quietly as you examine his face, taking in how truly handsome your best friend is.

“Oh come on, we have time,” he smiles. That seductive tone is one you never thought you’d hear from Peter, and it’s definitely going to get you in trouble.

Peter dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours, making your breath hitch. Butterflies erupt in your stomach from the small contact. He teases his lips over yours, gently ghosting over the skin as if testing the waters.

The moment your lips touch, you’re a goner. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into an intense kiss. Peter laughs into the exchange as he grabs onto your hips.

You never thought of Peter in this way in all the years that you’ve known him. Sure, he’s an objectively attractive guy- anyone can see that- but he’s just never really been ‘your type’ and aside from casual flirting like he does with every woman he comes into contact with, he never showed any romantic interest in you- as far as you were aware at least. But right now, you’re completely desperate for your best friend.

The kiss quickly becomes anything from innocent as Peter grabs your ass, sitting you up on the table so he can stand between your legs. Your hands run through his hair, tugging on the silver stands as his grips onto your lower back, keeping you as close to him as possible.

Reality sets in as his lips trail down your neck where he stops to nip at sensitive skin. As you catch your breath you stutter, “W-what are we doing Peter? Are we really gonna risk our friendship just because neither of us have gotten laid in a while?”

While you are concerned for your platonic dynamic, you just can’t bring yourself to push him away. His warm lips on your skin and his strong grip on your body is too intoxicating.

“We aren’t risking anything, dude,” Peter smiles into the crook of your neck as his hands run up your thighs, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your short dress. “Just two friends helping eachother out. Nothing wrong with that,” he hums. You’re silent for a moment, considering his words.

Peter Steps aways from you, leaving you to whimper at the lack of contact.

“But if you don’t want this, I understand. I won’t press-“ he begins with a small grin as he continues to slowly back away. Without thinking, your hand shoots out, almost causing you to fall off the table. You grip his arm as you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please Peter,” is all you have to say before he’s back on you. Smashing his kiss bruised lips to yours.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter has been waiting for this moment for awhile. He wasn’t ‘totally in love with his best friend’ but you are the one person who knows him better than anything and his domestic partner and you’re smokin hot and he hears you masturbate in the room beside him a couple times a week- not to mention he hasn’t been with a woman in months. I mean, can you blame the guy?

You let out a small gasp as peters fingers brush against your clothed core. He gives you mischievous grin as he pulls you to the very edge of the table.

“Let’s get these out of the way,” he breaths as he slowly wraps his fingers around the waist band of your silk underwear. With in half a second, the thin fabric is gone- where to? You have no idea.- and Peter is on his knees below you, admiring your exposed core. “You must really be desperate. Damn,” the boy chuckles as he collects some of your wetness on his finger. You groan, kicking him in the arm gently. But you can’t argue with him.

“Ugh Peter if you’re going to-“ before you can finish whining, Peter has his arms wrapped around your thighs and mouth attached to your swollen clit, licking like his life depends on it. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden intense stimulation.

“At least now I know how to shut you up,” Peter chuckles against your core. Caught up in your own pleasure, you grab his hair and grind into his face. Peter let’s out a hum of satisfaction before he slips a finger in your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan, throwing your head back. Peter is having the time of his life, struggling not to cum in his pants from how erotic you are. I mean yeah, he knew you were hot but he never would have guessed just how sexy your moans are or how good you taste. Call him a munch, but Peter could suffocate right here between your legs and die a happy man.

“Just like that Peter. Please don’t stop,” you pant out lowly, moving your hips faster against his face. You look down to see Peter who is already staring up at you. His silver strands of hair tickle the inside of your thighs as he laps at your clit desperately. The image of your best fiends head between your legs triggers a flash of embarrassment and guilt, but that’s soon forgotten as soon as you feel it.

Peter begins to vibrate his tongue as he sucks on your clit, his fingers curling directly into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Peter!” You shriek, pulling his hair. The sensation is nothing like you’ve felt before. You quickly melt into his touch as you revel in the pure pleasure shooting through every nerve in your body.

Peter replaces his tongue with his thumb before breathlessly pulling you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, your legs beginning to shake from how much pleasure is flooding you system.

“I want you to cum for me,” Peter growls against your lips. You whine into the kiss as you clench around his fingers. The tightly wound rubber band in your stomach finally snaps, releasing intense euphoria through your body. “That’s it. Good girl, fuck, just like that,” Peter coos into your ear as the unholiest string of profanities he’s ever heard falls from your kiss bruised lips. You collapse into his chest, your legs shaking, head spinning, chest heaving.

“You okay?” Peter chuckles as he rests a hand on your back. You simply nod your head, trying to catch your breath. After a minute or so of recovery, you open your mouth to speak but are quickly interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. You jump up from the table, looking at Peter in horror as your release drips down your legs.

“My friends,” you gasp. Peter chuckles as he gently stands you to your feet.

“We’re not done here,” your best friend winks before he’s gone with a fwip.

In a Silver Blur, Peter zooms around the apartment. Within five seconds, the living room is spotless, the groceries are put away, and there are four glasses of wine are poured and set at the table with an organized array of the snacks you’d bought.

“Come on in ladies, y/n is in the kitchen,” Peter answers the door, allowing your friends into your home.

“Ew, why is your face wet?” One of the girls ask Peter as they turn the corner into the kitchen.

“And where’s your shirt?” Another girl asks as they exchange confused glances with each other.

“Oh-“ Well I guess Peter forget a couple crucial pieces of evidence. He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “What’s with the interrogation girls?” Peter chuckles as he holds his hands up.

Your face goes red in embarrassment as you walk over to great your group of friends on shaky legs- and with a bare core since you couldn’t seem to find your panties anywhere.

“Sorry, ignore him. Peters just leaving,” You smile at your friends then give peter a death glare.

“Oh, y/n, let me know once your little party is over. We need to finish that conversation,” he winks as he picks up a snack cake off the bar. As he ascends up the steps, you see your purple panties hanging out the pocket of his grey sweatpants. You send a silent prayer to every all-powerful incorporeal being you can think of that your friends did not see Peter with your underwear.

“Y/n, are you okay? What’s with-“ one of your friends begin to question.

“Wine!?” You cut her off as you offer-more or less force her to take- a glass of Pinot Grigio which thankfully is enough to shift the conversation.

You’re left in anticipation the rest of the night, half temped kick the girls out just so you and Peter can finish what you’ve started, but you decide against it. As you go commando for the next four hours, you think about how you’re going to get peter back.

#evan peters #evan peters smut #jimmy darling smut #ahs cult #kai anderson #kit walker smut #ahs fandom #ahs hotel #ahs asylum #ahs murder house #peter maximoff smut #warren lipka #colin zabel #kai anderson smut #tate langdon smut

608 notes · View notes

yawneon · 9 months ago

Note

percy will a s/o that’s always sleeping🫶

BLUE - NOISE

a/n : this is so bad 😭😭😭

pairing : in love!percy jackson x hermes kid!reader

summary : in which percy jackson has his best birthday yet.

!!! : praying for more reqs, this one is so cute, i try my best 😞, maybe the plot was the friends we made along the way, unspecified demigod reader, book percy, ooc camp, i wanted it to be rainy in camp so ITS GOINF TO RAIN 🤬, the curse of never being able to write alot returns, THIS IS SO BAD

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

people at camp could’ve sworn there had been a mix up in olympus.

you. an hermes child? what a laugh.

you had to be a kid of hypnos. you slept so much, how couldn’t you? genuinely you couldn’t peel yourself off your bed like ever. everyone in camp knew, you were the person in cabin 11 that won’t get out bed if not needed. alcoholics had alcohol, gamblers had casinos but you… you had something far more worse.

you had the (in your humble opinion) the most comfortable bed in all of camp. sure, it wasn’t a 5 star hotel quality but shit was it good.

and more importantly it was the beds fault that you were oh so tired all the time and you just needed to sleep more than half the day.

everyone else couldn’t care less.. your siblings would just give you a small glance before ignoring you because honestly it was more surprising to see you awake! and trust me when you started dating percy.. did this get worse.

whatever you thought about having the best bed in camp was trampled on and thrown over a cliff edge the moment you laid in percy’s bed.

not only was his bed adorned with comfortable sheets and pillows his cabin was quiet.

percy didn’t understand however.

how on earth could you sleep when you have the most handsome and amazing boyfriend in all of the whole universe??

he has whined and frowned at you multiple times but you’ve slickly avoided his dramatics by lathering him up with sweet and sappy comments like “im dreaming of you~” that make annabeth and grover cringe at when he goes and boasts to them.

but today,

today you couldn’t avoid the dread of getting out of bed.

you stood at the foot of his bed holding a plate of waffles, blue ones. it was far too early for you, (it was 8am) but it was percy’s birthday. you weren’t going to neglect your boyfriend because gods you would never hear the end of it. so you decided to go against your force of nature and got up to whip up a batch of waffles for him.

despite it being the midst of summer rain pelted down against the hard exterior of cabin 3. it didn’t rain usually in camp, the rain would usually just pass right by but maybe the gods were arguing again and the storm was especially hard this day.

sluggishly you drag your feet to stand beside the bed in which percy sleeping.

you wished that was you.

the plate adorning the blue waffles are set down on his bedside table and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder shaking him. despite your (sucky) efforts he doesn’t stir awake.

you grab his arm now with both hands and you shake him harder than before and finally does he grumble awake.

he looks up at you, confused.

“happy birthday, idiot” you pick up and hold the plate of waffles up so he could see them a tired but sweet look on your face. he sits up on his elbows and a dopey smile appears on his face, a very common smile he shines when he looks at you.

“this all for me?” percy sits up fully now taking the plate from you and he smiles bigger now gaining his full conscious. he pats the empty side of the bed next to him and you basically throw yourself into the white sheets.

despite the innate need to sink further in and take ahold of the sleep thats so desperately trying to drag you down you sit up and watch him. “you’re up, today.” percy teases, his shoulder nudging yours.

“just shut up and eat your breakfast.” you laugh softly amused by his jokes.

he begins gobbling the waffles down, scoffing down the cream on top and cleaning the plate of any remains of food. it was actually very impressive how well he ate all of it.

percy’s eyes trail to the window of his cabin his eyes watching as the raindrops pelt down at the glass and the sound of the rain hitting the walls and roof echo loudly.

percy places the plate back onto the bedside and looks out the window. “say aye if your in to stay home all day?” he peeks at you, another dopey smile that you just couldn’t resist is painted on his face.

you didn’t even reply to him, your arm snakes around his collarbone and you basically slump him into bed. you both lay on your back and then percy starts talking.

he always did this. percy would talk and talk and talk while you laid next to him, even if you were asleep he would keep going. just the feeling of having you next to him was comfortable so he would talk about all different kinds of things and today wasn’t any different.

you however wanted to listen to him today but oh geez was it hard.

again it wasn’t your fault that his voice was smooth and calming to listen to even of he was talking about how he fell one time and scraped his knee when he was 7. it was like ypur white noise. you already slept a fuck-ton and having a boyfriend with the most sweetest voice was not helping you.

he held your hand as he laid next to you, his eyes tracing every detail of the ceiling as his fingers dance along your palm. he starts telling you all about how his first quest went. a story you’ve heard over.. and over and over again.

“when i started my quest..” blah blah blah.

your eyes shut and all you could focus on was his voice and the noise of water hitting the window panes. his hand was warm in yours and with his free hand percy pulls the covers over the both of you so only your heads were poking out. he slips his arm under your head and his other hand grabs yours again as he keeps rambling on.

before you could fully drift off you turn into him, you could feel his eyes on you as he watches you shift and his words pause for a moment.

“i love you.” he whispers, hoping that you were asleep. you smile into his skin, a clear sign you were still all there.

