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moralesmilesanhour · 4 months

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piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission:

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did.

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face.

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation.

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’.

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register.

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration.

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap.

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully.

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?”

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness?

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow.

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register.

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?”

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet.

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap.

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it.

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown.

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

You tap your nails on the table, thinking.

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too.

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?”

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face.

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother.

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler!miles #moralesanhour

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modelsof-color · 7 months

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About Willi Smith

Willi Smith was considered one of the most successful African-American designers in the fashion industry at the time of his death in 1987, and the inventor of streetwear. His label that launched in 1976, WilliWear Limited, grossed over $25 million in sales by 1986 according to The Guardian. Inspired by the fashion he saw on the streets and also his desire to shape it, Smith’s accessibility and affordability of clothing helped democratize fashion.

Born in 1948, Willi Donnell Smith grew up in Philadelphia with an ironworker father and a mother skilled in the creative arts. “I was Mr. Bookworm. I was the artistic child no one understood. But my parents supported me. If I was doing a little drawing, my father didn’t say, ‘Why don’t you play baseball?’... The family sometimes used to say there were more clothes in the house than food.” After his parents divorced, Smith’s grandmother, Gladys “Nana” Bush, stepped in to nurture him, a role she played throughout his life.

Smith studied commercial art at Mastbaum Technical High School and fashion illustration at the Philadelphia Museum College of Art. He found himself bored by the limits of illustration, always “changing the design of the dress [he] was supposed to be illustrating.” Through the connections of a family for whom she cleaned, Bush organized an internship for Smith with venerated couturier Arnold Scaasi. At Scaasi, Smith assisted in creating fashions for clientele like Brooke Astor and Elizabeth Taylor, learning form, fit, embroidery, and the power wielded by access to a certain type of dress—a crash course in elite levels of fashion and the clothes he didn’t want to make

His label, Williwear, was ahead of its time: mixing the relaxed fit of sportswear with high-end elements of tailoring. His clothes were not meant to be untouchable, catwalk-only designs. Although the term “streetwear” has been much chewed over recently, Smith’s more elastic definition of the term (bringing urban culture to the catwalk) has been incredibly influential.

His clothes were meant for everybody. He said: “Fashion is a people thing and designers should remember that. Models pose in clothes. People live in them.” Though he was inspired by New York City, he wanted people everywhere to appreciate the culture and inspiration of the city. “Being black has a lot to do with my being a good designer,” he said. “Most of these designers who have to run to Paris for colour and fabric combinations should go to church on Sunday in Harlem. It’s all right there.”

#people of color in fashion history #yes its a tag #a necessary one #i hope yall enjoy

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holyghostbelle · 2 months

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STEVE HARRINGTON MUST DIE

Its been a year since someone spread a rumour to you school that you've sucked off half the football team in one night. one year of catcalls, one year of graffitied lockers and bullying, so when you find out his majesty king Steve is behind the rumour its time to take drastic action against him. King!Steve x reader

chapter one:

SLUT is written haphazardly across your locker, the sharpie is smeared unevenly and you spit into a tissue hopping it takes even a little bit of the black ink off, your going to kill who ever keeps doing this, your promise you will, well maybe not kill, maybe throw a milkshake over them or paint on their car.

It's the fourth time this month and you grimace as the janitor moves you out the way taking a jar of rubbing alcohol to remove the lovely compliment across your locker, at least it wasn't the sherbet candy like last time, poured in through the crack of the door with spray with perfume, all over your fucking shoes, they stuck the the ground for a week.

Eddie leans across the locker next to you and smiles. “ they spelt it right this time” you smile remembering the backwards ‘s’ and extra ‘e’

“Idk i kinda like slute , felt french, come on freak were going to be late for art”

“Okay wench”

That's what you liked about Eddie, his light heartedness towards the shit you got from the cool preppy kids, it didn't matter if they insulted him or you for that matter, words were just words at the end of the day. But anything more and you'd both throw a punch for each other.

You sit next to each other at the back of class and paint. Eddies drawing some kind of monster with a head and jaws unhinged a Demogorgan? You don't bother to learn the name, apart from the fact he is totally obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons. You usually gossip or talk about music, mainly the music for your band. “Satanic panic” formed after the christian hate of all things nerdy.

Watched the exorcist movie? Liked a Metallica song? Took out a Stephen King novel from the library? Or do you carry a crystal around in your bag? Well bad news kids you're a satanist you've been possessed by the devil ! Come join the local gay hating church where we rid you of sins and put you in pressed yellow shirts and blue slacks, your sins will all be but forgotten!

“Are you coming to steves tonight?” Eddie grins, he shades in the mouth area as you collage words from the newspaper on to the cast of Baywatch.

“Yeah of course! I love watching the popular kids get drunk and embarrass themselves” you look over to Tommy and Carol sitting at the table next to you, there with other kids you don't remember the names of carbon copies of whatever stars have been making the rounds on MTV.

‘Ricks got the shit stuff in again but I'm gonna say it's skunk, you know ?”

"Good idea, saving the good shit for us huh?”

He laughs at you, and you gaze at the popular table, carols missing and then something splashes over the table and your hair is all wet , it drips off your face and stains your work and the table a dark red, you look up at her and she winces.

“Oh I'm so sorry” she pouts and then laughter fills the room. Eddie looks at you with concern, gripping at your arm to stop you from throwing a punch, you wipe your hair and grasp at her shoulder “it's okay i get it its a mistake” you smile and take your hand away leaving a red stain on her white cashmere jumper.

‘Oh im so sorry” you fake wince as if you didn't mean too and then you stand. You tower over her by two inches in your boots smiling as you walk away.

You roll your eyes in the corridor, going to your locker to grab an extra shirt.

You blindly pull yourself into the bathroom and witness the mess your left with, dark paint water stains your face like blood, your hair is a sopping mess and the shirt you have on its covered in lumps of paint, you shed the shirt leaving it on the floor before rinsing your hair and face under the sink, then your grab some tissue and rub at your forehead where the acrylic has started to dry. The door swings open and foot steps approach you.

“You're in the boys bathroom”

You turn your head under the sink to look at whoever has approached, it's the almighty, King Steve . Your eyes widen and you glance over the urinals in the mirror.

“Fuck” you squeeze the water out of your hair and rinse your hands quickly. Grabbing your shirt off the floor, you turn to exit. Steve grabs your arm and stops you.

“You're not wearing a shirt,” he grins and you look down at your chest, lacy black bralette covering you.

You look into his eyes as you shove the clean shirt on. He takes a piece of tissue and wipes the red from around your eyes.

“your pretty when you're not being mean”

You snatch the tissue out of his hand and throw it in the bin as you swing the door open.

“Asswipe”

“Slut!” he shouts at you, as you flick the middle finger towards him.

“He's kinda an asshole” Eddie sips his beer, hand wet with condensation, the paper label is already peeling.

“Who, Billy?” you gaze at the glorified Calvin Klein model of a high-schooler, his button up is undone and the crowd of girls are screaming as he does another body shot off sweaty tanned skin. He winks as he catches your gaze, licking his lips and gesturing you over your face shrivels up in disgust , shaking your head a very clear no.

“No, Steve” he mutters.

And then you glance at Steve. He leans over another senior high-schooler, glancing down into her eyes and you can tell that her legs are just about to wobble in anticipation. Her hair falls into her face and he pushes it behind her ear, calculated. She swoons and blushes hiding her face in her hands and then he pulls them away and says something. Whatever that is, it's enough because she's grasping at his striped shirt. Steve notices that he's being stared at and he meets your eyes, his hand waves and you scoff into your beer, eyes squinting.

You tuck your now clean hair behind your ear, “He's a slut yeah, he's not as bad as the others.” Your head cocks to the side as you ponder. You're standing in Steve's house, against the white wall, eddies made about 200 hundred dollars in the past hour from selling coke and weed to the local crowd, he doesn't tell you this but he always sneaks a twenty into your pocket before you leave.

“He broke Jonathan's camera like last year.”

“Okay but in his defence! I heard from Julie who heard from Carol that he was taking photos of that sophomore Nancy getting undressed, hiding in a bush”

“He's a bully, he plays around with girls hearts and he only invites us because i sell drugs”

“Okay so he's an asshole, but he's only ever called me a few names” you shrug sipping you beer as you look over to Eddie, his mohawk has nearly grown out from his punk stage and now he rocks a greasy mullet, his curls tucked behind his ears, you're happy you convinced him to not dye his hair pink, telling him he would get half as many girls as he already did, putting him into the negatives.

Eddie’s head looks down, his hand bushing back the tiny curls around his forehead.“Oh fuck-okay! Please don't kill me” he put his hands up in defence.

“Spit it out Munson”

“He's the one that started to the rumour that you sucked off half the football team last year”

You clench your teeth, squinting at Eddie before hitting the upside of his head.

“What the fuck Eddie you didnt think to tell me ? I was blaming Heather the whole time, I'm gonna go over there” your back parts the wall quickly in a fit of rage before Eddie's hand grabs your arm back and you meet the wall again.

“Don't fight him,Jesus!”

You clench your fists.

“Eddie, people still call me a slut, you know what happened today and I was told if I get one more mark on my locker I have to pay to get it painted over.”

Eddie sighs, staring at you as his eyebrows raise. "starting a fight with Steves not even gonna work, he wouldn't hit you, you're a girl”

“But you could” you smile “He's put me through hell for a year, all because of a stupid rumour.”

“If i hit the guy i lose business, look don't do anything drastic, please”

You smile at Eddie, it's mischievous, the smile takes up your whole face, your eyes are alert and you laugh to yourself.

“For fucks sake, Go on” he asks intrigued, eyes rolling.

“Okay, you make a bet with Steve"

“What bet?”

“Something like, i won't date him or say i love you, and then he gains a guilty conscious and tells me it's all a bet because he really likes me, and i tell him oh i knew the whole time, and hes like devastated bcs i was in on it and i don't like him”

“All because he told the school you're a cocksucker, what if he tells you I made a bet?”

You look at him in the eye and nod “for all the girls he's ever treated like shit Eddie, like really teach him a lesson, make that asshole think he can't do whatever he wants, you said it yourself, he's an asshole, besides he's not gonna tell me if there's something he can get out of it, Men like games”

“That's horrid and insane.” he smiles.

“What can I say, I'm a feminist”

Eddie sighs, and then laughs, “okay”

“Really? Oh my god, okay, I'm gonna go out for a joint, act really drunk tell him i hate him and then make the bet , and hit on the girl so she leaves or whatever”

Eddie slaps his face, shaking his hair and then chugs down the beer, he smiles and you watch him head over, you give Steve a dirty look, turn and head outside passing Billy's half naked body pouring shots.

There's a slight chill in the air, it's not warm enough for people to get in the pool this time of year so you watch couples hunching together on lawn chairs with blankets wrapped around each other. You glance over your shoulder, seeing Eddie point at you through the glass doors and then you catch Steve's eye, you play it coy. Lighting your joint and looking him up and down. You face the pool again. Wrapping your bomber jacket around yourself as the wind hits your face.