“i love you too, happy birthday percy.” you half open your eyes you pull his face down by grabbing his cheeks and you kiss under his eye before moving back down.

percy flashes his signature smile before his story changes from his quest to tell you about how on his 9th birthday his mom baked him a blue cake and how it was awesome. you make a mental note to yourself before drifitng off.

you dreamt of percy that night.

let me rephrase that.

you dream of percy.

you dream of him even though he is yours.

his pretty green eyes, his black hair, his sandy skin on the beach. but more often than not you dream of him like how you are now.

cuddled up beside you, warm under the covers as he tells you about all kinds of things like how he thinks the universe was made.

you dream about him dreaming of you which you know he does (since he tells you).

you dream about the way he wants you despite your sleeping routines, you dream about the way he calls you his sleeping beauty.

yet all those dreams are the reality you live. maybe missing a few hours off of slumber isn’t all that bad when your spending it with the boy you see when you close your eyes.

@yawneon

#percy jackson #pjo #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy jackson x reader #percy is cute #i love him

426 notes · View notes

yeslordmyking · 3 months ago

Text

John 7:27 — Today's Verse for Saturday, July 27, 2024

0 notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

All In 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Hellllllooooo 😁

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The next morning comes too soon and with too little sleep. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t lay still long enough to get much rest. Every time you sunk into the shallows of sleep, you were just as quickly awoken by visions of the unknown. You don’t know anything beyond the time at which you’ll set off to your fate; nine o’clock.

You don’t need an alarm. You're already awake and alert. You sit up and rub your temples until the thumping dulls. You can’t entirely shake the pulsing thrum.

You drag yourself to your feet and cross to your dresser. You open each drawer, sifting through the contents with disappointment. You don’t have anything that nice. You pick out your nicest jeans and a halter top Roxie gave you. You’ll be sweating your bum off in the denim but you don’t have many skirts or even shorts.

You can hear your mother getting ready for her own day of work. Of actual work. You wait until she’s done to claim the bathroom. She’s off only a couple minutes after, calling out a goodbye and I love you that you return in a higher pitch than you mean to.

You dress and tidy yourself up as best you can. Your bedtime shower did little to help you sleep but at least it saves you a step. You spritz yourself with strawberry body spray and try to smile at your reflection as you put your toothbrush back.

Sigh. Did Bucky really call you sexy?

It’s not even eight. Lots of time to wallow in anxiety and self-doubt. You pace around the front room, ready to go, but not really. You have your purse with the fringe and your least-worn flats. They pinch around your toes but they’re cute; pink loafers with a little leather rose on each.

You cradle your phone then squeeze it hard enough to make it light up. Only a few minutes. Or not. You hear a car outside and peer through the curtain. You recognise the vehicle. Shoot, time to go. Oh, god, what are you doing?

You lock the door behind you and turn to face the gallows. Each step is filled with sand, your legs are heavy and your feet clunky. As you near, Merv appears to open the door for you. You’re surprised but not to find Bucky waiting within.

As you slide onto the seat, he watches you and rumbles out a silty, ‘morning, doll.’ You aren’t ready. You don’t know why but you thought the drive would give you time to toss away the last of your caution but you’re clinging to it like a raft. You feel entirely powerless. More than you ever have.

What he promises, money; you always assumed it would give you more control, that it would solve all your problems, but it’s really just a new set of problems. You settle onto the seat as the door closes and buckle your seat belt, focusing on the simple task. He stretches his arm over the back of the seat as you lean against it and his heat seethes into you.

“Good morning,” you force out at last.

“That’s a cute shirt,” he purrs as his hand wanders down to tickle your bare shoulder, your nude bra strap showing garishly. “Would look better without this.” He touches the strap and you make a noise. “But I can wait for that, doll.”

You stare forward. The divider between you and the front seat is up. You are completely alone. You feel your heart about to swell and split.

“I’ll admit, I was up late last night,” his arms shifts slightly as he leans forward. You only notice then the scent of coffee and two cups in the holders behind the console. “Got a pick-me-up to start the day. Gotta be awake for you, doll.”

He takes one of the cups and you realise, he means to offer it to you. You feel too bad to tell him you’re not much for coffee. “It’s called a blue dream tea latte? I think it’s blueberry or something. I saw it in some ad online. Sounded like something you’d like.”

“Oh, thanks, er, it does?” You murmur. You’d seen the same promotion on Pinterest. It’s a rather strange coincidence that he’d think of you. “I... I’ve never tried a tea latte.”

“Doll, I’m gonna give you lots of things you never had, take you places you never been,” he flutters his fingers across your neck as he retracts his arm. He grabs the other cup and groans as he sits back, blowing over the plastic lid. “So tell me,” his arms presses against yours. He seems so big sitting so close, “where’ somewhere you always wanted to go?”

“Er, I don’t...” your eyes drift over as Merv drives lazily through your neighbourhood, “know. I never... thought about it.”

“Anything you always wanted to do? Skydiving? Wait, yeah, you don’t like being high up. Makes sense, being so close to the ground, huh?” He chuckles and leans into you playfully, “you an outdoorsy type? You like hiking?”

“Um, I don’t know, I think... I like walking in the park sometimes,” you hold the cup with both hands, letting the warmth flow into your cold veins. You can smell the blueberry and you instinctively take wife through the slot of the lid.

“Mm, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out, doll,” he assures you and sips again, swallowing thickly before he lets out a thigh. “I think you’ll like what I got planned, even if you don’t know what you want. I’ve always been good at figuring that out, you know?”

“Oh?”

He laughs again, “you’re so cute, doll.” He looks over at you, “how’s the latte? Did I do good?”

Your eyes nearly cross as you stare at the cup. You bring it up carefully and take a dainty sip. You almost moan at the creamy but sweet taste. You pull the lid away and dab your lips with the back of your hand, turning to give him a wide-eyed look.

“It’s delicious,” you smile.

He grins and tilts his head, “see, doll, you don’t even gotta say it. I know exactly what you need.”

You’re breathless. Something about his tone, his words, mingles and coils around your throat. It’s like one of those old Wattpad fantasies you devoured in your teen years, those escapist dreams of having everything taken care of and not having to think, and yet, it’s too real. You take another drink to keep busy.

“After our first stop, we’ll eat,” he says, “that okay? You’re not ravenous?”

His words make you flinch. You blink and shake your head, “I’m okay.”

“Sounds good, doll,” he relaxes and once more extends his arms over your shoulders, this time hugging you closer.

He turns his head and nuzzles you, making you squirm. You’re rigid, paralysed by the proximity. You’ve never been this close with anyone. He still feels like a stranger.

“Mmm, strawberries,” he growls, “I like that.”

You giggle and barely keep a hold of your cup. You really can’t understand it. You never had interest from anyone. You didn’t even really have friends in school. Sometimes, you even think Roxie hates you, and your mom, well, she loves you because you have to. You just can’t comprehend what he sees.

“Thanks...” you wisp.

“No, thank you, doll,” he drawls, “for making my morning brighter.”

🃏

You doubt Bucky does anything in half-measures. Merv pulls up to another upscale building and you can’t help but gape out at the white brick facade. Everything is so big and fancy and better than you. You’re so out of place in his world that you can’t but wait for the moment he decides to kick you out of it.

The white-haired driver gets out to open the door. As you step out, your loafer slips off your heel and your foot slides down the curb. You trip outward, bracing yourself for impact, but don’t hit the ground. A hand wraps around your arm and pulls you back onto the seat. You cringe, happy at least that Bucky can’t see your face as he clings to you.

“You okay, doll?” He asks, “you hurt yourself?”

“No, no,” you wriggle in his grasp, “I’m fine. It was just... stupid.”

“Not stupid, good thing I was here to catch you, huh?” He reluctantly releases you, a caress along the back of your arm, “now you be careful. You need me to get out and carry you--”

“No, no!” You grab the car and push yourself out, fixing your shoe as you get your bearings. “Really, I’m okay.”

He chuckles and follows. It he laughing at you? You turn to face him as he steps up on the curb. It’s easy when he’s sitting to forget how small you really are.

“All good, doll, I just can’t have you getting banged up,” he says as he gestures you across the wide sidewalk.

You peer back as Merv shuts the door and Bucky brings his hand to your lower back, just like that woman at the casino. His gentle touch sends a chill up your back despite the beaming heat from above.

“Promise, you’re gonna love this.”

He urges you on to the front doors. They are made of iron, twisted in the middle, and two long handles curlicue in the middle. He stops and presses the little silver button along the side, a buzz muffled within. You wait, fidgeting, and presses his palm firmly to your back. You still yourself and clutch your bag tighter.

The interior doors, dark walnut, open inward and a woman appears within with a particularly snobbish look. She’s tall with straight shoulders and a Chanel style suit. She unlocks the iron doors and opens the right one. She eyes Bucky past her hooked nose as she lifts it higher.

“Mr. Barnes,” she greets.

“Meredith,” he returns, “thanks for having me.”

“Only for you,” she assures as her eyes fall upon you, “you’ve brought...”

“Someone very special. A connoisseur like yourself,” he insists, curtailing whatever she thought to remark.

“Yes, certainly she would be,” the woman accepts with a sniff and steps back, “please, come in. Should I have Charlene make tea?”

“I don’t think we will require it. Doll?” He pauses as he confirms with you.

You shake your head, “no thank you.”

“Very well, follow me, then,” she spins and struts away.

Bucky nudges you inside first, following through the narrow door. As he comes up parallel to you, a shadow appears to close the doors behind him. The whole experience is eerie. What is going on?

You follow the woman, Meredith, up the wooden stairs with a rose-printed runner along the center of the steps. At the top, you smell the definitive scent of books. She directs you into a room, opening the door but standing back to let you through. Bucky nods and thanks her one last time.

“You know the rules, Barnes,” she warns.

“Been a while...” he mutters.

“You remember,” she rebukes.

He laughs and pulls the door shut as she retreats, her heels clicking through the wall until they taper off to nothing. A record player drones from the corner and the window lets in the yellow sunshine, adding to the illumination of glass-shaded lamps. You peer around, as curious as you are confused.

Bucky brushes by you, knuckles rubbing against your waist, and he approaches the antique table at the center. Several stacks of books sit neatly piled atop it. You approach sheepishly and read the spines. You recognise the titles though you’ve never read any of them. As you think, you realise that these are the same books you have on your reading app. How could he know?

Your mouth falls open as you keep your hands folded together. You don’t dare to touch anything. It all seems so nice and likely expensive. And with how Meredith spoke, you’re certain she wouldn’t appreciate you putting anything out of place.

“She’s a book collector. I came here a few years back to buy some first editions for my sister,” he picks up a book.

“How...” you bend to read further down a stack.

“A lot you can learn about a person online,” he flutters through the pages, “isn’t there?”

You look at him and blanch.

“I know you Googled me. Everyone does,” he snickers, “it’s fine. Comes with the territory. But you...” he snaps the book shut and comes around the table, holding it out to you, “all I found were some books and a few pictures of a cat.”

You take the book and stare at the cover. Those pictures were old. Kai died at the end of high school. You run your hand over the embossed title; Middlemarch. You remember adding it after binging and old British series.

“My cat. She’s gone now,” you shrug.

“Sorry to hear that, doll,” he says. “I might know someone who can cheer you up, though.”

“It’s... fine. She was a good cat,” you shrug.

“Hm, yeah, but a friend, all the same,” he says, “so, you want it?”

“What?” You peek at the book again.

“All of them? I can have them packed and sent to your house.”

“Huh?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, “my mom...”

“Ah, it’s fine, we can sneak em in,” he assures.

“No, no, I couldn’t... it’s too much. Very nice but... must be... a lot.”

“It is, doll. Meredith gave me a damn headache tryna get in here on short notice but I did it,” he leans a hand on the table and hooks one foot over the other. “You gotta at least pick one thing to walk out of here with.”

“Oh, I... I wasn’t meaning... I didn’t mean to be ungrateful,” you rub your thumbs along the edges of the book, “sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know you’re not, doll. You’re... adjusting. I’m doing my best not to scare ya away but you gotta bite the carrot a little here,” he says, “so grab a few and we’ll go have some breakfast.”

“I...” you look between him and the table. You have no doubt that he went to a lot of effort for this. For you. You can’t just throw it back in his face. “Thank you, it’s...” you turn to face the table and lean in to see more of the books. You let yourself smile, “it’s wonderful. No one’s ever... except mom...”

“Get used to it, doll,” he steps closer, his hand once more on your back, “with a smile like that, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing it.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #all in #au #casino au #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

329 notes · View notes

peppertoastuniverse · 3 months ago

Text

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 2: pocari sweat

contents: geto suguru & reader, gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, suguru being a good friend, shoko cameo, satoru being down bad and not knowing it yet, you and geto basically bully gojo lol summary: sparring with geto is always difficult, but with gojo’s new found interest in you, it’s proving to be a different challenge all together.

wc: 3.2K

“here, for beating this animal.” he offers the bottle of pocari sweat to you, ignoring geto’s eye roll behind him. gojo shakes the bottle slightly when you hesitate. “c’mon take it.” “… uh thanks, gojo,” suspiciously eying him. that was strangely… thoughtful of him. what’s his deal?

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

once again you were lying on your back, panting, his wide frame leaning over you with a small taunting grin on his face.

god, he was good. so fucking good – it almost infuriated you. he always knew what to do to get you into this position. geto was undoubtably strong and skilled, you couldn't help but call on him every chance you got – embarrassingly sometimes even twice a day. at first he was too gentle and hesitant with you until you practically had to beg him to show you no mercy – which is how you landed on your back for the millionth time that day. you groaned, feeling little annoyed, humbled and sweaty. a part of you thought he liked the extra cardio, but deep down you knew that there was a competitive part of him that just liked to win.

“ready to go again?” he asks slightly out of breath. geto gracefully unties his long hair from his messy bun, before combing his fingers roughly through his hair to redo the knot. a few months ago you shyly asked geto if he could help you improve your hand-to-hand combat and you were grateful when graciously he agreed. you needed the practice. so a few times a week you met geto at the school gym. he was a good teacher, giving you pointers here and there, encouragingly suggesting adjustments to your technique. you were improving, slowly but surely. you winced still on the ground, a frustrated hand passing over your face. “i know i pinned you last time, but today it seems impossible.”

“well, you’re more distracted today and a little more .. impulsive,” he thoughtfully hums, hand over his mouth. “what’s been on your mind?” “I.. uh..just – ” you exhale, hollow eyes looking to the ceiling of the gym. a part of yourself was still back in shirakawa were you could hear the distant screaming, smell the mutilated bodies and the blood pooled at your feet – “…hm?” geto prompts you patiently, crouching down to lay beside you on the gym mats, still looking into your eyes. geto was two opposites at once, a soft contradiction. he had an intense stare but a gentle way about him that made you feel heard and reassured but simultaneously you knew that if he really wanted to, geto would be able to coax absolutely anything from you without any real effort. his domineering strength matched his silent resilience and you weren’t sure what to fully make of him just yet. you stared into his amethyst eyes hesitantly, debating on if you trusted him enough for this yet. it’s not that you didn’t like geto, you were probably the closest to him in your year – but that wasn’t really saying that much – like everyone else you kept him at a safe distance. but you weren't sure if you were ready yet.

sensing your reluctance, geto joins you in looking up in at the ceiling, hiding his almost clairvoyant stare ".. i'm only asking because i've been a little worried.” you hummed quietly in acknowledgement fiddling with your fingers that rested on your stomach, unsure of what to say or where he was going with this.

“…you've be more quiet, like in your head a bit more, you know? shoko asked about you the other day and even satoru noticed." he continues thoughtfully. geto wasn’t sure what was going on with you, but he felt as if you were slowly slipping away. retreating into some cruel sanctuary where no one could follow. he could almost see through you, a shell his words would go through, disappearing into the void that occupied your seat. you weren’t joining them in the kitchen for meals anymore and you seemed to be even more reserved than before, even skipping sparring practice with him using a thinly veiled excuse of fatigue. your eyes were clouded and were weighed down by the dark rings that hung around them.

you sighed unsteadily, focusing on specific a beam on the ceiling.

you were growing more and more aware of the weight that you were carrying for two weeks. the burden almost suffocating you pressing against your lungs, squeezing so deeply that you were nearly drowning from the inside out. you were certain there was deep scarring left behind. the scars of regret, guilt and fear that reverberated in your cavity, in the voice of the little grandma that made you udon, the young girl you let braid your hair, the man who gave you some daikon just because, the woman with the short hair who- dead. all dead.

geto’s honeyed tone calls your name, tethering you back to reality. throwing you a buoy to keep your struggling mind above the rapids. geto’s presence was calming, and his smooth voice was helping chase away your racing thoughts. with him you felt comfortable, safe even … maybe he had the potential to be someone that you could fully trust. you reluctantly rolled over on your side to finally look directly at him, making a decision.

“i’ve been.. having these dreams.” “...dreams?” “mhm… of shirakawa.” voice trembling, hands curling into fists, voice shaking slightly.

a pregnant pause of realization. geto’s eyes widen in understanding. he chastises himself – that would make sense, why didn’t he see it earlier? your strange behaviour started after that mission, your face paled when ieri casually asked about it the other day. nightmares were an unspoken byproduct of the job of being a sorcerer. even geto had lingering thoughts of certain missions that have gone astray and was often disgusted with what he saw on the battlefield. overtime he was starting to grow saddened with how other sorcerers – his friends– were being affected by the horrors of the job. duty. a choice to suffer for the greater good – a necessary sacrifice. it was a sobering realization.

his hand taps antsily on his stomach he turns his head to you feeling your shy stare. geto rolls over to his side, mirroring you, studying your struggling expression. gently he inches closer to you and reaches over. he engulfs your shaking fist in his larger warm hand. lightly squeezing, geto successfully easing your shaking. the rough waves of guilt within you calmed to the rhythm of his slow breathing. his quiet reassurance and acknowledgement of your struggles simultaneously squeezes your chest, protecting you from your intrusive thoughts. you shut your eyes as you feel his thumb moving back and forth – a sympathetic reminder of his understanding. after some time, you open your eyes. "...thanks geto," you say faintly, not trusting your voice for much more, you already felt too vulnerable.

“hm? for what?”

“for.. for this.”

withdrawing his hand, his violet eyes soften as you see the beginnings of a small smile forming, "y'know you can call me suguru, right?"

“…I can?” “yeah! ‘course you can. we’ve known each other for like – what like almost 6 months now?”

“yeah, something like that...”

“yeah so, we’re friends right?”

friends.

“i.. yeah. yes. i guess we are friends.”

“so, my friends call me suguru –” he says easily, like being kind was the simplest thing in the world. he amazed you. "hmm, i dunno because gojo calls you baby. so… i wanted to be sure," you tease. "oh? you can call me baby too if that's what you're comfortable with." geto says amused, elbow upright to support his head, his bangs falling over his eyes. your surprised face carves out a chuckle, a rusty sound to even your own ears. pleased with himself, geto grins wider. he hasn’t heard that sound in at least a week or two but he had a strong suspicion that there a certain person was dying to hear it. geto liked that you were smiling again. “careful,” you warn eyebrow quirked, “gojo might get jealous,” eyes looking livelier, body bending into a seated position with a stretch.

geto snorts. “i’m sure satoru can deal.” “I think you overestimate gojo's maturity. just don’t blame me if he starts moaning and groaning for the next year about this…” “alright, just say he’s a little shit..,” you grin at his honestly, feeling lighter than you had in the last week.

“hey… c’mon let’s see if you can get me this time,” geto says rising to his feet challengingly. “oh, don’t worry – I definitely will.”

footsteps echoing, gojo walked through the halls. he carded his long fingers through his hair mindlessly, sighing. it was a rare day when he didn’t have a mission or class and he was bored beyond reason. he was restless - the accumulation of bottled energy within him swirling, brewing dangerously, threatening to bubble over any minute now.

he had already been kicked out of ieri’s room for complaining too much.

“ – but listen, i don’t really understand what the big deal is. suguru goes on and on about it like god’s greatest gift to man but it’s literally just soba and you dip that shit in a sauce. you even have to dip it yourself – like if im paying for that shit I’d want someone to dip it for me. why do I have to put in the effort when im paying to have an experience, y’know? and don’t get me started on the temperature, why the fuck is it col–“ “holy shit, gojo. give it a rest oh my god.” yikes. last name. “but shokooooo,” his voice going up in pitch gratingly, “these are very important thoughts from a very important person!” “and who would that be? you’ve been talking about zaru soba for like 20 minutes!” ieri counters, head leaning on her closed fist, not even bothering to look at gojo as she flipped through a magazine at her desk. gojo huffs, lip jutted out. “no one appreciates me here.” “dude, i told you, im in the middle of something!” “you’ve been reading for hours! you said you’d be done a billion years ago.” gojo whines lying on floor of ieri’s bedroom, foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the leg of the chair that she was currently sitting on. she scoffs, half amused and half annoyed, light brown eyes flickering to blue. “go bug the others, then! they’re probably still sparring in the gym.” “ehhh? sparring, what now?” “mm? yeah. suguru’s helping with their hand to hand combat. they’ve been meeting up pretty frequently.” not bothering to look up at what she knew was gojo’s dramatic pout.

he scoffed at the memory. they could’ve asked me to help them with sparring. why didn’t they ask me?

subconsciously he found himself at your door, his feet carrying him without his mind even realizing it. gojo found that his mind wandered to you a lot more than usual after that night. he couldn’t get your hollow expression out of his head, or your soft, gravelly voice when you were about 2 seconds away from slumber, or the way your warm body felt when he carried you back to your room, or how you would rock back and forth while waiting for the udon to cook. there was just something about you, he just couldn't help it. he was starting to see parts of you in places where he least expected it and it always bewildered him.

halting suddenly, chuckling as he decides to stop by the gym just to see if geto would want to go with him to the arcade and if you happened to there too, so what? but maybe he could convince you both to go… turning around with a new plan and a mischievous smile, gojo hesitantly stops by the vending machine.

you definitely couldn’t get him. once again you were on your back, sweating but this time panting heavily. geto’s figure towering over you. “this time was better. but you gotta remember to watch your left – “ before he could even finish that thought, you sweep his legs from under him with your left leg. geto lands on the mats beneath with a surprised grunt as you quickly pin him, throwing your legs on either side of his abdomen, sitting on him triumphantly.

“how’s that for my left leg?” leaning your face slightly down to his, grinning cheekily.

geto groans, shifting slightly “…this doesn’t count you know.” annoyed at the injustice.

you giggle breaks your annoyed facade, “what?! how does this no-“

you’re interrupted by an echoing thud. two cautious heads whip to the source of the intrusion. a cold bottle of pocari sweat curiously rolls towards you, the explanation following behind: a mop of unruly white hair. gojo runs his hand through his hair messily. a flicker of an indescribable expression flashes on gojo’s faltering face at the position he finds you and geto in. a mask of a grin paints his pale face – it doesn’t suit him. “ooOOOooooh fun! sparring looks like fun. can I join?” eyebrows wriggling suggestively. “ugh. grow up gojo” you say with a frown. gojo starts making his way to you both while picking up the abandoned bottle and placing it upright on the mat. “what? if you wanted to straddle someone as a friend you could’ve just asked me, babe. sugu never lets me straddle him and i’ve even ask-” “satoru. ” geto’s eyes narrow in warning.