“Brought you a blanket.” you feel something get wrapped around your shoulders and you hide your smile. Looking up at Steve, he's just about six feet.

“Thanks” you say nodding. Inhaling your joint and blowing the smoke out directly on his face.

His eyes gaze up and down at yours and he leans against the wooden railing of the decking.

“Parties huh.” he sighs looking off into the distance one hand smoothing his hair back.

There's a pause “Oh! You don't like them?” you ponder, eyebrows raising. You hear the beat of the Bangles behind you, and a smashing of glass.

“Not really, but you know, gotta make appearances.” he shrugs.

“This is your house, Steve, you invited everyone” you laugh.

He looks at you, head cocking to the side and then he grabs your hand, his thumb rubbing softly against your palm. “yeah” he bites his bottom lip. And you blink through your lashes at him.

He takes your joint from your hand, breathing it in and then he just walks away. And you're utterly confused, you look at Eddie through the glass door who puts his hands up questioning and you shake your head confused eyebrows furrowed and robbed of half a joint, blanket hanging off your shoulder.

What the fuck.

“So I told him, you like to hate his guts” Eddie grunts, hand against the wheel of his beat up van, he inhales his cigarette and throws it out the window with ease “and he laughed like actually laughed and then said, No one hates me, this will be easy and I was like oh yeah wanna make a bet? and then he was like her?! Easiest three five of my life!" and then he left.”

“Wow, Dick oh I can't wait to ruin his little life. Rich cunt” you smile as Eddie pulls into the trailer park, parking at his trailer. He looks at you, sprawled across the car seat, your legs pulled up on the chair to avoid getting beer and fast food all over your white shoes.

“Well, what did he say?”he asks.

‘Oh shit! yeah, urm he said he has to make appearances at parties” you bunny ear at the sentence, laughing “and then i was like Steve this is your house, and he grabbed my hand and looked me in the eyes for like a minute, stole my joint and just walked off ? I’m so confused” You push your hair back out your face, snatching your bag up from the seat. “can i stay over tonight i way too high to drive home” you ask.

‘You know you don't have to ask, just be quiet, Wayne's sleeping.” he pats your thigh.

continue on

comment to be on taglist

#king steve x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things but not strange #stranger things

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shadowlali · 7 months

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ranch owner alejandro pining after the town pastor's daughter. she sneaks him out during a little soiree in celebration for alejandro's return after herding his cattle up north for sale. so ale being the gentleman that he is, refuses at first but brings her to his ranch anyway. they go into the homestead and they *CAR CRASH NOISES*

pastor's daughter

COD AU - Rancher!Alejandro Vargas x pastor's daughter!reader

[18+] wc: ~ 2.8k masterlist part two

warnings: NSFW, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance (reader can be picked up by Alejandro and he’s taller than her), POV swapping (hopefully easier to follow than my last work), pet names (mami, niña, traviesa), mutual pining, fingering, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex a/n: not sure if anyone has noticed but i am obsessed with writing the scent of the COD men. i had to look up the definition of homestead and i think its a farmhouse/ranch house? sorry if i got that wrong nonnie <3. tejana is a style of cowboy hats. traviesa means naughty (feminine). niña means girl/little girl but can also be used in romantic settings. niña traviesa means naughty girl

This was a bad idea. The church only wants to show their gratitude, but his collar feels tight and his pants even tighter. You walk around the patio in a dress that just about reaches the tops of your knees. Your soft thighs peek from underneath and it takes all of Alejandro’s strength to stay away. He can only watch from afar as you talk amongst the parishioners like a perfect little host.

This particular soiree is due to his recent and ongoing donations to the church after another successful sale of cattle up north. Alejandro tries to lie to himself, that he does this because he's a good, God-fearing man. That it has absolutely nothing to do with how after each donation, you hug him and press your warm body to his. It has nothing to do with how you kiss his cheek bordering the corner of his mouth and whisper your thanks in his ear.

Alejandro isn’t stupid; lustful, but not stupid. He can see the mischievous smiles you send his way, the lingering looks. While he might be tempted, God knows he is, you being the pastor’s daughter stops him every time. All hell would break loose if anyone in town found out the wealthy rancher was messing around with the pastor’s daughter. Alejandro can wonder what you look like beneath the pretty dresses and pink bows, but he won’t allow himself to touch.

“Alejandro,” the town’s pastor says as he places a hand on Alejandro’s shoulder, “gracias de nuevo. That money is going to help us so much.” [Thank you again]

He blinks as he faces your father, quickly focusing his attention on the conversation. “Of course, it was the least I could do.” Alejandro wonders if the pastor can read his mind, if his face shows any guilt or surprise.

“This church will look brand new by the end of the year and so many children will have new school books,” the pastor continues.

“Alejandro, always so generous,” you say while drifting over to your dad’s side.

“He really is, God will repay with much more,” the pastor says while saying a prayer. “I have to go speak to the other guests,” your father turns to you,”why don’t you show him the Sunday school classroom?”

“I can do that,” you respond while linking your arm through Alejandro’s.

His body stills at the touch of your hand but he lets you lead him into the church. The double doors are open and light streams in from the setting sun, illuminating Alejandro’s tan skin. He looks like a man, strong muscles from working outside everyday and big hands that can easily pick you up. The heat from his body roams over your skin, your nipples becoming sensitive and wetness pooling in your panties. Definitely not the reaction you should be having while in church.

You’ve wanted Alejandro from the moment you met him. He’s different from the younger guys in the congregation, more confident and self assured with a voice that holds so much authority. It's no surprise that the other single women at church try to flirt with Alejandro and get his attention, yet you know his eyes follow only you.

Being the pastor’s daughter means every aspect of your life is carefully monitored by your parents. From the clothes you wear to the way you talk, everything must be perfect. And it is, to an extent. You play the character well and no one suspects it's a facade. Beneath the bible verses imprinted on your brain and the modest dresses that cover your body is a deep ache. Something that you hope Alejandro can fill.

His voice is soft and low, ”te ves hermosa.” [You look beautiful]

You smile, even though Alejandro tries his best to keep you at arms length, sometimes he can’t help but give compliments or lingering looks. Now standing in the middle of the church, you take in the black cowboy boots, dark jeans, and white short sleeved button up. Each article of clothing fits his arms and strong thighs perfectly. He clears his throat and takes off his tejana to run a hand through his thick hair, red blooming on his neck.

“Thank you, you look nice too. Although, a little tired right?” You respond.

He hums in response,” Yeah, a little. Lots of work.”

You slowly mold your front to his, uncaring that the doors are wide open and anyone can walk in. You place your hands on his chest and run one up to caress the soft hair on his head right underneath his hat. Alejandro grabs your waist but doesn’t push you away. His eyes flick between your lips and back up to your eyes

“Your body must be so sore,” you voice just above a whisper.

He breaks eye contact to stare up at the ceiling, breathing deep. “What are you doing, traviesa?”

You continue, ”Wouldn’t it be nice for someone to massage all the pain away from your body?”

A small groan vibrates in his chest when you place a light kiss on his jaw. Alejandro closes his eyes and grips you tighter but doesn’t respond.

“My dad brought out the good wine. Soon no one will care or remember where we went–”

“This is a bad idea.”

“If you take me back to your ranch I can show you how much of a good idea this is.”

As he opens his mouth, you hear voices approaching the doors. He gently pushes you off of him and you think he’s going to walk away but instead he grabs your hand and leads you out the other exit. You both manage to exit the building without being noticed by anyone else. He walks quickly to his truck and unlocks the doors with the keys from his pocket. Alejandro swings open the passenger door and motions for you to get in. Before he closes the door, he glances back at the church for a few moments.

“Alejandro?”

He turns back to you and closes the passenger door. He walks around the truck and jumps in the driver’s side. His ranch isn’t far, only about a 10 minute drive. You can’t exactly read his thoughts. He holds your hand in his much bigger one, but his eyes stay on the road and he doesn’t say anything else. You decide to stay quiet too. The drive is soon over and Alejandro parks the truck in front of his ranch.

“This is a bad–”

You roll your eyes,” So you keep saying. Then what are we doing here, Alejandro?”

He finally turns to look at you, his eyes sweeping the entirety of your face. He nods once and yanks you over to him, your tummy pressed against the center console and his hand cradling your skull. Finally, Alejandro’s lips meet yours. Despite how desperately he grabbed you, the kiss is soft. It’s nothing like you were expecting. His lips are plump and his trimmed beard tickles your sensitive skin.

You kick off your shoes and unbuckle the seatbelt, breaking the kiss to climb over the center console. Alejandro groans once you land in his lap and he unbuckles his seat belt as well. You fuse your mouths again, this time more overcome with need.

His cologne isn’t strong, but you can smell cedarwood mixed with his sweat. You breathe deeper, loving his scent. Alejandro wraps his hands around your lower back and pulls your hips in closer. Your dress slides up and you land right on his hard length. Whimpers leave your mouth as you gently rock into his lap.

With your hands on his neck you can feel the rapid pulse of his heart under your thumb. You keep grinding your clit against the rough material of his jeans, most likely soaking them. Alejandro presses his tongue to your bottom lip and you open your mouth, pressing your tongue to his.

It’s entirely wet and sloppy and desperate but this kiss is exactly what you need. He moves a hand to grip your jaw and begins to nip a path down to your neck.

“Mami,” he drags out the word, "I've wanted this for so long.” Alejandro’s licks and presses small kisses on your neck.

“All you had to do was ask,” you moan.

“Lets go inside, yeah?”

You nod quickly and move off his lap to press against the center console. He opens the door and gets out, a wet spot present on his jeans from where you grinded down. You begin to reach for your shoes but he grips your thighs and you get the message.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and link your legs around his lower back. Alejandro is strong, carrying you with no issue. You kiss and run your nose over his neck wanting to be as close to him as possible. Without dropping you, he unlocks the front door.

“We’ll go up to my room–”

“No,” you whine, ”I want you now.”

He kicks the door closed and walks fast at your words until he reaches the living room. You unlink your legs to move to the couch but he stops you, spinning you around and making you bend over the armrest.

Your face lands in one of the pillows as he flips up your dress and yanks down your panties in one fluid movement. Alejandro touches and pinches the soft skin on your ass before landing a quick slap.

He watches the recoil and does it a few more times, slap, slap, slap, loving the moans that fall from your mouth. He kicks open your legs and watches your pussy open like a flower. It glistens with your arousal, swollen and pretty.

Alejandro watches your hands grip the pillow the moment he sinks a finger into your warm entrance and places another hand on your lower back to hold you down.

“Qué niña tan traviesa,” he says as his finger curves inside of you,” if only your parents could see you now.” [What a naughty girl]

He plunges another finger inside, twisting and moving them faster. “Hermosa, and perfect,” he bites out, ”just needed someone to ruin her, yeah?”