“fine baby, fine. our little secret then.” gojo grins widely, smile not reaching his frosty eyes. geto scoffs shaking his head, no doubt mentally running through his arsenal of curses trying to decide which one to unleash on gojo first. geto delicately pats your upper thigh to motion you to get up, easily taking the hint you rise to your feet. geto doesn’t miss blue eyes narrowing at the contact, fist tightening slightly, causing an amused smile to break on geto’s face. you stick your tongue out at gojo, already annoyed. geto had an increasing suspicion that gojo was interested in you regardless of what the blue eye boy said. he saw how gojo’s body would unconsciously angle towards you whenever you were around or the way gojo would stare when you’d talk to ieri with a small smile on your face during class or how gojo would act even more insufferable when you were within a 500 foot radius. “they got you again, eh suguru? looks like you’re losing your touch!”

geto exhales through his nose, smile gone, “i didn’t think that they would play dirty,” shaking his head.

“a pin is a pin, regardless of the situation. you said that you always have to be ready, right?” you say pointedly as you reach down to offer geto a hand to help him up. but before geto could accept, gojo rushes towards him effectively knocking your hand out of the way roughly. you tsked, annoyed at gojo’s brazenness.

“oh no, suguuuu! are you hurt? did they – what did they do to my baby?!” gojo wails dramatically, clutching geto’s arm before moving behind him to fuss his shoulders.

“what the hell, dude? mmpffffff get off of me, you–“ gojo’s two hands squishing geto’s face from behind attempting to climb onto the dark haired boy’s back in a makeshift piggy back. geto tries to shake his best friend off by grabbing gojo’s arms and attempting to pull him into a headlock, knocking off the dark glasses of his pale face in the process.

“what do you mean? last night you didn’t say that – “ gojo whines beneath the rough housing, grabbing at geto’s torso, barking out a cackling laugh.

“you were the one who – “ geto counters, efficiently grasping gojo’s arms. gojo lets out dramatic high pitch squeal. gojo tackles the dark haired boy roughly causing geto to brightly burst out laughing. the two boys roll on the mat with fierce energy, a chaotic tangle of long limbs, grunts and mocking shouts. “babeee, help! suguru’s bullying m-“ he shouts at you, his lanky legs twisting to wrap around geto’s frame.

the assault stalls when gojo hears your bright laughter – the first sighting of water in the desert of his heart, unknown yet if it was a mirage. sensing gojo’s hesitation, geto slowly eases his hold on gojo, eyebrows raised, head turning to see the cause.

ah. of course.

panting, geto dusts himself off while watching gojo. his blue eyes watch your head thrown back, laugher etched even in your eyes. the smallest spark, the soft sunrise after two weeks of rain.

“you’re ridiculous,” you comment, head shaking.

“i’m ridiculous? you didn’t help me at all!” gojo counters childishly. you bend over to pick up gojo's dark glasses – a casualty from the boys’ recklessness. geto smacks gojo’s arm as he notices the obvious gawking at your backside. geto cocks an eyebrow judgementally, dude. gojo rolls his eyes exasperatedly in response, his palms splayed out, what?! I wasn’t looking!! gojo smacks him back.

obliviously, you open up gojo’s dark shades, inching closer to put them onto gojo’s surprised face, fingers grazing his flushing ears. he could smell the slight vanilla and lavender scent that he remembered lingered on your skin when he carried you from the kitchen table to your room two weeks ago. his mind drifted to the memory of how you felt against him that night. soft and warm. so close that if he dared he would be able feel your steady heartbeat against his skin contrasting against the fluttering of his. you were so close and yet not close enough. holding you, he wasn't sure who was dreaming.

hiding his uncharacteristically bashfulness, he makes no mention of your singeing touch as he bends down and picks up the energy drink, condensation building on the outside of the plastic bottle.

“here, for beating this animal.” gojo jerks his head in geto’s direction while offering the bottle of pocari sweat to you, ignoring geto’s eye roll behind him. he shakes the bottle slightly when you hesitate. “c’mon take it.”

“… uh thanks, gojo,” suspiciously eying him.

that was strangely… thoughtful of him. what’s his deal? you untwist the cap and take a small sip. cool and refreshing, slightly sweet but smooth and hydrating.

“seeee? aren’t you glad I thought about you? huh, huh?” he tapping at your cheek, cheeky grin on his face. you slap his hands away from your face with an exasperated sigh. “this is when you say, thank you satoru! you’re so thoughtful and wonderful and handsome and kind and so, so sexy–“

nevermind, he’s an idiot.

“hm, suguru, you want some?” you call out to geto, turning away from the white haired menace to offer the bottle over to him.

gojo whips his head to your face, narrowed stormy blue eyes darting between you and geto. he felt a foreign feeling take over his chest. it surges within him, breathing hard to burrow its claws along the bottom of his tense stomach, green eyed, hot tempered and absolutely ravenous.

he mentally makes a note to stop by ieri’s room again, he wasn’t feeling like himself – must be some strange after effect from that last curse back in Osaka the other day.

..wait were you looking at.. suguru like that? why are you always thinking about him when he was right her– wait one fucking second. suguru? why’s he called suguru when i’m –

he whines your name “since when do you call him suguru?” furrowing his white brows.

“… isn’t that his name?" you question, moving slightly closer to geto as he takes the bottle from your outstretched arm thankfully before taking a swing.

“yeah but you call me gojo!!” you and geto exchange a look.

“oh here we go…” you hear geto mutter under his breath, recapping the bottle before handing back to you. “uhh…. isn’t that your name?” “i thought we were closer than that, babe.” gojo eyes you, glasses down his slender nose, crystal eyes theatrically watery.

“well the difference is that I actually like suguru,” you deadpan, stretching out your back.

“hey, don’t joke like that!” he pouts as he moves closer to you. hand over his chest like you’ve gravely wounded him. and you have.

“it’s only what you deserve, gojo,” you say lightly patting his shoulder before walking past him to go address geto.

"you’re so mean to me, babe!" gojo yells at your retreating figure. “anyway, same time next week?” you say glancing at geto, swiftly walking across the gym, holding the half full energy drink in your hand. geto chuckles, waving to you, ignoring gojo's annoyed mutters, cursed energy dangerously swirling.

"thanks for today, baby." you say over your shoulder, eyes bright. before crossing the threshold of the gym. you hear an incredulous shout:

“BABY!?!”

a/n: my love language is bullying gojo this chapter was very geto-centric but i can't help but love a princess -- head image credit: unknown! credit goes to the rightful artists dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

169 notes · View notes

eyesxxyou · 1 year ago

Text

Confessions Pt.i

♡ hobie brown x religious!reader

rating. m

word count. 4.4k

synopsis. after years of being missing, Hobie finally returns back to his hometown where his childhood crush still waits for him. but you're more dedicated to God than ever and he couldn't care less. he wants you and he intends show you all that you're missing out on

♡ °｡ ⋆⸜ warning: religious themes, criticism of Christianity, corruption kink, defiling kink, making out, suggestive language, mentions of death

Part. ii

You've always been the model child, the child who attended mass when others wanted nothing more to do with the church, who clutched their rosary at night in fervent prayer and often slept with it under their pillow. You were used to pinched cheeks and smiles at your seniors, twisting your purity ring around your finger when you're nervous.

You had never known sin in your life. The idea of premarital sex revolted you. You prayed for forgiveness whenever you thought someone was even remotely cute.

That all changed when Hobie came back into your life. He had changed a lot since you last saw him when he was just an altar boy. He had left the church for years, his mother still attending and always asking for the father to pray for her son to return to God. He was now wild, feral even, decked out in spikes, something of a permanent scowl on his dark, beautiful lips. His hair demanded attention in the a way that distracted from God. Everything about him seemed to be for the flesh, not for the Lord.

There was a time where the two of you were friends. Your mothers were friends so it only made sense that you would be too. He has always been outgoing, loud, yet kind and pure at heart, holy even. He used to walk with humility and humbleness. It was like he was entirely different person who had walked into mass with his hands in his pockets and a confident saunter in his steps. He demanded attention and jangle if his chains echoed off the walls of your small church. You were always taught to remain quiet and keep your head low.

You quickly turned your gaze when his found yours among the many. Did he even recognize you? It's been so many years. You hardly even recognized him if not for some telltale signs. His height, the slender beauty of his face, a freckle. You clutched your rosary tighter, in your hands– it's milk white pearls wrapped around your hand, the detailed cross with Ch*st hanging pressing into your skin.

You don't look at him as he and his mother sat next to you and yours. He sidled up next to you, an arm tossed along the pew behind your back. He smelt of things you did not know, like sin, like temptation, like Hobie.

"How've ya been, luv?" He spoke after listening to mass and deciding it was too boring for him. It seemed he did remember you, in all your meek shyness.

"I've been fine. I'm surprised you remember me." You whispered, trying not to interrupt, not to get too wrapped up in conversation during church when you should be focusing on God's good grace.

"F'course, I remember ya, dove. Still the prettiest girl in here."

Your cheeks burned softly with the compliment and for it, you you clutched the cross in your hand until the edges of it dug into your skin as punishment. "We shouldn't be talking during the congregation." You crossed your ankles, your mary janes knocking against each other as you prayed a silent prayer of forgiveness. You would not be tempted.

If it helped, Hobie thought you changed a lot as well. When did you get breasts that so obviously showed through your clothing? When did you get so pretty? When had you grown into a woman?

You allowed yourself light makeup, mascara, lip oils that made your lips all glossy and pouty. Your braided hair way pinned back out of your pretty face, caramel and black in color, tied back with a pink bow. You wore a white off the shoulder top and a pink skirt with lace trim at the bottom. White, see-through stockings clung to those chaste legs of yours and your feet were adorned with mary janes, decorated in more pink bows.

He had originally only come to mass to please his mother this one time but if you looked this pretty now, it might not hurt to come again.

After, your mothers were chatting with each other, his mother pinching your rosette cheeks as she always did, talking about how much of a good girl you were, how Hobie was already talking about when the next congregation would be all because of you. "You're leading him back to God, my love."

"Where is he? He never even said goodbye." Your mother looked around for him but he was gone, dipped the moment church was over. He'd be back, he said but you doubted it. His mother waved it off. "You know how the young ones are these days, they don't care much for mannerisms." She looked back to you, shyly standing behind your mother without much else to do besides go home. You were still young, only bordering on 20 and you still lived at home. You couldn't bear to leave your old, peeling, floral wallpaper and your collection of stuffies. Plus, working for a Chr*stian nonprofit didn't always pay the bills.

You wouldn't see Hobie again for another 4 of your congregations before he decided to show back up. He had scandalized the church by wearing a crop top, was the talk of the town when he slid into the pew next to you and tossed his arm behind you once again like you two were close. His body was pressed against yours, his warm skin against your shoulders neck, the smell of musky cologne, the deviating gorgeousness of his face. His finger curled around one of your neat box braids, curled and uncurled, curled and uncurled.

You were wearing a pink camisole shirt with more lace at the top and bottom, and a white maxi skirt with little roses dotting the fabric. You wished you had worn something that revealed less of your skin because you should feel his skin on yours and it made you feel hotter than the sun and more of a sinner than the devil himself because his skin felt so nice and soft against yours and you wanted him to stay right there he was, with his knee touching yours and his fingers playing with your hair. How scant a knee touch could be.

"Who's it goin' t'day, doll?" Hobie leaned over and whispered in your ear. You leaned away from him, muttering silent prayers asking for strength in such rough times. "I'm okay, Hobie… How are you today?" You managed to get out.

"'m quiet chipper actually, my mum jus' asked ya mum if we could hang out again, thinks ya good f'me. Will make me 'believe in God again', 'n allat."

How great, how perfect. Now you'd constantly be in his presence. You'd be happy to spend time with Hobie but this Hobie was not the Hobie you knew. He was a stranger to you. It’s been so many years since he simply ran from home and only recently has he decided to come back into his family’s lives for unknown reasons. You were nervous around new people and in all ways that mattered, Hobie was a new person.

“Well, do you want to believe in God?”

“No’ particularly, no. But I promised mum since I ran away.” He was only 16 when he left, now he’s back at 21 and his mother almost smacked him straight across the face when he showed back up on her door. All these years, everyone in the community operated under the assumption that he had died.

Before the parish began his sermon in which he’d get progressively sweatier and out of breath across the 2 hours which Hobie always used to snicker at, he spoke. “I’d like to welcome back Hobart. After being gone for 5 years, he’s finally returned back home.” Everyone clapped for him, including you, but he just let his hand drop and began drawing circles on your exposed shoulder.

He kept like this through the entire sermon, touching you in some way, shape, or form. He chuckled softly at some of the things the parish said and whispered to you about things completely unrelated. “Le’s go back to our usual spot, doll. You remember?” His warm breath fanned your ear with the promise of something wrong if you go with him. You turned to look at him and found his face far closer than you thought it was, a smirk playing on his pierced lips.

“Would you genuinely listen to what I have to say.”

“I’ll listen to whateva comes from those pretty lips of yas, dove. Every single word.” He was so much more flirtatious now. He had you clutching your rosary every time he was around you, an action that did not go unnoticed. He placed his freehand on top of the ball of yours and your hands fell open beneath his warm palm. You already had scars littering your palms from all your years of grabbing the cross too tight for protection.

“Stop doin’ tha’, you gonna hurt yaself.”

That was the last thing he said to you all sermon.

He stuck around after church this time, his mother with a firm grasp on his wrist to ensure he didn’t go off and disappear again. You hung around your parents, your eyes always wandering about to find Hobie. It was hard not to find him. His height and his hair made it impossible to miss him.

“Mama, Hobie and I are gonna go somewhere quieter. I’ll be back home in time for dinner.” You kissed her cheek and tapped your father’s hand to get his attention before motioning that you were going to go. He was in the middle of deep conversion with the parish. He nodded dismissively and with that, you made your way to Hobie.

“Ms. Brown. Is it okay if I take Hobie with me?” Her grip on her son’s wrist was deadly, out of fear that he may run away from her again. She wouldn’t be letting him go unless she was sure he was in good hands, and in her eyes, yours were holy. “Of course.” She smiled upon you with fondness, her accent of her homeland thick in her voice. “Hobie, be good.”

Hobie shrugged out of her hold. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He tossed an arm around you and dragged you off towards the spot where the two of you would always hang out as children, an old playset that was rusting over by now and couldn’t possibly be safe enough for children to play on. It was a little down the way from the church just in front of a stretch of woods that separated the playground from the creek.

You went to cautiously sit on one of the rusty swings while Hobie dropped himself down without a care. He looked at you, your moisturized skin glistening in gold under the sun. You tossed your hair over your shoulder to better feel the sun on your shoulders while it lasted. The winters in your hometown were brutal at times so any heat was much welcomed on your end.

“Go ‘head then, gimme all the reasons why I should want salvation.” He’s heard it all. Especially from his mother. He had come back an entirely different person and point blank told her that he didn’t believe in a higher power and wouldn’t be attending church while he was visiting. His poor, Jamaican mother, a devout Catholic, acted as if he had just struck her across the face. She cried, she prayed as she does every night to this very day, and she rebuked the devil "who had taken her son" from him.

She had managed to manipulate him into coming to church at least once. And then he saw you. His old best friend, his longest standing crush, and decided that he’d stick around a little longer.

You fiddled with your rosary. "Well, there's nothing I can say to change your mind if you already aren't open to the idea. I'm not here to convince you of anything. But Hobie– why did you leave? We were all worried sick over you, praying that you were safe. After the first year, we thought you…"

“Died? No, I toughed it ou’. “N I didn’t exactly go anywhere. I’d been to so many places that I couldn’t name jus’ one. I jus’ knew I didn’ wanna be here.” He shrugged and drug his boot in the gravel, the rusty sound of the swingset let out a creak every time he swung. “‘M tired talkin’ ‘bout me. How’ve you been, luv?” His voice grew tender when talking to you, his eyes were a touch softer as well, almost flirtatiously so.

Nervously, you spoke of all the things that have happened since he left. “Father has blessed me with a good life. I’ve been studying His word more and I feel closer than ever to Him–”

Hobie pretended to yawn before snickering to himself. “I don’ wanna hear about allat. I wanna hear ‘bout you, not tha’ bloke.” You gasped at his choice of words, the casual blasphemy from his lips, and held your rosary to your chest. “Hobie!” you scolded him and he raised his hands in surrender. “My fault, luv. I forgot you were still brainwashed.” He murmured the last part under his breath. “Tell me ‘bout you. Tha’s all I wanna know ‘bout.”

You didn’t know what to say. Usually talk about how good God is suffices for people. No one ever really wanted to hear about you, they usually wanted you meek and quiet, submissive and innocent in your ways.

“I attended a purity ball soon after you left.” You raised your hand to show off the ring that adorned your finger as a symbol of your purity. “I thought it was the right thing to do. Everyone thought that we would get married when we got older so when you disappeared, I needed to wait for the right man to come along.” You didn’t sound as excited as everyone else around you was. Your mother was happy to dress you up in a white dress and your father was even happier to take your hand and claim you as his until a Godly man came around to take your hand in marriage. But it all just felt weird to you.

“I always though’ those things were fucked.” Hobie admitted. “Gettin’ married to ya dad so he owns you until another man comes around to take ya leash.”

“It’s not like that.”

“How’s it like then?” Hobie raised a pierced brow at you, waiting for a witty response only for you to fall flat. You shift your gaze from his. “It was my choice. I was distraught that you were gone, Hobie.” You twisted your ring around finger anxiously. “My whole life everyone told me that we were going to get married and suddenly you up and left and my life was spiralling.” You babbled, tears swelling in your eyes, overwhelmed by it all, overwhelmed by him so suddenly showing back up in your life with all these questions and opinions.

“You don’ think ya gonna marry me anymore?” Hobie reached out and traced a finger down the scant of your arm. You whipped away from him and wiped the tears before they could fall, looking back to him with hardness in that soft gaze of yours. It was hard to take you seriously with eyes like those and the pout in your lips. “That’s not something to joke about.” You ripped yourself away from him because if you didn’t, you would have shivered under his touch.

“Who said I was jokin’? Remember when would kiss back here after church. You were a little rebel back then.” He pointed to the treeline where the two of you would sit in the grass and innocently peck each other's lips, justifying it by saything the two of you would eventually get married anyway. It was innocent at the time but your face lit up, your cheeks burning with humiliation at the memory. You placed your hands over your face and shook your head. “We were children at the time. We didn’t know any better.”

“Why don’t we do that now?

“Hobie!” You reached over and slapped his arm. A smile stretched across his lips, a smile you always admired. It sparkled with a touch of mischievousness. “What is wrong with you!”

He got up off the swing. “The bible doesn’ say nothin’ ‘bout kissin’. Plus, we’re married anyway, by law of children’s imagination. Tha’s gotta count f’somethin’.” He began walking through the gravel and onto the grass towards the spot where the two of you would sit and kiss. He looked back at you, his expression asking if you would come with him.

You looked uneasily down at your hands with your rosary and your purity ring. He was right. The bible didn’t say anything against kissing before marriage and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t attracted to Hobie, with his sly smirks and teasing remarks. You stood slowly and made your way over to where Hobie sat, teasing you with an alluring smile and a hooded gaze.

You sat beside him, a great distance away with your rosary and your bible you brought along. You were so nervous you were shaking and Hobie was not blind. “I’m not tryna pressure you into nothin’, dove. It was all jus’ fun ‘n games.”

"I just wanna stay pure, Hobie. I wanna be untouched for my husband. I wanna be a good wife." You couldn't bear the idea of being tainted, of being impure. You shook with the fear of it, tossed and turned in the dead of night worrying over it, twisting and turning your ring around your finger.

You fell back in the grass, Hobie's figure leaning over you as you look at the sunlight streaming through the leaves of the trees looking overhead. You sighed with anxiety, grabbing fistfuls of grass in your hands.

Hobie scoffed at the notion. "You think being a good wife means you have to be a virgin?" You looked at him as if it were obvious. "Of course. I'm supposed to be pure and submissive for my husband. That's how I make it into Heaven."

There was something unreadable on on Hobie's face, an expression that bordered on anger and treaded on distaste. "Luv, you have no idea how…" he trailed off. Brainwashed you are. But he didn't finish. You were right. If someone wasn't open to the idea, they'd never hear you. He had to get the idea across to you in a way you'd understand.

"There are ways to find Heaven on Earth." He told you, laying down in the grass beside you. He lied on his side to face you, a warm hand tracing the round of your jaw with his fingertips to make you look at him. "I'll show you if you let me." His lips hovered over yours and for the first tips you did not retreat from him. Your mind screamed passage after passage at you but your body melted into his warmth and you relented when he pressed his lips to yours.

You were just so innocent. It would be so easy to show you a world of pleasure you never knew existed. You didn't even know how to kiss. You let him take the lead, let him press his tongue to the seam of your lips and nervously parted them to let him intrude upon your sacred body. This was sacrilege, the way his tongue found yours, something far beyond an innocent kiss. His tongue coaxed yours to move like his, gently and with fervor. His tongue piercing pressed against the chaste muscle of your tongue, untouched before in a way like this.

It was messy and uncoordinated, lips, teeth, and tongue all touched and caressed each other, teeth biting lips, tongues soothing the aftermath. Hobie chuckled into your mouth suddenly turning from timid to desperately seeking him out and suckling on his lip piercing, then his tongue, wanting him so desperately.

You moaned softly, a hot feeling growing between your legs that scared you. Did he know, could he feel it, the way you rubbed your thighs together? Was this sin? This feeling of warm wetness growing so steadily between your thighs?

Hobie brought his hand beneath your maxi skirt, his warm against your bare, unsullied thigh. He kept it there, his fingers gripping your flesh, thumb rubbing circles against your pink panties. He must be able to feel it, this feeling you had no name for but felt so good each time you pressed your thighs together.

This had to be wrong, a pleasure of the body, something Earthy, something that would plant you right in Hell. But if it felt this good…

Hobie was the one who first broke from the kiss, leaving you whimpering wantonly, your lips seeking out his until you realized just what you were doing. He was laughing at you and suddenly you felt exposed and embarrassed, biting your kiss-swollen lips. "'M sorry, dove. I ain' mean t' laugh. I just ain' expect you to get so into it." He reached up and pushed your braids out of your face and tucked them behind your ear.

You couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. "I just…I've never felt that way before." It was almost embarrassing to admit.

Hobie frowned a bit. "No' even when you touch yaself?" He's always been a bit forward with his questions but this one has to take the cake. You rolled away from him, so humiliated by his questions that you physically couldn't touch him with such an idea in your head.

"You've neva touched yaself?"

You shook your head. You never knew you could for one, your parents never allowed you to take health class in highschool, the idea of you touching yourself in recent years only made you resent yourself for conceiving such an idea and you had immediately went to the father about it to confess your sins.

Hobie was silent for a moment, thinking about something, you had no idea what, not until he spoke again. "You should come back to my place at the end of the week."

"I can't possibly. I mean– it's not right for two people at our age to be alone in one's house. It's a breeding ground for sin." You sat up with grass in your hair, tugging down your skirt that Hobie had lifted. "We can't, Hobie. It would be ungodly." As if what happened here wasn't just the same. The imprint of your bodies were still imprinted in the grass, pressed against each other, intimate in a way neither of you should have been.

Hobie got up after you and grabbed your wrist. You shuddered at his touch, the hot ache between your thighs making your legs feel weak or maybe it was just him. His lips were less swollen than yours but your gloss was smudged all across them, making you realize that if you went out as you were, you'd look like nothing more than a harlot. You'd have to take time to fix your makeup which was already light to begin with. Too much makeup would make you out to be a common whore too.

"Just think 'bout it, will ya? Jus' f'me, doll." He was so good at persuasion, those eyes of his could turn from predatory to soft and pleading so fast. You wonder how many people he's used it on, from his parents to innocent girls just like you he meant to completely tear apart and defile.

You've always been weak to him, even just a little. You recognized your Hobie in there, despite the clothes and the hair and the confidence. It's not that he's changed, just that he's found himself out there in the world wherever he's been.