You bite the pillow, tears pricking the corner of your eyes with each plunge of his fingers. You manage to stutter out a yes, oh God, yes before you’re back to drooling on the pillow. You can hear him laugh behind you and press himself closer. You don’t have much room to move with Alejandro’s hand pressing on your lower back.

Your swollen clit begs for just a little attention. A few swipes with his big fingers and you’ll come instantly. You were already close in the truck, and you can hear the obscene squelches of your pussy and his fingers.

Before you ask, he drops to his knees behind you. His fingers keep moving and you feel the gentle touch of his tongue on your clit. You jump at the sensation, attempting to grind back on his tongue but his hand stops you.

“Stay still or I’ll stop.”

You listen to him. He moves his hand from your lower back to grip your ass cheek then flicks his tongue on your clit. The arousal drips from your little hole down to your clit, giving him a taste of your sweetness.

Alejandro decides to be selfish, moving his tongue up to gather more of your taste, knowing you're close from the pulse and flutter of your walls on his fingers. He can hear you begging above him, por favor, por favor, por favor.

Alejandro moves back to your little button and flicks his tongue repeatedly. You tighten around his fingers and your body begins to shake. You let out a scream into the pillow as you feel warm shocks spread from your core.

He doesn’t stop you while you grind back on his face, pussy swollen and overstimulated from his tongue and beard. He lets up once you move your hips forward and reach a hand down to push him away.

Alejandro stands back up, wiping his face with his clean hand. He unbuckles his belt and drags down his zipper, releasing the tension on his dick. He grips himself with the hand still covered in your arousal and pumps his length.

He presses the tip right at your entrance and pushes in a tiny bit. You try to rock back into him but once again he stops you with a hand on your back. You lift up your head with a whine.

“Alejandro, please.”

“Please what, niña?”

You groan, frustration burning in your chest.

“Come on, traviesa,” he mocks, ”what do you want?”

He keeps rocking into you, the tip breaching your entrance but not quite pushing in.

“Please fuck me! Please, please –”

Alejandro thrusts in with one swift movement, sinking all the way into you. You bite on the pillow and groan deep within your chest. He stills, hands gripping your hips. Your walls pulse around his length to adjust to his size and he lands another slap to your ass.

“No te muevas, no te muevas, ¡no!” He repeats through gritted teeth. [Don’t move, don’t move, don’t!]

You can’t help it, you flutter around him and rock back. He lets out a pained breath and slowly slides out before roughly thrusting back in. Alejandro claims every inch of your pussy with each deep thrust. He starts slow and once he’s found a good rhythm, begins snapping his hips faster. You’re delirious and stretched to your limit, screams muffled by the pillow.

“Niña tan perfecta, ruined by me. What would everyone in Las Almas think if they saw you? If they knew how wet you were for me, hmm?” [Perfect girl]

You jerk back and squeeze around him.

“Mierda – you’d, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alejandro continues.

You’re too cockdrunk to respond and can only manage to whine his name over and over. The longing looks, teasing, desire burning in your stomach every time you saw Alejandro; it all led to this moment.

This beautiful moment where his cock fills and marks you from the inside. You can feel the mess you're making, slick covering your inner thighs and his base.

Alejandro feels the heat claw in his lower stomach. He won’t last much longer plunging into your wet pussy.

“I, I need you close, hermosa,” he says as he reaches a hand to rub your clit.

He gathers your mess with two fingers and brings it up to your button. Already too overstimulated to think, you unravel underneath him. Drool comes out of your mouth as it opens in a silent scream. You quiver and shake around him while he plunges into you.

Alejandro’s vision flashes white and suddenly he’s spilling thick cum in your little hole. Each snap of his hips is hard and rough until he empties himself completely. He pulls out slightly to see the mess he made inside of you.

With the small amount of energy left in his body, Alejandro stands you up, takes a few steps and lands with a thud on the couch, never once slipping out of you.

Your back presses against his front and your thighs are spread on either side of his legs. No words are said in the next moments, only the sound of heaving breaths heard through the living room. His hands move to caress your thighs and you lean your head on his shoulder.

“Okay?” Alejandro asks.

You turn and press a kiss to his jaw, ”Amazing.”

He lets you rest for a few more minutes before he ushers you into the bathroom. With a washcloth he wipes the tears and sweat from your face. He cleans up the slick and come that drips out and then makes you sit on the counter while he changes his jeans for a clean pair. You don’t notice him pocket your tiny panties.

“We need to get back,” he says as he places a soft kiss on your forehead.

You have a happy smile on your face as you begin to feel the ache in your core. You’re going to need a long soak in the tub once you get home.

“Let’s go,” you say.

Alejandro carries you bridal style back to the truck and you put your shoes back on. Soon, your back at the church, cars still in the parking lot. After checking your reflection one last time in the mirror, Alejandro leads you back in.

“Where have you two been?” Your father asks as you and Alejandro walk back out to the patio.

He’s sitting on one of the chairs with your mother and a few other parishioners. You can see a few bottles of wine now empty and cups spread across the table.

“We were –,” Alejandro begins.

“I was showing Alejandro some of my favorite bible quotes in your office. I guess time just... got away from us.”

“Que dulce, mi niña,” your mother replies. [How sweet, my girl]

A few others happily agree, not suspecting a single thing.

“Que dulce,” Alejandro says as his hand rubs your lower back.

#alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #alejandro vargas #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

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cinellieroll · 1 month

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☆ random aot headcanons!

eren, armin, mikasa, sasha, connie <3

cw: modern au, slight angst but nothing too graphic. there might be grammar errors too bc fuck proofreading honestly

small note: so the reason why i took so long to post is because i had to do a lot of things and my old draft got fucking DELETED and that affected my motiviation to write so...im so sorry 😭

armin:

- during armins childhood he used to be scared of dogs until he came over eren's house often. his fear of dogs eventually disappeared. (i hc that erens family had a dog that time and its a german shepherd)

- armin has had his own small shelf of books ever since he was a baby! he got his bookwork attitude from his father.

- meanwhile he got his manipulating skills from his mama (and no i don't mean this in a bad way. armins mom is a girlboss.)

- went to church every sunday when he was young till his early teens. eventually stopped because he became more and more devoted in school.

- every year he looks forward to vacations the most because thats where he gets to visit his other relatives in the province! they live nearby the ocean and armin always receives trinkets and seashells from them.

- if you ever get to live with armin expect a lot of magnets on the fridge. especially if they're beach related like seashells, squids and fish!

- always has chapstick everywhere he goes especially in school because he has a bad habit of biting on the skin on his lips.

- loaded with stationery bro like you name it, he has it

- he's kind of a picky eater and also has a few allergies like shrimp or a specific fish.

eren:

- had a lot of game merch as a kid. minecraft, fortnite, etc. you name it, he has it.

- very much a computer addict during his teenage years. his parents constantly scolded him for it and they eventually got tired of scolding him lmao

- has been sent to the guidance quite many times because of his recklessness. like every fucking school year you'll hear my boy in the guidance.

- the fact that jean has teased him way too many times because of it doesn't help

- one of those bitches who turns their pfp into a black screen and posts on his story "hiatus." then comes back the next day

- mikasa was mainly the one who taught him to drive, including levi

- road rage thats all im sayin

- during elementary and highschool there's never a day where he doesn't fall asleep in class. usually falls asleep in math or history

- always compares heights with mikasa to sew if he finally grew taller than her

mikasa:

- entered her goth phase once she reached highschool

- from other peoples perspective, they'd think miksasa would be a smoker but in truth she actually hates it. one of her main priorities are self care after all

- very strict with her work out routine. she can't miss a day of it unless it's her cheat day

- her cheat day is like once every 3 months bro

- but it's good for you because she lets you join her. if you're lucky she'll let you sit on your back while she does push ups ;)

- joined jujitsu and taekwando with eren when they were younger

- started walking to school by her own or with eren and armin when she turned 15

- always rolls her eyes or side eye people unintentionally

- very protective of her girl friends. if you're close enough with her she'll always accompany you everywhere like how she does with eren. she's constantly asking where you are on weekends and on school days she'll be waiting for you outside your classroom breaks.

sasha:

- enjoys and i mean ENJOYS going to the mall and always look forward to cinemas. she'll invite all her friends for a good movie date!

- her favorite genre is horro and likes to watch conjuring with connie.

- her favorite color is purple and yellow!

- another one who falls asleep in class alongside connie

- after school convenience store hangoutd are very common when you're friends with her!

- if you're in a friend group with her and you feel left out, she'll most likely be the one to notice.

- no worries, she'll make you feel right at home!

- (istg this is the reason why ppl cry over her death i lub her sm..)

- very loud and obnoxious laughs but its okay because it's sasha

connie:

- is a basketball varsity student! to be honest he likes every sport where he gets to run and jump alot because it "fuels" something inside of him

- no school items whatsoever like he lost all of them after a month. he prays for the best and just picks up pens and pencils on the ground.

- always does bets with his friends. usually consists of who will treat everyone free food after school

- likes banana icecream / popsicles. like the ones where you peel it and stuff. also a slurpee lover. dude he just buys anything he finds delicious in the store

- sings out loud in the hallways when he's in an especially good mood. bro he got scoldes by the teachers once

- mainly teases jean out of all his friends but i feel like thats already canon

- HE DOES THAT THING THAT OLDER BROTHERS DO WHERE THEY BLOCK YOU AND DO A BASKETBALL MOVE ISTG ITS INFURIATINGGGGG

- also glides his hand on the ceilings when he gets the chance

- his bag smells like ass

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fategoflatass · 3 months

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I used to be so against the slow burn trope. Not because I thought it was shit; it's just, I usually don't have the patience to wait whatever-amount-superior-to-three damn chapters for my dear ship to finally be able to look at each other without blushing and/or hold hands. Thus why you often times see me reading oneshots or fics with the "Established Relationship" tag on them.

So you can imagine just how surprised—or maybe not, maybe I just didn't think enough about it—I was when I realized my newest fixation's main pairing is—canonically—the embodiment of slow burn. Because holy shit they're taking their time.

Nothing against how Kusuriya develops its love story—quite the opposite, actually. The relationship between Jinshi and Maomao, two characters that are written as beautifully as their romance, is a rather realistic approach as to how the same or a similar dynamic would developed in real life. In such a complicated situation, with such complex feelings about emotions—both external and their own—and attachment, makes sense that it takes so long for the relationship to finally sail.

The problem is, I didn't know I was signing with the Devil the moment I decided to pick up the light novel. Ten volumes and nothing has happened. Nothing.

And you can say that technically things have happened, because they have. I mean, Jinshi is just so desperate for Maomao to give him the time of day, you know what I mean? And even that isn't enough anymore and thus he has committed some of the craziest shit I've seen in any romance. Which okay, I don't usually read these type of romances but still.