"Fine… I'll think about it. But that's no guarantee that I'll go." Your voice wavered in confidence as he approached and took your chin between his finger and thumb and tilted your head upward. He looked between your eyes then down at your lips before bending down to kiss you once more.

You didn't resist him, not one bit. His tongue teased entrance to your mouth but never fully went there. His lips melded against yours, smooth as butter, so lightly you almost thought he wasn't there. His large hands found purchase on your waist, pulling you in close. You were still so awkward about it, you didn't know if you should do more. Kissing like this felt like sex, like sin, like something you shouldn't be doing. But he made it feel so good, made your guilt melt away against his lips.

You told yourself that there was no scripture that frowned upon kissing, that you weren't doing anything wrong. You had nothing to be ashamed of yet but you felt that Hobie had ways to make you do something wrong and make you not even realize it before it was already done.

"Y/n? Y/n, where are you?" You could hear your father calling you and immediately you placed your hands against Hobie in a panic and shoved him away from you, backing away yourself to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

Hobie smiled at you and used his thumb to clean up your smeared lipgloss. "Jus' think 'bout it, luv. If you come, I'll show ya what real Heaven feels like." You pulled away from him, from his tender touch against your face, holding your rosary-wrapped Bible to your chest. You felt if you didn't, he'd be able to see right through you, see the way your heart raced and leaped. Maybe he’d see how weak you were for him, how you were always willing to go along with his antics as children and now that you finally had him back, you’d do almost anything he asked of you.

“You should really stop saying things like that.” You murmured, marching past him to return to your parents before they find the two of you in another compromising position. Hobie watched your retreating figure, your hips unintentionally swaying with each step.

Fuck all these people brainwashing you, telling you these stories to scare you into compliance, denying you your own pleasure. The only reason he came back to this damned place was for you. He couldn’t care less about anyone else here. He’d take you, defile you, show you the pleasures of the flesh, show you the gates of Heaven right here on Earth in his bed.

His sweet, innocent, little thing. He’d have to show you all you were missing out on.

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown fic #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x religious!reader

817 notes · View notes

here-but-forgotten · 8 months ago

Text

you lost me. / valeria/wife!reader.

content notes — ex-wife!valeria. sweet alejandro. little shit rodolfo. mean valeria. plot heavy. el sin nombre foreshadowing. rudy weirdo rizz.

part one \ part two

A confident knock echos from the door through the walls, dancing around your ears as the noise registered, for you to finally walk to the door that had never been knocked before,

With a slender foggy window lending you a quick glimpse of the figure, you open the door, your eyes landing on a chest where you expected the eyes to be.

“Hello,” he starts, confident but still speaking volume, “Could I ask you some questions?”

You look up at him, blinking; not fully in a uniform but not in casual clothing. Lines around his eyes. Facial hair turning grey. Dark eyes. Intense eyes.

“Um,” You start, adverting your eyes from his, “Could I ask why first?”

He adjusts, halfway awkward, shifting his weight.

“That’s an understandable ask,” He answers, relaxing a little, “I’m Colonel Alejandro Vargas, I wanted to ask you some questions related to Valeria Garza.”

You pause, blinking.

“Your last name is what?”

“Vargas.”

You stifle an insecure giggle,

“I thought you said ‘Vergas’—“

“No—“ Alejandro cuts you off, letting a small smile escape from him, holding in a laugh, “no, God didn’t curse me with that.”

You let yourself giggle, covering your mouth and turning a bit away as he lets out the chuckle he held in, laughing with you.

“Sorry,” You laugh a little, finally taking a breath, “What are you asking about?”

He pulls his demeanor together, a bit more serious,

“If I have been told correctly, you are who she claimed to be her wife, yes?”

“At one time I was, yes,” You shift, “Not anymore.”

“Did she leave any sort of technology here?”

You tilt your head a bit, looking up at him.

“She did. Is that a problem?”

Alejandro sighs at your inquisition.

“I have some reason to believe she took something that could track her location with her when she has done work for me. If she did, there is a lot someone could gain from that if they did track it.”

You look aside, thinking about that damned dinged up phone.

“Would it be a threat to me?”

“I would say, without much other info, that yes it could be a threat to you.”

You don’t respond.

“I don’t know you, but I do know what has recently happened,” He starts, “If someone could track it, she could track it, and could track you.”

“Do you want me to give it to you?”

“If you are able, yes.”

You turn, leaving the door open,

“You.. You can come in, if you’d like.”

You move, his footsteps following you briefly and stopping as you walked further into the home, finding the half-held together phone that she left that you had kept in what used to be her bedside table. You stop, looking at the bed; the new sheets on it looked nice, it finally looked comfy, like somewhere safe. And theres a small pang in your chest, that the person who used to make it warm was gone, the person who was why the bed wasn’t just a humble full size, but,

it was for the best, and you told your chest that everyday.

You deserve someone who gives you the time of day, who makes time for you, even if they’re busy.

And you turn on your toes, walking back to the entrance way that the Colonel sat at—

Colonel Alejandro Vargas.

Col. A. Vargas

CAV.

“Do you think, by any chance, that you were contacting her with this phone?”

You look to him— his hip leaned against the counter with his arms casually crossed, his eyes gentle but alert, his expression once relaxed turned into his eyebrow raised.

“It is a possibility,” He murmurs, “It seems like the two of us learned a lot recently.”

“Valeria?”

“No, you and I.”

His stare is unwavering, not so assertive but ever confident, making you shift on your feet as he watched you.

“Yeah. It would seem like the two of us have.”

He lets out a small hum in response, eyeing the phone being held together by tape and faith.

“I’ve seen that one before,” He says, lowly, to himself more than you.

“She has a lot of phones.”

“Is that so?” he asks, watching you.

“Yeah, she probably had 5, at my guess now,” You shift, “But I know that you guys sometimes have a lot of phones—“

“2. We normally have 2.”

His gaze is a bit intense, not directed at you, yet it still sent a small shake through your body; there was a certain charm, yet that didn’t stop the intensity of his thoughts.

Silently, you offer the phone to him, looking up to him, soft blinks trying to pull him from his thoughts.

“Thank you,” Alejandro says after a moment in his thoughts, delicately taking the phone from your outstretched hand, fingers brushing yours softly; his touch is hot, like he was running on coals—

“Did she ever introduce you to any military personnel?”

“No.”

He raises his eyebrow at that.

“None?”

“No. I only found out about you from her accidentally saying something.”

Theres a type of pity in his gaze, maybe even guilt.

“Does she have any sort of surveillance on this property?”

“No. I don’t think she would come back for it anyway. Frankly, she hasn’t been back since she left.”

“When was that?”

“A week or so now.”

“Did she introduce you to.. anyone?”

“Not really.”

“Did that not concern you at all?”

His tone is gentle, lacking any judgement.

“It should have. But love makes you dumb sometimes.”

He tilts his head in an agreement, glancing down at the phone.

“Have you entered this phone or deleted anything off of it?”

“I’ve looked around it, but I haven’t deleted anything. It’s all as I found it.”

Alejandro nods, glancing off to the side for a moment, letting you watch his face; his hair isn’t really “done”, only combed back with fingers, some curls breaking free from pomade, curling around his ear.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” he says after a moment.

“I’m sure you’ve gone through worse.”

“I chose to go through worse. But you didn’t.”

You watch him, his words full of soft mercy.

“I suppose I didn’t, but I made it.”

He nods again, looking back to you.

“I’m going to leave you a number. You call it if you ever need something. Especially if she comes back to give you a hard time,” He explains, back to his colonel voice— you assume— not leaving much room for discussion.

You watch him, his movements are confident, leaving a small writing pad with the top sheet scribbled on, a phone number, a title— “los vaqueros”

“The cowboys?” You ask tentatively, looking up at him.

God he’s big.

Shush.

“I don’t have time to explain all of that,” He says, a bit affectionately, a little smile, “But if you need something, you call this without hesitation, okay?”

“What if it’s stupid?”

His eyes are a bit soft.

“It won’t be.”

His eyes leave you, looking at the counter, noticing the little shine on the countertop— still where Valeria left it.

“Did she really walk out and just leave her ring?”

You don’t look at it.

“Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes.

“She’s a walking headache.”

“She’s a charming walking headache.”

“I’m aware,” he grumbles shortly, not irritated at you.

“I,” you start, grabbing his attention immediately, “I don’t know what happened with you, really, but I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“She’s not your problem to apologize for anymore.”

“I know, but it still sucks to go through something like that, no matter who did it.”

His gaze is soft.

“You’re a very sweet woman.”

His eyes glance away from you, a bit awkwardly,

“I have one… thing to tell you, but it’s not fun.”

You pull a deep breath through your chest, crossing your arms over your chest,

“Rip the bandage off.”

Alejandro shifts, leaning against the counter, mimicking your crossed arms,

“She had that marriage license nullified, somehow, a while ago now. Maybe half a year.”

The news should rock you, pull through your bones, crush your soul a bit— but it’s hard to be disappointed by something you have no faith in.

You stand for a moment, letting the words set in, waiting for your stomach to fall, to crumble your very being up into a useless little paper ball, but it doesn’t come. Your head isn’t light. Your feet are grounded. Nothing sways your balance.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” You finally say, not looking at him.

Alejandro is quiet for a moment, tense.

“You’ve already told me to not apologize, but,” He pauses, shifting his weight to one of his feet, “That’s why I didn’t fight back, when she approached me. She told me it was long done.”

“You can’t control her bullshit.”

That pulls a laugh out of him, from deep in his chest, releasing the tension he held.

“Yeah, I guess I can’t.”

He shifts again.

“What’s more frustrating is there is other— falsified— paperwork that now says you’re dead.”

You shift, uncomfortably.

“So now there are documents that don’t line up. On one, you two have divorced— in the United States— and on another you’ve been dead.”

“What would she gain from lying about all of that?”

He sighs.

“I have no clue. I cannot, within my position, just assume things based out of interpersonal actions; however, I don’t think anything innocent would come out of that.”

“She didn’t falsify a death certificate, did she?”

“No. That’s what tipped all of this off.”

You finally move a bit, letting your body relax.

“Something is up with her. I have no idea what.”

Alejandro is lost in thought for a moment, staring at the opposite wall; you watch him, the gears turning in his head with a focused but somewhat serene expression, eyes slightly moving as the follows his thoughts—

“I should be going now. Please, use that number. There are dangers she could have exposed you to without you knowing,” Alejandro murmurs, walking to the door, you silently following him. You grasp the door knob as he enters the door way, your hand gently touching his back— the touch making him jump a little.

“Thank you,” You murmur, your touch leaving him resting your hand on the door, meeting your eyes over his shoulder.

“Of course.”

You close the door, watching his figure walk to a jeep— confident stride, nice body hidden under military clothes, gentle eyes—

Don’t you dare.

You breathe deep, moving back into the home, the sunlight twinkling in through the curtains, warm sunset light dancing like little figures, warming up the light in the room. His voice— his words— rattle around your head, her antics annoying you more than they were able to hurt you—

This has been long dead. It has been dead, since she seems to have officially killed it, but now the dead weight had been removed, like matted hair that couldn’t be saved. It’s been shaved off; it wasn’t fun, but now it’s better. You are better. You are growing back. You are lighter. You are able to breathe.

You turn on your toes, walking back to the counter to look at the pad with the number written on it; his handwriting, or whoever wrote this, isn’t bad but it’s not pretty. A bit slanted. Legible. You take the pad in your hand, feeling over the writing— written with a ballpoint pen— before pulling out your own phone, entering it under a quick little new contact, marking it LV.

If she gets to have cryptic contacts, I do too.

You place it back down, looking into the greater house, warmth flooding in the sunlight.