What I mean by "nothing" is just, their relationship hasn't changed status. I could also say that it seems to go nowhere, but that'd be lying. Since, you know, it has changed quite a lot—just not in the way my impatient ass wanted it to. Because he can be as honest with his feelings as he pleases, and those around them might be heavely conscious of the tension and thus constantly tease those lovebirds (as they should), but babygirl's not helping, you know?

And I get it, Maomao's not the best at expressing and understanding herself, and she's also way too busy worrying about going as unnoticed as possible (she should give up on that one already, tbh) while keeping her head where it should be. But like, I can't help feeling frustrated over it like ‼‼

GIRL, FUCK THE RULES. TAKE THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A MAN AND RUNAWAY SOMEWHERE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO IDENTIFY YOU. YOU THEN CARRY THAT BITCH BRIDESTYLE TO THE CLOSEST CHURCH AND MAKE HIM YOUR WIFE. PROCEED TO FROG AROUND, EXPERIMENT WITH YOUR UTERUS AS MUCH AS YOU'D LIKE, AND THEN TEACH THE PRODUCTS OF YOUR PRACTICES AS YOUR OWN GUINEA PIG THE WAYS OF HERBAL MEDICINE. AS EASY AS THAT.

But she won't. She'll take her sweet ass time being in denial about both Jinshi's and her own feelings, then maybe she'll proceed to analize herself and find out that maybe, just maybe, that affection that she'd been feeling for that loser became something else. Did said affection also become something more complicated? Absolutely. Does she know how to deal with it? Hell no, but fuck it. If I learned something from school is that you always leave the hardest parts for later.

Now you see why I was so against reading slow burn?

And you wanna know the worst part? I loved it—I loved every second of it, every word, every page. Every scene that seemed to help the relationship advance, only for Maomao to say nope and leave like she owns the place, which at this point she fucking might.

It feels like I, as the reader, am in the middle of a heatwave and some sadistic bastard won't stop teasing me with ice cream—they put it in front of my face, close enough that I can smell the cold. Then take a spoon and eat little by little while staring directly to my eyes. At times they seem to show mercy and feed me a spoon, only for it to be a rather small quantity of serving—serving that tastes so damn good at first, only for it to have such a bitter aftertaste. But if I gotta have something in common with Jinshi is that I'll never be able to beat the masochist allegations, so I'll wait patiently for the next spoon and its corresponding and seemingly enless teasing from that faceless being.

So yeah, I'm still against it, only that now I understand the appeal—even if I have yet to find out about the whereabouts of my sanity while still mananing with the little I've left.

#kusuriya no hitorigoto #the apothecary diaries #jinmao #mai.txt #long post #rant #?#did i just write a rant about a realisticly slow burning romance? yes #please understand i've no one to complain to about them #so i better let go these feelings before i explode and throw my pc out of the window or something #i tried being as spoiler free as possible but please tell me if i should change anything about... whatever this is

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k-s-morgan · 4 months

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This is a belated post where I wanted to briefly address the outcomes of 2023!

While Ukraine mostly faded from the stage of world's news, unfortunately, the situation didn't get better for my people. Every day Russia kills, maims, and ruins everything it can touch. Every day civilians die from its imprecise missiles, random shootings and artillery, and outright executions. I often see that those living in other countries call this Putin's war, but it really isn't. This is the war sponsored by Putin and his regime, true, but first and foremost, this is the war of Russian people. It's hundreds of thousands of Russian people who arm themselves and go kill our defenders and our civilians. It's Russian people who fire from tanks and other deadly weapons to ruin the Ukrainians' homes, to scorch our land, to leave nothing but destruction instead of cities and villages. It's Russian people who build the missiles, load their bombers, and fly for 5+ hours to direct them at our cities, homes, factories, and even empty fields.

This is me during one of the latest massive attack that took place on January 2. At first, at night, 35+ Russian-Iranian drones bombed us. Then Russian people sent about 100 missiles at us, mainly at my city Kyiv.

Our air defense system managed to intercept the majority of them, but while it sounds like interception is an entirely positive thing, it might have terrible consequences. Because the parts of the missiles fall down randomly. They can kill any human or creature walking down the street; they can collapse on top of a residential building. There is no escape, no way to feel safe even with the best air defense systems surrounding the city. Here's one of many disastrous results of this attack.

Dead and injured people and animals. Damaged and lost apartments.

On December 29, another attack killed over 30 people in Kyiv alone. You can see their faces below. They deserve to be seen and remembered.

This is a short story of just two latest attacks that took place just within one week, just in one city. Imagine how many of them me and my people lived through during the entire year? How many more we will have to experience?

Actually, we lived through another one before I finished writing this post. It happened on January 8, and it killed even more civilians.

I know that there are good, sane, compassionate Russians. I have some relatives among them. One of them, my aunt, can't keep herself entirely silent: she's deeply religious, and a few weeks ago, in a church, she risked saying that killing Ukrainians is bad. Another man told her that she's scum and that if she dares to open her mouth again, he will report her to authorities. The headmaster of a school where my aunt teaches was imprisoned for 7 years for refusing to hold a Z-event among students. Living there must be a torture of another kind, where you are surrounded by zombies who openly promote terrorism and bless missiles sent to kill other human beings. The problem is that sane and compassionate Russians are the minority - the vast majority is happy to either kill us or they support those who kill us. Or they simply don't care, trying to claim that everything is complicated when in reality, there is nothing complicated about it at all. Russia is a terrorist state and the world allows its people and its government to keep being monsters.

Seeing the indifference and impotence of seemingly powerful countries makes me increasingly concerned and depressed. At this point, I don't think I'm simply affected by my experiences: the world is rapidly going to hell, with terrorist countries like Russia being allowed to revel in their blood-thirstiness and the other terrorist countries, like North Korea, or potential offenders like China, observing and taking notes. When a criminal sees that no one is punished for a crime, they escalate. More criminals appear. This is what I feel is going to start happening more and more, until half of the planet is plunged into death and destruction. I'll be so very glad to be wrong.

On a personal note, I lost my most beloved pet pigeon Daikiria in 2023. I love her and miss her so much that I still cry whenever I think of her. In turn, I acquired a red nightmare of a rabbit who eats everything, including my feet, and two more pigeons. Taking care of them brings me joy - I only hope that my effort will actually benefit them.

Here's a pigeon that I named Noveria the day I found her, in a video I made for my vet. Attacked by a cat, bleeding all over, with broken ribs and a missing piece of her wing, with no tail:

Here is she now. She is feeling much better, although unfortunately, she got sick because of her weakened immune system.

My kitties continue to be adorable dorks. Here's me sleeping with my cat Tom after one of the attacks - he's really scared of loud sounds, so he sleeps like a rock afterward, just like me.

My family stays strong, and I hope we will remain to be so.

Writing stories remains a huge source of relief and distraction to me, and your support, love, and care give me strength even when I feel like I'm about to run out of it.

Thank you to those who support me on Patreon and give me a chance to have a safety net shielding me from some of the horrors and insecurities - thanks to you, I can rest sometimes when I would have to work instead; I can afford some more distractions and to write more as a result. Thank you to those who leave comments, kudos, asks; thank you to my friends who never fail to message me with questions about my well-being. I love and I appreciate you tremendously, and despite all my fears and worries, I hope that we will get to see a better future still.

#personal #ukraine #kyiv #kiev #russia is a terrorist state #my fics #thank you

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agendabymooner · 9 months

Text

indigo ! pierre g. x ofc (singer!ofc)

"first to one-up your last, (s)he can stay in your past."

summary: a certain pierre gasly shouldn't be jealous over a high school sweetheart, and ensley made sure to remind him that. OR no amount of subtweeting from an ex-boyfriend can deter ensley's love for the alpine driver

content warning: ex-boyfriend (fictional), use of explicit language, allusions to smut (no smut, i can't do it guys), slight insecure!pierre, pierre is a boba fan, ofc and other drivers in a private twitter account, pierre and ensley being h0rny on main, chatfic + tweets, rare british youtubers in the comments

note: someone should have the audacity, and it will be ensley and lester :)

masterlist

tagged ensoleil

liked by willne, landonorris, estebanocon

brianimanuel look at my lil frenchman being cultured and all 💗 liked by pierregasly

user1 "my lil frenchman" 💀

willne i feel like i shouldn't be here

ensoleil we don't recall asking william :)

pierregasly bebe that's not very nice

ensoleil my bad bub sorry william

user2 y'all telling me ensley listens to the person she didn't even like before???

user3 this dump is giving "pierre is an exhibitionist" liked by pierregasly

user3 pierre?! what does that mean?

user4 i need to touch grass (or they do)

user5 pierre's the kind to pull her by the hair then kiss her whenever someone tries to eye her liked by pierregasly

user6 PIERRE PLEASE TOUCH SOME GRASS

landonorris you think this dump is bad try being the photographer of the said photos liked by pierregasly

maxfewtrell i second that

yungfilly i third that

willne so it's not just me?? our group therapy session's about to be mad lads

user7 not the group therapy sesh 😭

charles_leclerc mon dieu, there are kids in this app, calamar 🥲 liked by pierregasly

ensoleil too many to unpack because he packing frfr

charles_leclerc go to church and indulge in some holy water.

tagged pierregasly

liked pierregasly, brianimanuel, willne

user1 "big dick is back in town" 😩

niko do you have that shirt available for me?

ensoleil no sorry, it's only reserved for one man

wroetoshaw oh so you're not even going back to your flat in uk for a frenchman? 😒 liked by ensoleil

ensoleil ain't you french?

wroetoshaw i'm from guernsey?!

ensoleil same thing

willne i thought i lost that shirt 😟

ensoleil it was never urs

estebanocon i already get enough of this in the paddock

ensoleil sorry bestie you'll get more of this in your timeline :)

estebanocon its ok i like you two together anyway

brianimanuel look at our moneymaker 🥰 liked by ensoleil

pierregasly i prefer the word "muse" but thank you bb

yukitsunoda0511 look at our boyfriend liked by ensoleil

ensoleil i know right?!!!

pierregasly i didn't agree to this 😭

pierregasly if he tries to post about you one more time my dump photos will be even worse liked by ensoleil

ensoleil make him cry ig 😩😉

pierregasly oh i will, mon bebe

bonus !!!

JOJI JUDGES ENSLEY AND RICH BRIAN'S HOMEMADE BUBBLE TEA IN THIS FEAST MANSION EPISODE by first we feast

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semidecentpoet · 2 months

Text

What gets me ab western mainstream news coverage of the genocide in Palestine—besides the obvious lack of morality—is that it’s, frankly, shit journalism.

(For context, I’m a journalism major with a focus in print reporting. This is literally what I’m going to school for.)

(Forgive me if this is slightly disorganized. Harder to write when I’m pissed.)

My instructors tell me ab the importance of active voice over passive voice all. The. Time. There’s a difference, for example, between “More than 30,000 Palestinians have been killed” and “Israel has killed more than 30,000 Palestinians.”