You think it should hurt more— something so momentous ending— yet it also makes sense. It died slowly. There is no cruel, fast pain in a slow death. There is slow pain, the type that slowly makes your joints go still, where your chests twists and breaks, piece by piece, like peeling off old paint. It wasn’t a quick death. There was no quick cut, no guillotine, no bullet, no knife. It was a slow poison. It was terminal. When you realize it’s dying, it hurts. You wonder what you did wrong. You blame every piece that you didn’t do on yourself, just to try to rationalize it. To try to make it make sense. But sometimes, death comes, and sometimes it is slow, and sometimes it is quick, but death has to happen. It has to. Death allows for rot. Rot allows for growth. Growth is new life. There is no new life without the rot that death provides. But there is still no less hopeless ending than death, if you are not looking for the new buds of flowers.

You breathe, escaping your thoughts for a moment, looking out the windows, sun pungent and powerful.

And it should hurt more, that instead of even growing up and coming to you to say she wanted it to end, that she decided to do it on her own, to cheat with two people, to just use you as a housekeeper until she came back, just to be a bedwarmer. But at this point, it wasn’t anything new. It was the first infidelity— that you knew of— and it was two cases of it, yet it wasn’t surprising. Disappointing, but not surprising. Disappointing as a situation, not disappointing for her. Theres a few sentences, a few conversations that haunt you, between you and her, still; when her attention was on you, she still spilled her rotten blood onto you, almost to temper you into it—

Things about her impatience with partner, things about how she really didn’t like talking about her feelings, how she found relationships as a distraction. How she never admitted her feelings, she just let them die. How she knew that work would always mean more to her than a relationship. And how she tried to shroud it in telling you how you were the exception— you were the one she would put work behind for, the one she’d admit her feelings for, the one she’d stay loyal for. Exceptions to a rule are delicate. And sometimes, they’re just a lie. And how she had no hand in picking out the house, she let you pick it out, like a dog picking their favorite kennel.

Your eyes leave the sun light, blinking the haze away as you notice movement outside, grabbing the notepad quickly— throwing it in a drawer quickly— and striding to the door, an all too familiar figure standing, not moving.

Moving away from the door, you tap the newly formed contact, moving to the bedroom as the phone rang against your ear.

“¿Hola?”

It wasn’t Alejandro.

“Um, hello,” You awkwardly start, the other person breathing a sharp breath, “Colonel Ve-Vargas gave me this number in case I needed something.”

There is a pause.

“Oh. You.”

Pause.

“Is something wrong?”

“Valeria Garza is back, and she has a man with her.”

Pause.

“Do not answer the door, and keep away from it. Hang tight. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you say in a softer voice, the other’s breath hitching at that.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then you’ll see me soon.”

Click.

Ominous.

His voice wasn’t Alejandro’s, something a bit more smooth about his delivery, ever slightly colder.

And so you moved to the bedroom door, silently closing and locking it, watching the covered windows for any movement. You sit on the floor beside the bed, as to not have your silhouette in the window, watching. Waiting. There is a soft distant noise of talking, Spanish, a bit rushed and irritated. Her Spanish. Romance languages can be many things, but she fully embraced the Roman cruelty in her words. Footsteps. Around the windows, tracing the house. Only two pairs of footsteps.

Until.

A bit of irritated shouting, from the door, following the footsteps around the house. You move along the floor, against the wall closest to the window, trying to listen—

“— do you think you’re doing?”

“do not lecture me—“

“go back to the cars. now.”

The same slightly grumpy voice, and hers.

You follow the trail, standing in the kitchen, keeping an ear out.

“I own this property—“

“Valeria, I cannot tell you how little of a shit I give. You directly disobeyed an order.”

“It was an overreach!”

“Don’t care.”

“Rodolfo—“

“That’s Sergeant Major to you.”

“I am going to stab you.”

“You won’t.”

Pause.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“Leave your gun then.”

“But—“

“I’m impressed you got someone who wanted to spend the rest of their life dealing with you.”

Pause.

“Leave the gun and I’ll let you speak to her.”

“What are you, my father?”

“If I was your father, you wouldn’t act like a fucking brat.”

Pause.

“I really want to kill you sometimes.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Knock knock.

You move to the door, peering to see a male figure standing outside of the door. You slowly open the door.

“hello?”

“Neña—“

“Shut up. I’m the one who spoke to you on the phone,” He cuts her off, “Do you want to speak to her or do you want her gone?”

“I can speak to her. I would appreciate if you stayed though,” You respond calmly, sweetly, looking up at him, his gaze gentle on you.

“I wanted to speak to you alone,” Valeria starts, her voice scarily gentle, keeping her tone even.

“I don’t want that.” You say firmly, the man standing between you and her. Another man hangs behind, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.

The man nods, staying where he was, but moving a bit to let you see Valeria.

“Do you not trust me anymore?” Valeria asks softly, her gaze soft. A trap.

“Do you think I’m that stupid?”

He snorts.

“I know I’ve messed up, but I miss you.”

“Okay.”

He cracks a small smirk, turning his gaze away from the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

“You can accidentally hit someone with your car and it’s still manslaughter.”

She rolls her eyes, her façade dropping for a moment, only to recompose herself.

“Can I come inside?”

You look at the man, his gaze both interested and bored, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. You move, pulling his forearm inside the house, his body moving stiffly at the movement, following you. Valeria shoots you a glare, following. The other man stands outside.

“Lovely, I really never noticed how bad we had gotten,” Valeria says, reaching for you as you move back, the man standing beside you, becoming a silent comforting presence, “But I don’t want it to be over.”

“I gave you as much as I could, and that wasn’t enough. So how would now be any different?”

“I can change.”

“Just between you and me,” He interjects, leaning towards you, inches from your ear, “She’s been a bitch since she was 8 and couldn’t find the tooth she had lost.”

You giggle.

“This has nothing to do with you,” She sneers, glaring up at him. He only shrugs with a slight smile.

“This is exhausting, you know,” you say, pulled together, calm, “you can’t start caring about something once it’s dead.”

“It’s not dead, it just needs to be restarted.”

You blink.

“Valeria, we’ve been dead for months.”

“We haven’t—“

“What about that marriage certificate mess?”

She pauses.

“It was for your own good, I don’t want someone finding you because of me.”

The mans head tilts a bit in your peripheral vision.

“Aside from us not legally being one anymore, you barely gave me the time of day. I could be right in front of you and you would ignore me. I was here the entire time, like a fucking little kid, waiting on you, only for you to never give me anything in return.”

“Relationships aren’t transactional,” She says, bitter. Thick with bitter. Patience running thin.

“No, they aren’t. But they do take work on both sides to work. And I can’t carry the weight of two.”

Valeria is quiet.

“I wish you had left me wandering about you, it would have saved me a lot of heartache,” you pause, “You made me feel like I was your world, then you ripped it away the minute I accepted that.”

“You like accusing me of a lot,” She snaps, the sweet glaze finally washed away, “I gave you everything I could.”

“‘Everything I could’ is disingenuous if you had to divide it three ways.”

Valeria sighs, deep, angry,

“If you would just fucking shut up for once and let me talk you would act right!” Her voice booms, flinch taking your gaze away, your head light as your thoughts block themselves out. You stand spinning, feet still but disoriented, and all of a sudden, you were small again. You were just polishing dishes to make her happy. You were throwing out that perfume you loved and she hated. You were waiting up until you fell asleep on the couch, only to wake up alone with dirty dishes to clean. You are small again.

“Garza.”

His voice cuts through the haze, confident, unwavering. His touch rests on your shoulder blade, weighing you back down on the uncomfortable reality.

“This doesn’t fucking include you.”

He sighs, his fingers gently rubbing your back, warmth seeping through your clothes.

“Could you act grown for once?”

Valeria is quiet.

“Your picket-fence has been sharp as knives. You never loved me. You wanted to collect the hearts you took.”

“I hate how you make me out to be the bad guy.”

“Valeria, I am tired of you. I am so very tired. You owe me so much sleep.”

“Why do you want to give up on us?”

You sigh. The two of you would just talk in circles until one of you died from exhaustion.

“Valeria, I could give you my heart and you would forget you had it. I could tell you time and time again the extent of my love and you would find no worth in it. I could drop everything to make a little piece of your life easier and it isn’t enough for you.”

“You were enough.”

“You say that like a faithless prayer. If I ever was enough you wouldn’t run to other people. If I was enough you wouldn’t have attacked me over a simple question. You wouldn’t assume that I was the thing that always hurt you. You wouldn’t only think of me first when something went wrong. And it doesn’t matter what I tell you, because I know you won’t believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“You haven’t believed me before,” You hesitate, the mans presence beside you evident, vulnerable, “I held out every night for you. I thought you’d notice me— not my body, not my wit, not my helpfulness— but me. And that never happened. I told you I felt bad, and I ripped my heart apart to try to get you to care, and the only thing you did with it was turn it against me. You told me I could lean on you then guilted me when I was too heavy.”

You shift, swallowing thick, trying to soothe your constraining throat,

“I remember when you acted like you loved me. You acted like I was your favorite toy, like I was the one you’d keep on your bed, the one you’d put in pretty dresses and kiss before bed. Then the minute— the fucking second— I thought you would be gentle with me, you ripped it all away. I sought after you day after day after day and I got nothing. And now I know, you had the chance to. I just wasn’t your priority.”

She stares. Your eyes tingle.

“I kept convincing myself the more attention and love I gave you, the more I’d receive. That when you didn’t reciprocate, you were just in a bad space. But it’s been years. There hasn’t been a day where I could just talk to you. And I’ve learned now you were spending them with other people. I’ve learned I’m the thing you keep in your back pocket when no one else will talk to you. I’ve learned that I’m the pretty toy you show off that you got just to throw me under your bed. I cannot imagine that you love me when I have never been what you wanted. Bad times come, but bad times don’t mean you run away from love. You go towards it. And you found it else where.”

You swollow again, choking on your own throat,

“I’ve been the stupid schoolgirl chasing someone who never looked me in the eye this entire time. And I feel stupid for it now, but I choose now to break out of it. You never claimed you love me so until we were dead and gone. You can’t dig up the corpse to hold it.”

There is silence. Your heartbeat. Your breathing. Valeria’s eyes burning into you.

“You kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath.”

Valeria sighs.

Valeria is quiet.

Her eyes don’t meet yours.

“Go back to base, Garza. Before anymore actions are taken over this.”

“You don’t get to be in charge of me—“

“I am. Go back.”

He stands, she stands, finally moving from her place, shooting a glare over her shoulder as she slammed the door behind her, the same pots hitting the wall in her wake. A car door slamming in the same manner. Ignition. The sound leaving in the distance.

You stood, crossing your arms over yourself.

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out.

The man beside you awkwardly shifts.

“I never got your name,” You say, a little croak in your voice.

“Rodolfo. Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

You nod to yourself.

“Thank you.”

He hums a quiet response, relaxing his frame.

“I haven’t seen many to go toe to toe with her.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I would say so,” Rodolfo glances past you, “She’s always had an assertiveness to her, but it devolves into brattiness if pushed enough.”

Quiet.

“Did you two have fights like that before?”

“We’ve had a couple. I joked I would call them the Great Wars. But now I just feel maimed.”

“If I had known about you earlier, I would have warned you earlier,” his voice is soft.

“Have you known her for long?”

“Yeah, grew up in the same area. I vomited on her at her quinceañera.”

“That was you?” You ask with a soft giggle, the noise pulling a soft smile from him.

“Did she still complain about it?”

“Yeah, yeah she did. I thought it was a little silly to still be mad about.”

“I did her a favor. I got her to take off that god-awful dress without having to seduce her.”

“I take it she’s never been able to charm you?”

“No.”

You laugh at that dry response, a comfortable little smile resting on his face, looking down at you with a certain gentleness.

“I don’t handle brats very well.”

You shoot him a curious look.

“Not right now.”

You glance away.

Quiet.

“Thank you for.. all of that.”

He nods.

“I would suggest you try to leave this place. She knows the location too well.”