More recently, I’ve had instructors tell me to be more skeptical of official sources (e.g. police), fact-check their claims and get alternative sources whenever possible.

But, from what I’ve seen, a lot of outlets seem to just take Israel’s word as fact without searching for further evidence. For example, when Israel made that claim—with no real evidence—ab the 40 beheaded babies and it was everywhere. And then they said they can’t confirm shit, and now these outlets have to backpedal.

And of course, on top of the blatant misuse of language (beyond just active vs passive voice) and the false/unsupported reporting, there’s the lack of reporting.

I don’t see western mainstream outlets quoting the assholes who call Palestinians “human animals.”

I don’t see them pointing out the sickening abundance of social media posts of Israelis celebrating the genocide, of IDF posing in front of the rubble of what once was Gaza or with the undergarments of the Palestinian women and girls they raped.

I don’t see them setting their headlines ablaze with the countless historic holy sites Israel has destroyed, mosques and churches alike that were some of the oldest in the world. (But when Notre Dame was on fire—)

I don’t even see the context of the more than 75 years of Israel’s bullshit leading up to now.

Where is the coverage of the entire families Israel have wiped out? Where is the coverage of how Israel treats its hostages? Where is the coverage of the Palestinian people’s injuries, physical and mental, and the reason for the lack of proper medical aid?

Countless children in Gaza have to undergo amputations in unsanitary environments without anesthesia. Where’s the coverage?

Who is asking Biden the important questions? Like, if you’re trying so hard for a ceasefire, why has the United States vetoed United Nations resolutions for an immediate ceasefire three times since Oct. 7? Why a temporary ceasefire instead of a permanent one?

How ab Israel’s attack on Rafah during the Super Bowl?? Rafah the designated safe zone?? While airing a $7 million ad?? During what is arguably the most famous and most-watched sports event in the U.S., which has given billions of dollars in support of Israel’s genocide?? How are these outlets not blowing up????? This is a U.S.-funded slaughter during a national event???? Is this not newsworthy enough for you??????????????

Maybe they include some of these things in their articles. But when and if they do, is it a full-fledged story or just a brief?

Is it toward the top of the page or buried lower? (Journalists typically use the inverted pyramid style, which means the most important information in a story is at the top.)

I understand that, as journalists, we have to be objective. But this is not objective reporting. It is clearly biased in favor of Israel. If it were any other country, any other people under siege, this would all look a lot different.

On the topic of objectivity, I’ve heard a few arguments along the lines of, “We can’t pick a side.” But is there truly more than one side to this crisis?

One instructor of mine has said that “both sides” is a false dichotomy, meaning there are rarely ever exactly two sides to any given issue. Sometimes that means there are more than two sides, and sometimes that means there is really only one.

Coincidently, an example he gave of only one side was the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. Even though there are assholes who say otherwise, it was real. It happened. It was wrong. There’s no other way to look at it.

Ik that journalists bending objectivity and imposing morality in reporting is a relatively recent and controversial debate within the media industry.

But.

If we do some actual goddamn reporting—take the numbers and the quotes and the experiences caught on video and add them all together—we start to paint a pretty clear picture of who is the victim here. And who is responsible for the atrocities.

Just bc our government supports Israel does not mean Israel perspective is on equal footing with, much less more important than, Palestine’s.

When Palestine’s death toll is roughly 30 times that of Israel’s, there’s only one side.

This is some pretty shit journalism.

I’d look forward to hearing from other journalists/student journalists what they think ab coverage of the genocide.

Personally, I’m a little heartbroken that some of these outlets I’ve looked up to and dreamed ab being a part of someday have been so lacking in their coverage—to say the least. Especially since journalism is so important and is supposed to be a major means of holding people in power accountable for their actions.

Life’s bitter irony, I suppose.

Free Palestine.

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luthienne · 5 months

Text

"On April 4, 1967, exactly one year before his assassination, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stepped up to the lectern at the Riverside Church in Manhattan. [...] Many of King’s strongest allies urged him to remain silent about the war or at least to soft-pedal any criticism. They knew that if he told the whole truth about the unjust and disastrous war he would be falsely labeled a Communist, suffer retaliation and severe backlash, alienate supporters and threaten the fragile progress of the civil rights movement.

King rejected all the well-meaning advice and said, 'I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. […] A time comes when silence is betrayal' and added, 'that time has come for us in relation to Vietnam.'

It was a lonely, moral stance. And it cost him. But it set an example of what is required of us if we are to honor our deepest values in times of crisis, even when silence would better serve our personal interests or the communities and causes we hold most dear. It’s what I think about when I go over the excuses and rationalizations that have kept me largely silent on one of the great moral challenges of our time: the crisis in Israel-Palestine.

I have not been alone. Until very recently, the entire Congress has remained mostly silent on the human rights nightmare that has unfolded in the occupied territories. Our elected representatives, who operate in a political environment where Israel's political lobby holds well-documented power, have consistently minimized and deflected criticism of the State of Israel, even as it has grown more emboldened in its occupation of Palestinian territory and adopted some practices reminiscent of apartheid in South Africa and Jim Crow segregation in the United States. [...]

Reading King’s speech at Riverside more than 50 years later, I am left with little doubt that his teachings and message require us to speak out passionately against the human rights crisis in Israel-Palestine, despite the risks and despite the complexity of the issues. King argued, when speaking of Vietnam, that even 'when the issues at hand seem as perplexing as they often do in the case of this dreadful conflict,' we must not be mesmerized by uncertainty. 'We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision, but we must speak.'

And so, if we are to honor King’s message and not merely the man, we must condemn Israel’s actions: unrelenting violations of international law, continued occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Gaza, home demolitions and land confiscations. We must cry out at the treatment of Palestinians at checkpoints, the routine searches of their homes and restrictions on their movements, and the severely limited access to decent housing, schools, food, hospitals and water that many of them face.

We must not tolerate Israel’s refusal even to discuss the right of Palestinian refugees to return to their homes, as prescribed by United Nations resolutions, and we ought to question the U.S. government funds that have supported multiple hostilities and thousands of civilian casualties in Gaza, as well as the $38 billion the U.S. government has pledged in military support to Israel.

And finally, we must, with as much courage and conviction as we can muster, speak out against the system of legal discrimination that exists inside Israel, a system complete with, according to Adalah, the Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel, more than 50 laws that discriminate against Palestinians — such as the new nation-state law that says explicitly that only Jewish Israelis have the right of self-determination in Israel, ignoring the rights of the Arab minority that makes up 21 percent of the population. [...]

Indeed, King’s views may have evolved alongside many other spiritually grounded thinkers, like Rabbi Brian Walt, who has spoken publicly about the reasons that he abandoned his faith in what he viewed as political Zionism. To him, he recently explained to me, liberal Zionism meant that he believed in the creation of a Jewish state that would be a desperately needed safe haven and cultural center for Jewish people around the world, "a state that would reflect as well as honor the highest ideals of the Jewish tradition.” He said he grew up in South Africa in a family that shared those views and identified as a liberal Zionist, until his experiences in the occupied territories forever changed him.

During more than 20 visits to the West Bank and Gaza, he saw horrific human rights abuses, including Palestinian homes being bulldozed while people cried — children's toys strewn over one demolished site — and saw Palestinian lands being confiscated to make way for new illegal settlements subsidized by the Israeli government. He was forced to reckon with the reality that these demolitions, settlements and acts of violent dispossession were not rogue moves, but fully supported and enabled by the Israeli military. For him, the turning point was witnessing legalized discrimination against Palestinians — including streets for Jews only — which, he said, was worse in some ways than what he had witnessed as a boy in South Africa."

— Michelle Alexander, from her essay Time to Break the Silence on Palestine, as featured in the New York Times in 2019

#michelle alexander #words #articles #essays #free palestine

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Forget-Me-Not 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You spend the night on the couch. You don't go further than the bathroom. You can't bring yourself to check her bedroom or the one you left behind.

You go out to get your bag and change in the yellow haze glowing behind the faded curtains. You check the time. Jan is expecting you in an hour.

You emerge into the dewy morning and tramp down to ground level. You get in the car, reversing out without looking back at the dingy house. The final farewell can't come soon enough for the slanted walls.

Jan is out in the yard, hammering a pineboard as you drive down his lot. His white hair curls with the sweat beading on his skin. He stills the hammer and wipes his forehead as you pull up.

You get out as he greets you in the way all the villagers do. A manufactured friendliness that cannot erase their true judgement. They smile in face just as easily as the mutter your name under their breath. You mother harboured little good will in Hammer Ford and blood is sacred here.

“Sorry to hear,” he says.

“Matter of time,” you shrug dismissively.

“Isn't no way to come home,” he shakes his head and coughs into his fist, “walnut,” he points the hammer over his shoulder, “like ya said.”

Walnut, like the dining table. Where she sat and drank herself into that box. You nod and follow him over to the casket. The hinges are brass and the finish is rough. What does it matter? It's just going into the dirt.

“Got cash,” you say. Jan doesn't deal with the bank, everyone knows that. Funny the little things that stick with you.

“Thanks,” he accepts the bills as you count them out. So much for a rainy day. The sun shine bright as if mocking the grin affair beneath its watch. “I'll have it taken down to Norn's.”

“Yep,” you agree, “she's there.”

You head out without further niceties. Neither of you uphold those. Better to say what you mean and nothing else.

You get to the property line and idle. You turn away from the woods. You're not ready to go back yet.

You stop by the church first. Father Oswald sits with you to discuss the ceremony. You'll say a few words at the grave site. You don't think anyone would come to a wake. You don't want them to.

You set off again, still reluctant to retrace your steps. You drive to the spare core of the village and park outside the library. You cross the street and peer in through the window of the bakery. It wasn't there when you left.

You venture inside and peruse the sweets behind the glass. You order a black coffee and a cinnamon bun. You pay the woman behind the counter, vaguely familiar. You're certain she was a few years behind you at school.

You sit and pick at the glazed dough. You don't have much of an appetite. You don't feel much of anything. You're just wading through, try not to get lost in the tide.

You sip the coffee. Bold but rich. Not bad. Better than the instant powder gone stale in your mother's cupboard.

The door opens and shuts, several times over as you stare at the table. The city taught you apathy. You don't let the noise bother you.

The chair across from you slides out and a figure plants themselves on the seat. You raise your head, your vision narrowing to make sense of their features. You turn your head to gaze out the window as Loki blows over the top of a mug.

You slide out your phone, a defence mechanism. Still no reception. You put it down and keep your attention diverted. He clears his throat and taps his toe next to yours.

“You know, I do have an important matter to discuss with you,” he says.

You don't react. You know that's what he wants. That's why he showed up the night before. He undoubtedly insisted on being his clan’s representative.

“You've sent your condolences.”

“Mm, yes, but that isn't what I mean,” he traces his finger up the handle of his mug. “The house.”

You lower your brows and keep your eyes beyond the window. The village moves slow as ever. Not like the endless flow of the city streets. There's no where to hide here.