“I…” You start, his eyes heavy on you, “It’s embarrassing, I don’t really have a way to do that.”

“Did she emotionally trap you to believe that she would be your sole provider while using that to control you in the way she wanted so you were pushed out of any career or financial independence?”

You pause.

“Yeah I guess, sergeant therapist.”

He snickers.

He stops, thinking over your words.

“If you would like, I can set you up living accommodations. No obligation to pay me back in anyway. No obligation to stay. How does that sound?”

“If you weren’t a pretty sergeant I’d say you were trying to kidnap me.”

He shifts a bit at that, flushing a little—

Is that blush?

“Well, If I did that, I’d have Alejandro down my throat. And it’s Sergeant Major.”

“Oh, you two are like that?”

He shoots you a glare.

“You have a dirty mind.”

You giggle, his face having another little smile break out.

“no, we are not,” he says with a head shake like a disappointed father.

You think, not fully clear, but the thought of Valeria randomly popping back up evident. You wouldn’t have to hear the door slam again. The walls rattling because you didn’t win the word game, or because you did. You could do your own dishes. You could strip her from you finally, pulling out the turpentine and mineral spirits, wiping yourself clean with Ivory.

“I think we could work something out like that,” you say softly, sweetly, looking up at him properly. Two moles. Soft eyes. Longer nose than Alejandro.

“You can call me Rudy, if you’d like.”

#valeria garza #valeria call of duty #valeria garza x fem!reader #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #angst #emotional manipulation #alejandro vargas #rodolfo rudy parra #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #tolerate it.#a kiss of weird rudy rizz

259 notes · View notes

cinnamonest · 6 months ago

Note

ohman ohman- listen-

I've been reading the kazu/scara/albedo/xiao posts (modern au or not) and it just got me thinking about how much stronger men are compared to women-

It's totally accurate how they end up dominating reader with their strength. Like I'm not weak at all irl, but god help if I can ever beat the skinniest dude in an arm wrestling match and these shorter and slim boys got me feeling all type of ways. Like OKAY, maybe darling still has a decent fighting chance with them vs with boys like childe etc but the formers' arms, hands, legs, fingers are still bigger and longer than yours dhdjsksj. For the incel ones (because they don't have that supernatural strength and all as in the canon AU) it might just be one of the few things that boosts their ego, lol!

So real omg I remember there was a point in time where like, I thought that guys were only stronger because they were bigger/worked out more and that if a guy and a girl were the same size and worked out the same then they'd be equally strong, and that scrawny guys were weak… as you can imagine I got humbled so fast lmao

(also thank you anon after the e-girl post I’ve been eager to make a post with all the modern AU boys :3)

Deeply in love with the thought of both parties having the gradual realization of just how drastic the male-female gap in strength is — a devastating slap in the face from reality for darling, and a euphoric power trip for him.

Especially with the modern AU for those boys, like… sure, you both know deep down that guys are naturally somewhat stronger, but neither of you realized just how much.

Society’s tendency to shy away from acknowledging the topic has perhaps left darling a bit naive…. dangerously so. Like, playing-with-fire levels of naive, cocky and bratty towards boys like them even after they’ve kidnapped you, thinking that well, they’re short, lean boys, so surely they can’t hurt you, and if they try you can just fight him off, right? It’s not like he’s a broad bulky guy, whom you’d actually have reason to fear…

You may get the chance to notice it more subtly at first — you watch as he picks up something rather heavy around the apartment and think to yourself how odd it is that there’s no strain on his expression, no grunting as one would do when performing physically strenuous tasks, in fact he picks it up and carries it over with a perfectly neutral expression, like it’s not even difficult… maybe it's just not as heavy as you thought…?

But it quickly proves to be what you fear — the reality is you have severely underestimated this aspect of sex difference.

Xiao actually has the most wholesome, tolerable version of this. He has a tendency for not verbalizing his thoughts, he just sort of… does things. One of the more common manifestations of this is that he just. Picks you up.

You’ve been sitting over there doing your own thing for a while like you requested, but now he’s lonely and sad and he wants you over there with him so he just walks over, locks his arms around you and suddenly your feet are off the ground.

He just sorta disrupts you from whatever you're doing and carries you like you're a limp sack of flour on a regular basis, setting (or throwing) you down wherever he wants you to be instead. It's easier than asking you to move. It doesn't even really occur to him that this surpasses your assumption of his strength capacity until you mention it… and at first he thinks nothing of it, but gradually, hearing you grunt in surprise each time you're hoisted upward and the way your feet kick outward actually starts to feel quite nice. A little ego boost, even if he's quieter about it than the others. He didn't realize he was so strong compared to you.

And then you start coming to him to get him to open jars and pick up things you can't, and while he does it all with the same fairly melancholy demeanor as always, internally it actually makes him very happy and prideful each time, makes him feel needed and important and all. He focuses less on the aspect of your weakness and using it against you (unless he’s mad), and more focuses on being strong and hoping that you like it, carefully coordinating efforts to show off in ways that he thinks are subtle enough to seem unintentional (spoiler: they’re not). Unfortunately, mixing protein powder into energy drinks does significantly impact their taste, but he views it as worth it. In the fantasies that play out in his head, maybe one day you’ll even outright tell him he’s sooooo strong in that cute voice like the girls in visual novels do.

Thankfully he's not too outwardly obnoxious about it, and he doesn't degrade you for it (again, except maybe a bit passive-aggressively, but only if you're being mean and hurt his secretly very sensitive feelings first, OR unintentionally due to his dense nature and consequent tendencies to make very blunt statements without thinking them through). He may or may not be deliberately tightening the jars each time he closes them to ensure you need him for it next time, though.

Scara is the inverse because he doesn't really see or emphasize it as himself being strong, more like you being weak.

But no, maybe he's wrong. At least in that case, he has his whole body weight to rely on keeping you down, so that's probably why it felt so easy…? Until then you're being whiny and bratty and he pins you to the wall instead, wondering why you're acting so upset yet not actually fighting him for real… then he realizes you are actually trying. You’re not just half-heartedly tugging in a whiny way, you’re like, actually trying to pull yourself out of his grasp, and giving it your all.

He's also caught off guard by it, early on. Here he had all these backup plans to subdue you if you managed to writhe your way out of his grasp or fight him off, but then in your initial struggle, he quickly realizes how incredibly easy it is to keep you pinned down, and no such plans are necessary.

…And that’s the best you can manage? Seriously? That’s how much weaker you are? It's almost astounding. The shock quickly transitions to pure amusement and satisfaction, and once this difference is discovered, he's going to use it to make your life hell.

He loves the newfound discovery, and actively exercises it at every opportunity. It scratches the itch of those sadistic impulses just perfectly and soothes any bruises to his ego, especially with how apparent it is that it upsets you, how you struggle harder and harder and your eyes prick with humiliated tears and you groan in frustration. So he just ensures he utilizes his superior strength constantly, always holding you down or grabbing you by the arm and keeping you in place, always holding you into uncomfortable positions in bed, and the more you struggle to no avail, the more he seems to enjoy it.

It's actually kind of hilarious too, how you can just be running your mouth and snarling at him one second and pleading and teary-eyed the next, forcibly bent over and held down with your face smushed against the countertop, begging to be let back up, trying with all your might to push your palms onto the surface and push yourself back up to no avail. Him mocking you the entire time doesn't exactly help you keep the tears in, either, but when you start crying it just makes things worse, since that's just used against you to tell you how emotional you are. Emotional and dumb and weak, girls are really such a handful to deal with, sigh…

You can tell how much he enjoys constantly reinforcing your awareness, reminding you of the difference, and it infuriates you — and the more it infuriates you, the funnier and more satisfying it is for him, and the more he does it, and the miserable cycle continues. The only way you were able to actually get some leverage was by insinuating that he only enjoys it because he needs the ego boost as psychological compensation for being so small for a guy… and while you know you're right, the resulting soreness was ultimately not worth the momentary satisfaction of saying so.

Albedo is the most obnoxious about it because one, he's the most acutely aware of it from the start and will make sure you are as well, and two, he finds the whole thing amusing. The man is whipping out the studies and Science™ to explain exactly why he has nothing to fear from you and why you'll never be able to overpower him. Blah blah skeletal muscles this, sexual dimorphism that, fiber size anaerobic muscular metabolic capacity something something… it's too confusing for you to understand, the only thing you know is how infuriating the smugness is.

It's cute to him that you initially have no concept of your inferiority. You still try and fight him and push him and take things from him, only to end up pinned down or hoisted up. Like a… dumb little animal of some kind, that walks right into an obvious trap or attacks its own reflection, is how he sees you. He has no issue telling you this either, he likes seeing how furious it makes you, knowing you can't do anything about it.

He's the worst about constantly applying this as much as he can specifically in bed, too. Keeping your hands pinned above your head, making a point to inform you that restraints aren't really necessary due to your physical inferiority. Telling you with that infuriating dry tone that if you hate it so much, surely you can summon the strength to break free… saying that always ensures you put on a funny little display of struggling.

He’s selective, though, about how he torments you, so the severity of how unbearable he makes the matter depends on how you react to it. His form of sadism is a quiet one, but still quite obvious with how he picks at your weaknesses — so if it’s something that doesn’t bother you that much, he’ll go for something else, but the more it upsets you to be reminded of how much stronger he is and why, the more outright insufferable he’ll be, ensuring you’re constantly reminded that it’s only natural — a smug gesture of faux comfort, disguised as reassurance of normality, but deep down you know it’s really intended to rub salt into the wound by reminding you that it’s essentially immutable, making you feel powerless. He’s a little bastard like that.

Although out of the four, it's by far the most amusing (or vaguely terrifying, for you) with Kazuha.

It's all so… subtle. He’s so sweet, so gentle in his voice and demeanor and mannerisms, and then you find yourself bristling as you watch him snap something in half, lift something, bend something, whatever, that you definitely would not have thought he should be able to. Something that makes you do a double take and sit there slack-jawed and wide-eyed while he continues to go about whatever he’s doing, talking about this or that in that soft voice.

And then when you watch movies laying in bed and try to wiggle away from his hold, the way you feel it tighten so hard you fear your ribs will snap, and he wraps his fingers around your wrist so hard your hand goes numb, you realize it’s not taking any effort on his end at all, he's doing it practically half-asleep.

Even though those incidents make you uneasy, he’s just so gentle-natured that it’s easy to forget and end up acting out at him yet again, getting mad and being a brat, you even go so far as to try and hit him — but he catches you by the wrist, holding your arm firmly in place.

Very firmly. So much so that, when you reflexively jerk backwards, you would have thought you were pulling against an iron chain. He doesn't budge. It makes your heart skip a beat, especially when you see the slight twitch to his smile.

And then you see his eyes widen just a bit. Perhaps surprised at how light your pulling feels, how little strain it causes him.

He never really addresses it out loud, but you can tell that he's increasingly aware from that point forward of just how big the strength gap between you is.

It's actually a bit insulting once you start noticing the shifts and changes — he doesn't tie you to the bed anymore when you sleep. Why would he? It'll be so easy to just pull you back down when he feels you move. You can easily tell that he's noticeably more at ease, he goes from having just the slightest detectable panic when you start to defy him or struggle to being completely unbothered, now that he's realized your defiance holds no weight. He starts a habit of giving you a little warning squeeze if you're making him too upset and being very very bad, just a light little tightening of the grip on your wrist or waist as if to remind you that you both know how much stronger he is than you, that your being very unwise to upset him… and you always notice how his smile grows when it shuts you up instantly.

It's honestly almost more infuriating that he does it all so quietly — you almost wish he would acknowledge it, but instead you get this quiet, unspoken realization and mutual understanding, a ‘you know he knows you know’ sort of situation, and with that mutual understanding comes your gradually increasing lack of defiance, a slow despairing acceptance… and you can tell it makes him very, very happy.

#.modern #I want to strangle them all #little bastards 😤😤#.miso

156 notes · View notes