“My father has an offer. The property has value.”

You check your cup, almost empty. You swig the last of it. You stand and gather the cup and unfinished dessert. You put the porcelain on the counter and toss the cinnamon bun on your way out.

The door doesn't close behind you. He's following you. Your heartbeat piques. In an instant, you're hurled into the past. You're running through broken twigs as he snickers behind you. You ball your hands as your breath hitches.

You cross the street without looking, only just dodging a bumper. You go to your car, fumbling with your keys. Before you can stick them in the slot, there's a snare around your arm.

You spin and shove Loki off of you, biting down on a shriek. You glare at him and point the key at his chin.

“Not interested.”

“My father will give you more than the bank,” he counters.

“Don't care.”

He sniffs and quorks his head, “is this because I never called?”

You choke on a scoff. You turn and ram the keys in the slot and twist. You open the door as you step around it. The edge hits him as you swing into the driver’s seat.

“The house is worthless. The bank will give you pennies for the land.”

“Go tell your daddy you failed,” you sneer and yank the door shut, hitting the lock with your fist.

You start the engine without a glance in his direction. You pull put as he barely avoids getting his toes run over. Just as ever, this village belongs to the Odinsons. They won't have to pay the bank much to get what they want but you will never sign your name next to theirs.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #drabble #au #backwoods au #series #thor #avengers #mcu #marvel #forget-me-not

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2smolbeans · 7 months

Note

I am OBSESSED with your Obey Me writings. Would it be possible to something where one of the brothers (or others) disguises themselves as someone else in order to sleep with their darling? Imagine if you tried to run away and they're still trying to make you love them so they know they can't just force themself onto you, but at the same time they NEED your body. Maybe it's even a continuous thing, imagine the horror if every new lover you take on turns out to be them. Over and over again you try to run away but end up running right back into their arms. The gaslighting potential is perfect for a yandere who wants the more subtle approach.

ANONN THISSS 💖💖 Also sorry this took so long to finish 😭

A Demon Inside The Church

Yandere Satan x Antro/mythologist reader

Tags: Religious themes, gaslighting, manipulation, minor nsfw depictions, stalking, impersonation, minor character death, deception, body marking, paranoia, attempts at escaping, Mc has a crush on someone, branding pact mark, possessive behavior, isolation.

*This is unedited and long

___________________________

You weren't always a superstitious person. In fact, you were a person of science, an atheist. However, you were always fascinated with what stories life had to offer, its history, and, as of recently, its beliefs. Mythos, urban legends, and religions- it had caught your eye when your philosophy professor had mentioned them in his typical lesson. A one-off mention, but you decided to look more into it. For some reason, it had unlocked a childhood memory of when you used to read Greek mythology back in middle school.

As of late, you started going to the church near your university campus. You weren't Christian, and by no means did you believe in an afterlife. But you were curious about Christianity and its beliefs. In the beginning, you weren't fascinated with the repetitive worship music that sounded the same. If anything, you had a hard time staying awake as the singers kept repeating the same words and phrases over and over.

But it was worth staying as the sermons would begin after. Each sermon teaches a new belief, a new lesson, a new verse. You were in awe with how the pastor would passionately preach his words, the things you'd learn about the people in the church.

It made you curious about what it would be like to study and record the cultures, religions, and traditions of people around the world. After all, if just learning and investigating your typical local church from an academic point of view was enjoyable, imagine the possibilities of branching out! Maybe perhaps becoming an anthropologist wouldn't be so bad.

You balanced it out, your school, and then your church. For once, everything felt like it was in place, you had reconnected with your old passion, recognizing faces, making acquaintances. You were truly happy.

Funny enough, you even met this guy who happened to be around the same age as you.

Brown eyes, brown hair. He was an average looking guy, nothing made him stand out. You didn't know his name, or if he went to the same university. But every Monday at exactly 3am, he'd show up and read at the library. It was interesting- he was interesting.

Like the bored nerd you were, you started speculating in your head. Why did he always appear at 3am? Was he perhaps a ghost that would only appear in the witching hours? A vampire that walked amongst the earth when it was dark? A low ranking angel who liked to relax in the church?

Of course these were all just make believe scenarios. You had a tendency to make up backstories or scenarios about recurring people. You weren't much of a talker or socializer, you didn't have a lot of close friends, but for some reason you had a bit of courage to go up to the man and talk to him. Though funny enough, the moment you approached him, he was already smiling at you, patting a chair next to him.

Awkwardly shifting your way towards the brown haired male, not expecting him to even acknowledge you. You sat down, trying to muster up any words. But soon enough, you calmed down as he spoke, his warm eyes comforting you as he let out a chuckle.

"Hey, no need to be nervous! I'm just chilling here"

He pulled out the chair for you, his chin resting on the palm of his head as he had a small grin on his face.

"Nono- uh, I'm not nervous..Just uhhh- sorry I don't know..”

You trailed off, unsure of what to do in the small talk.

"It's fine, no sweat! Anyways It's kinda nice talking to you for once"

"Sorry? Wait, do I know you?"

You let out a chuckle, feeling your cheeks heat up from the embarrassment that began to creep up.

"Well, I mean I dunno? I mean if you're wondering how I know you, I just see you around class here and there"

You perked up, accidentally raising your voice from your excitement, immediately covering your mouth with your hands as you apologized.

"WAIT SO YOU- Oh shit sorry..Wait so you also go to Morninghaven?!"

"Always have~"

The two of you talked for hours. By the time you both parted ways, it was already six in the morning. Little by little the two of you got closer, eventually getting each other's numbers and sitting together during each lecture. Apparently, he just liked going to the library at 3am because of how empty it was.

It was funny how the both of you had so much in common.

Damien was his name. That brown haired geek, Damien. It had been at least 5 months since you've known him, and you hated to admit it, but he was the first close friend you've ever made in a while. He indulged in your hyperfixations, listening to your rambles while he also returned the favor. He was talkative, always sure to give a long answer to something so small. Even if you were to ask him about his favorite color, he would somehow turn the conversation about the meaning and ‘biology’ about colors.

“Why do you do that?”

You suddenly asked him, sipping at your drink as he sat across from you.

“Do what?”

You swayed your legs back and forth, the height of the bar stool keeping your feet from touching the ground. Listening to the jumbled up conversations that warmed the cafe, you stared at Damien. Smiling while feeling flustered, eyebrows perked up, your voice perked up - you let your mind speak as you put your drink down.

“We always talk about something small, and somehow it devolves into a whole essay of a conversation about big things!”

You exclaimed, gesturing your hands, hoping that it would help aid your poor choice of words that you thought you made.

“Oh sorry..My bad…”

“Nono! It’s not bad! I’m just wondering why? I thought it would just bore you..Or that I was boring to talk to..”

You deflated, sinking down to your seat as you sipped your drink. Damien leaned forward out, ready to retaliate.

“What?! What are you saying?”

“..Do you just ramble because I don’t bring much to the conversation..?”

The both of you stayed in silence. You were trying to hold back a laugh as you purse your lips, while Damien had a deadpan smile.

“....Stay still. I’m gonna slap you”

Immediately, Damien began to reach for you from across the bar table, nearly knowing it down as you slapped away at his hands from touching your face. You were laughing hysterically while Damien muttered to you to “stay still damn it!” and “This is what you get for being such a dumb dumb!” while he continued his efforts.

“What! Gahh! Stop!!”

“Fine, fine! But y’know, have you ever thought that maybe I like rambling to you because I want to talk more with you?”

…Being around him was one of your favorite things throughout the day. He was just so warm..So comfortable to be around. He made you feel wanted, something that you haven't felt until you met him.

"Are you an angel?"

His voice pitched from the other side of the call.

"Pfft what?! That's so random! What is this all about?"

You playfully rolled your stomach onto the bed, your feet up in the air while your legs kicked up and down slowly.

"I'm serious. Are you?"

Rolling his eyes, Damien let out a smug smirk.

"I dunno, depends on you"

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't have some sort of attraction towards Damien. Sure, it was a small crush, but you were happy with the friendship you had with him. You didn’t care if he had gotten another partner or if he didn’t share the same feelings. You were just happy being with Damien who liked talking to you.

Though, you were wrong about that. Ironically, after a week of not seeing Damien. He had actually opened up to you about his feelings towards you. Telling you how he needed a break from spending time together, how he had realized he was slowly falling for you - how he didn't want to ruin the friendship between the two of you. He was scared to see you once he realized how strong his feelings were towards you. After that, the two of you started dating. The relationship felt strange at first, but you weren't complaining. Whatever you needed, Damien was there. When you were sad- Damien was there to comfort you. Whenever you walked to class, he was always right by your side.

It's always been like that, even when the two of you were just friends. But didn’t Damien also have friends to hangout with as well? He'd always go out with them every now and then, and you'd be left on your own whims.

But now?

There wasn't a time where Damien wasn't by your side.

Another thing you've noticed about Damien was that his temper sometimes got the best of him. When it came to the smallest of things- an ant crawling on one of his books, when you would hold your bible close to your chest, how you sometimes looked at other people for ‘too long’. He would either scoff or nearly pop a vein on his head.

How possessive he was towards you, always kissing you and holding you close. Sweetly convincing you to come back to bed, to always look at him, that he adores you too much for you to leave so soon. Bad mouthing the acquaintances that would take up your time from him. Jokingly wishing that they would drop dead or fall ill so that you could focus on him more.

The way he was prideful and rough he was whenever the two of you would be alone and intimate. His hands all over you, his teeth nipping at every inch of your skin. Almost as if he was in a hurry to get those marks all over your body. How he’d mutter those words into your ear, repeating it like a prayer while he shoved your face to whatever surface there was. How beautiful you looked to be ‘finally his’. How sharper his nails would feel whenever he grabbed your hips. The way he would rhythmically pump into you repeatedly, always in a trance with the purpose of cumming inside you. Always lovingly belittling you whenever you cried from the overstimulation, out matching your stamina in an inhuman amount.

It was weird how he never let you look at him whenever the two of you were doing those sorts of things..Was he trying to hide something?

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"How come you never let me see you whenever we do it?"

"...I don't want you seeing something you might not like.."

"Aww.. You know I love every part of you.. "

He hugged you, resting his head against the crook of your neck.

"If only.."

He was controlive over the little things you did.

“Why don’t you wear this? I don’t want people staring at you..”

“You have some time, right? So why don’t you just come with me instead of them?”

“Are you asking me to lock you up in this room? No? Then why are you making it so hard to just listen to me?”

He was always demanding to know where you were and what your plan for the day was. Making sure he had tabs on your daily activities.

Now that you noticed it, Damien was more..Dry. Sophisticated. Calculative. Sure, he would be somewhat expressive, smiling, and softly speaking. But, back then, he was more loud, more..Different. You felt so alienated from him at times. What happened? You couldn’t put your finger on it.

Was Damien always like this?

Damien even stopped going to the church. You found it weird since Damien loved going to church with you. It was the place you first met each other. He loved how you would study the pastor's words, making serious notes about the lessons. Sitting right next to you as he also made notes regarding the philosophy of Christianity. You were a church duo, even though the both of you weren’t religious.

But now..Damien hated it. Often complaining how annoying the pastor was with his scriptures. The thing he onced loved became the thing he despised the most. He was once friendly with the pastor. Now, you only find him staring eye to eye with the pastor, stoic towards his words.

"Be weary of the sweet temptations of the world. For Satan is cunning, speaking with honeyed words, luring you into damnation."

"But folks, we have to remember this. There is no need to fear him! He is dethroned, casted away by god. We must always declare his defeat. That is how we remove the authority of the enemy.”

You swore from the corner of your eye, and you saw Damien grin from that statement - as if it was personal to him. The next day, the pastor fell severely ill, according to his wife. You were worried, of course. You talked with the pastor here and there, and you wanted to at least send some medicine or soup for the poor man. Damien, however, just laughed at your attempts, hugging you as he pushed his face against your chest. Calling you adorable for ‘wanting to bother the old nut’.

You had a dream a few days later. You were in the church library, alone. Everything was distorted, books meshed together like liquid, people’s faces blurred out. But, Damien was there, waiting for you. The sweet angelic Damien you knew from the past, smiling and patting a chair that was next to him.

“I missed you”

Before you could say anything, you woke up. You couldn’t place on why you were feeling the way you were feeling, but you were incapable of holding back the tears from flowing. It was like you were grieving over a dead person. But, really- you were sad over nothing.

You were slowly getting paranoid over the small things that were starting to recur. Whenever you walked outside, there was always an owl there- it’s neck following your movements. The small whispers that you swore you could’ve heard calling out to you. The hands that would wrap around your waist whenever your back was turned. Your bible and church notes trashed or missing. The bite marks that would appear out of nowhere when you would wake up. Your mind pulled into a trance whenever you would stare too long into Damien’s eyes. The dreams..How your memories were vaugely replaced little by little with someone else you’ve never encountered.

The worst part was, your mind accepted it as normal - your body seemed to relax at the thought of it. But it wasn’t normal, you knew that.

You had a slight theory in your head, a terrifying thought that brought you shaking whenever you questioned its validity. Was this even Damien? He was acting so fucking weird ever since he disappeared for that week. Everything was just so odd. Like you were cursed by an unknown force. What if this wasn’t Damien? What if Damien was missing and you were dating some skin walker? When you knew Damien, he felt so warm and comfortable to be around. Now, if anything- it often felt too possessive, lustful- intense when you were with him.

It didn’t help when you found that mark behind your back.

____________

“Hey..Babe, what is this?”

"Oh that? Yeah, you're weird. I told you going to that party was a bad idea, but you didn't listen. You should've seen my face when you showed me it! Why did you think getting that tattoo was a good idea?"

But it wasn't a tattoo. The more you looked into the strange mark on your back, the more concerned you got. It was green, almost glowing. A demon marking.. A ritualistic mark that bonds you to the demon who claimed you as their own. You've read about this. The mark was equivalent to a proposal, promising an afterlife full of happiness in hell. What party did you even go to?

When did you get this?

"I don't know hun..You just showed up with it"

How the fuck do you get rid of it? Fuck, did you have to get laser surgery?

"Honey, calm down. It's not that bad. It's just a tattoo. Plus, I think it looks wonderful on you"

Nonono, you don't want this. Why was there some fucking satanic pact mark on your body?

"Maybe you should stop reading those books..Or maybe just take a break from the whole demons and angels church thing."

Why was this on your body?

"Honey, you know there’s no harm in it right? I think those books are starting to get into your head.."

Maybe...But still it was fucking creepy! But nonetheless, the constant studying and fixation of demons and hell were starting to tire you out. Maybe, you should focus on your assignments more..

___________

Time passed and it had been at least a year since you and Damien were dating. You were in your final year until graduation, and surprisingly- things were going smoothly. Though your paranoia worsened. You had tried to remove the mark behind your back, even paid for laser surgery to remove it. Explaining to the dermatologist that it was an accident tattoo. Though when the mark was removed, it appeared the next day- as if it completely healed over the treatment.

The relationship hadn’t changed..Damien was still possessive and greedy for your affection. However, Damien was somewhat back to his old self…Somewhat.

Thinking about the past, the stalking, the mark behind your back- it had brought an old familiar feeling back. The church, you wanted to go back and attend it. To at least say hi, for old times sake. To get some answers- some comfort about your fears. You contemplated on bringing Damien, but ultimately heavily decided against it. So you went at night, opening the doors to be greeted with the warmth you were once familiar with.

You smiled as you saw the pastor on the stage, cleaning up and checking up on the instruments for the worship band.

“Sir! How are you? It’s been so long”

The pastor walked towards you, extending his arms out to you as he smiled.

“It’s been so long! What happened? I thought you moved!”

You chuckled, hugging him close as you embraced him, enjoying how cozy he felt.

“Nono! Of course not! Things just got in the way. But I’m glad you’re still here”

The pastor stepped away, eying you up and down, wanting to say something before holding back as he motioned you to follow him. Walking behind him, you both ended up in the office that was located in the basement of the church.

“Sit, I want to talk to you about something”

He sat down behind the table, rummaging through the wooden desk, looking for something as you sat across him.

“I’m a bit worried for you. You disappeared for a while..Something seems off about you..Is anything bothering you?”

You sat quiet for a bit. Should you mention the mark? You wanted to, but you were scared with the answer that would come out. So you didn’t mention it, but you mentioned the other instances you felt when something was wrong.

“Well..I felt paranoid. Whenever I’m not looking it felt like someone was there, touching and whispering in my ear..There’s always there..Like-”

“An unease? That the room feels a lot heavier?”

“Yeah..Exactly like that..But it’s no longer like that! Sure it’s here and there, but it’s really nothing”

The pastor just stared at you. Biting his lip before handing you two things. Anointing oil, and a bottle of holy water..

"I think you should take these. The anointing oil will help protect whatever room, person, or thing of yours"

You took it, examining the items as he continued speaking to you.

"With the oil, you just take a bit of it on your finger and draw a cross on it. It's best that you say a prayer before it"

You nodded your head, smiling as he continued.

“I plead the blood of Jesus Christ over this room. I pray and demand that any spirits in this room be gone in the name of the lord. That this oil that is anointed with the holy spirit will shield and protect me from Satan.”

"Like that?"

Smiling, he gestured his hands, telling you to hold the items close to you.

"Of course! And with the holy water..Well I'm assuming you've watched a bunch of horror movies haha!"

Thanking the pastor, you eventually made your way back home. Promising that you would keep in touch with him as he ushered you outside the doors. When you finally arrived at your dormitory, you let out a scream as Damien stood in front of you.

“Jesus! Damien! Don’t just stand there!”

“Where were you?”

Oh right, you didn’t tell him..

“I was just out running some errands, walking around, sorry I forgot to tell you..”

You felt more worried about him finding out about going back to the church rather than his concern for you.

“Are you lying?”

You exclaimed as you dropped your bag, patting his shoulder as your lips stretched out to a thin line.

“Damien..I would never lie to you..”

You almost felt guilty for deceiving him, but you didn’t want him to know.

“..Well, let’s go back to bed okay? The bed felt cold without you..So please?”

He pleaded with you, turning off the lights, guiding you to the bed short after as his hands grabbed onto yours.

“Haha, of course.”

“I love you so much..”

______________

You’ve been thinking about it, using the oil and holy water. When Damien was gone for an hour to do an exam, he needed to pass. You, who were free from all of your work, decided to open the anointing oil. Putting a few drops of the oil on the tip of your finger, you anointed the room. Drawing a cross, as you said a small prayer.

Maybe one or two more would be best? You thought of nothing of it. It was just a gift, something that you wanted to try. Something that would perhaps ease your fear. Nothing would come out of it.

But something did.

Damien had a severe headache and reaction the moment he stepped in your room. Groaning in pain as he nearly fell to the floor. Clutching his head in pain as the ungodly sounds of wheezing came out of his throat. You were terrified as you saw Damien try to get ahold of himself. Whispering to himself while you stood there, frozen.

Adrenaline rushed through your body as a million thoughts went through your head. He was just stressed, right? He just came back from an exam, maybe he's tired. You tried to rationalize your extreme theories to calm yourself down. But even then, a few words had slipped out of your mouth - unconsciously wanting to test out your theory.

"Get behind me Satan."

He knelt as he stared at you in disbelief.

".......What?"

Your voice shook in fear, your eyes furrowing as you stared at your boyfriend.

“You heard me. Who are you?”

Fixing his composure, Damien looked at you concerned. Cautiously approaching you while also keeping a safe distance.

“Honey, what are you talking about? Calm down okay? Take a deep breath, I was just a bit stressed from staying up all night”

You sneered as you were quick to grab the holy water from your cabinet, loosening the cap as you raised your voice.

“Cut the shit. G-God..What did you do to Damien?!”

Tearing up, you shouted as you splashed the holy water at him. Making sure to throw a large amount towards his face.

“Honey what are you talkin- FUCK!”

He sneered in pain, cowering down as he tried to cover himself. Now you were panicking as your theory was confirmed. You had almost felt bad, stupid, delusional even. But now? Your fight or flight senses were triggered.

“W-Why did that hurt you?! HUH?! T-TELL ME!”

You waved the bottle frantically. Your eyes widening as you saw his skin burning in agitation from the water that hit his skin. He tried to excuse himself, to save whatever grace he had. But you weren’t having it. Screaming out scriptures, dousing him in holy water- you had eventually revealed him for what he truly was.

Blonde hair, curled horns protruding out of his head, the sharp tail that moved side to side swiftly. He wasn't human. This wasn't Damien.

“This hurts you! You’re..A demon..In the name of the holy-"

But before you could finish your sentence, your prayer, your last ditch effort to handle the situation, he interrupted you. Rushing towards you he pinned you against the cabinet that you were standing behind. His hands gripping onto the edges of the wood, your body sandwiched in between the hard surface and his chest. With nowhere to escape, you tried screaming- but he was quick to wrap a hand around your throat, threatening to squeeze deathly tight, warning you to keep quiet.

“Are you finished? I could kill you right now and take you with me for all eternity. But I would rather take my time and not hurt you... So just be good for me, okay?”

You nodded your head frantically, trying to speak as your words were whispered. He eyed you, loosening his grip around your neck.

“Why? Why are you doing this? Who are you?”

In awe, his lips softly kissed your cheek, trying to comfort you as you teared up from fear.

“Aww..Love..Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? Satan, that’s who I am. I know this is a lot for you but, I want you to know that I love you. Okay?”

Satan.

Satan?

The demon that replaced Damien, the one who made you breakfast everyday. The one who was jealous whenever you dared speak to anyone. The one you gave your virginity to..?

Satan himself was in love with you? Satan, the prince of darkness, one of the rulers of hell- was here professing his love to you. How long has he been using Damien’s face for? Where was Damien if he was taking his place?

“Where’s Damien then? What did you do to him?”

You asked, your lips shuddering as you thought about him. If he had disappeared, then..

“Don’t worry about him, he's fine. Better than how he was wasting his life away before”

A surge of panic coursed through your body, your hands instinctively shoved Satan away with all of your strength.

“YOU KILLED HIM?!”

Unfazed, he sighed as if you were overreacting. His palms reached out towards you, telling you to calm down from your outburst.

“Now, he wasn’t in any pain. He didn’t even see it coming, so don’t worry about him. Afterall, he became the sweet angel you always thought of him as. So either way, everyone benefits in this situation”

Your jaw clenched as your eyes wavered at the demon who stood in front of you.

“I’m not going to hurt you...I’m not doing this for the sake of destroying your life. In fact- I’m doing it for the sake of making it better! I love you, you don’t understand - I need you. You fascinate me - you're the only human on this earth I deem tolerable!"

"I had to do it, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but Damien was just a nobody in your life. There are lots of people like him out there in the world. So please, just think for a moment."

You recoiled as you felt his sharp nails softly outline the curves of your face. Cringing as you stood there fear, hearing his insane ramblings.

“You’ve read about me. Studied me. Talked about me. You were just as interested in me as I was for you. Don’t you think that's special?”

Bitterly, you spat at his face.

"I want you gone. Out of my life. I will never love you- you'll never have me. Get out."

He looked at you, almost remorseful as you glared at him- only to then smirk and roll his eyes..And with that, he disappeared in a blink of an eye. For a good year, even until graduation- you never saw him again. It was almost as if he never existed.

All the messages, the call histories, everything- they were gone.

____________________

It had been a few years ever since he stopped approaching you, only deciding to watch you from a distance. Hiding in the shadows, lurking in the small corners of your home, he admired you.

It drove him mad when observed your cute little attempts at avoiding him. Always wearing that small cross around your neck, never interacting with anyone outside of the church. Praying everyday on the edge of your bed before you go to sleep, hoping to ward him off forever.

You were such an adorable little sheep. So desperate to keep him away, not knowing it only made him want you more. Every night he watched you, hungrily devouring your body with his eyes, enjoying how meek you've become. He wanted to take you right then and there, surprising you with his presence when he would emerge from the shadows. How would your face look in fear? Would you scream at him? Attempt to perform an exorcism?

Would it be enjoyable watching you break down from the spot? Hearing you whimper when he would corner you. Watching you plead for him to leave you alone. The slow burn of you fearing him, only to reach out to him out of desperation when he's hovering over you.

You're starved aren't you? Lonely, and starved for an ounce of emotional attention. You haven't been talking to a lot of people lately, even when you're in the illusion of safety when you're in the church. He felt so bad for you, yet so eager for you. All vulnerable and alone..You're still sad about that human boy weren't you?

That's okay.

There was nothing a new face couldn't fix.

Sooner or later, he'll have you forget about him. He'll have you wrapped up around his finger. You'll live your perfect minuscule human life with him until death do you part- temporarily. After all, heaven wouldn't allow an angel with the mark of the beast into their pearly gates, would they?

A new face, a new name. He would meet you again at the church. Charming you with his words, coaxing you with his sweet voice that was hard to resist. Making you smile again, hearing that angelic laugh of yours, feeling your warmth when you cuddled underneath him.

He missed how good it felt to be with you. He loved every bit of it. How it gave him an excuse to act out on his pent up urges towards you. To have your legs so nicely wrapped around his torso, drowning in pure lust from those sweet sounds you'd make. To finally have your body all to himself.

It wouldn't last for long though.. You were smart- too smart. You always somehow found out a way to identify him through the smallest of ways. Through the subtle gestures he'd make, the appearance he decided to appear as, or even from saying an old ancient spell against him just to see his reaction. You even went as far as spraying him with holy water like some sort of cat at one point.

How intentive!

That's why he loved you. You were so intelligent, brighter than most. That's why he didn't mind doing it over and over again. Like a game of cat and mouse. You'd gain a sense of security, feeling confident that the man right next to you wasn't him- only for it to break again when you came to terms with the truth.

He didn't mind. It was exciting watching you ponder about him. It was special what the both of you had together. Seeing your face contort in pure anguish and rage when you realized that the person you had slept with, the one you had trusted your whole heart with, was only him the entire time. How you would beg, even try to bribe him with intimacy and sex- just for him to leave you alone. Pleading him to stop impersonating people and potential partners.

"But this is fun darling. Watching you break down every time~"

"I can't just give it all up for something I can do whenever we're together"

"There's really no issue here, you're the only one who's making it a problem"

"Running away, panicking for no reason…You already know I won't hurt you. I just want to love you."

"So really, when will you stop?"

No matter how much you run, he'll always have you in his arms. Even in death, you won't ever be able to escape him.

How long will it take for you to crumble and accept him? When will you stop running away from him? Time and time again, you would run away- only to come crawling back to him.

So why don't you just accept the inevitable?

_____________________________

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miniisunshine · 2 months

Text

Hii! This is my first fanfic like ever, i had this idea before sleeping one night and decided to write it in case others would like this story too. Kinda taboo and it doesn't follow the plot of Under the Banner of Heaven, i only took the character of Sam! Enjoy!

(Also english is not my first language)

Synopsis : You didn't believe in god, but you sure believed in Father Sam

Warnings : Age gap (21-35), cheating, loss of virginity, sex in a religious place, p in v, AFAB character, soft dom

There you were, in a church with your family, praying to a god you didn't believe in.

Let's get back to the beginning: your mother always had problem conceving, having you almost took her life, but she was determine to have a second one, a boy, even if the doctors told your parents it would need a miracle to have another child. So they began to pray and pray, until your brother was born two years after you; a complete healthy boy.

As they were proud of the "Lord's work" they didn't hold back on talking about the miracle that was your brother at the church near your old house, that's how they met the Lafferty family, proud owners of a little commune where religion ruled the place.

And that's how you ended up living most of your life there. You always felt different, like you didn't belong with these people, religion life wasn't your style, but you couldn't leave. Your parents didn't let you work, so you couldn't save money for yourself, you weren't allowed to learn how to drive and the commune was too far to escape by foot. So you daydreamed about being a normal 21 years old: partying, graduating college, going out, experience life and... mostly sexual life. You've learned all about that on your phone, a 18th birthday present by your parents.

Not that you didn't know about your sexuality,nd sex in general, at your 18th birthday, you already knew your envies and your pulsions were normal, despite everyone telling you otherwise. I mean, why would God have created them? What wasn't normal was your feeling for Father Samuel Lafferty, the oldest son's in the Lafferty family.

It started as a small crush when you were 16, the day his dad let him take over the church's activities, so he could "retire" and live a calm life in the commune. But then, as you grew older, you knew you wanted him more than an high school girl crushing on a One Direction member. Unfortunately, as most men, he was already married to a good little wife, living a perfect life, or so you thought.

As you were waiting for the evening prayer, you noticed Samuel wasn't at the door, greeting his people like he used to, no he was late. Well, he still made it in time, but when he entered the church, you knew something was wrong with him, anger could be read in his eyes, but not enough so that everybody could see it, only you took notice of it.

As the evening prayer's ended, everybody stand up to leave, but not you, you were motivate to know what was on his mind. You said to your family that you had a question to ask to Father Sam and you waited for everybody to leave the house of God to went forward with your mission.

"Father Sam"

"Good evening"

He responded looking at you with a soft smile.

"I've noticed you weren't at the door today to greet our community, is everything alright? I was worried"

"Nothing to worry sweatheart, i still made it in time didn't i?"

"Yes, but i've noticed your anger in your eyes, is there something troubling you?"

"Like i said, nothing really important"

"You know, my family always said i had a great ear to listen when someone needed to talk about their problems..."

You pressed your hands on his forearms.

He sighed.

"i guess its always a relief to talk to someone who doesn't know you personnally, but you can't tell anyone, we are in the presence of God, he will know if you don't keep your promise"

"Mouth shut i promise, its like we'll never had this conversation"

"So... My wife and i, aren't really compatible in the bedroom"

You watch him with a curious face.

"You know, it's hard to conceived when there's no fun in the love making session"

You didn't know what took over you, but you took one step closer to him, putting your hands on his chest.

"Can you show me what fun would be like for you?"

And with that, you got his attention. Maybe it was because he was in need of a good fuck session, or he maybe was possessed by a demon, but he you took by the wrist, leading you to his small office before closing the door and curtains

"On your knees, now."

You could feel your heart beating fast and entrance getting wet. This was all happening so fast, but it was what you've always wanted, and you didn't want to messed up this opportunity, so you did as he told you to do.

He walked towards you, the excitement in his pants quite visible as he took your chin in his hand, smirking in your direction. With his other hand, he unbuckle his pants, dropping them on the floor, doing the same with his boxers, as you watch with anticipation

He wasn't huge, but he was still pretty big, so you wasted no time taking him in your hands, while you look into his eyes, in need of a reaction. As his breathing started to go faster, you surprised him by putting his member in your mouth. You've never done that with anyone, but the porn you've watched your phone, and the pratice you did in your room helped you a lot faking your confidence.

"Fuck..."

He gripped you by the back of your head, guiding you as he softly moan, head toward the ceilling, eyes closed.

As you were adjusting your mouth to his size and beginning to feel yourself on him, he pulled you up, taking you over his desk, bending you over and lifting your skirt to reveal your ass.

"I've never see you with a man before, have you ever done this?"

He massaged your butt, waiting for an answer, while you blushed.

"No... I was waiting for the right one, like you..."

"And what does that mean?"

He pulled down your underwear, revealing your soaking cunt, before carefully placing a finger in between your folds, finding your clit.

"I-I've always had a..a crush on you Father Sam... Every wet dreams i had w-was about you.."

You were a shaking mess, almost coming undone just by his soft touch on your clit.

He lower himself, whispering in your ears before entering a finger in your wet hole.

"So you dreamed about this moment?"

"Y-Yes! Oh my god.. Sam"

He started moving his finger into you leaving small kisses on your back, he wasted no time before putting a second and than a third one, making you moan and cry as you enjoyed this torturous pleasure.

"P-please Father.. I need t-to feel you... Please be the o-one to take my virginity..."

You couldn't believe yourself, you never thought you were this forward in life, but the things he made you feel were too much, you wanted more.

Without saying a word, he places himself in front of your entrance, thrusting a couple of times without entering, making you longing for him, before slowly pushing into you, grunting, feeling your walls taking him so perfectly.

You gasped as you didn't expet this to be so painful, but how so good was the pain for you.

At a slow pace he thrusted more and more of himself, grabbing your hips to keep you in place and moaning quietly to the sin he was committing.

He moved faster and faster, making you cry out of pleasure, scratching the desk you were on, hoping to catch something to hold onto.

Moaning louder and slapping your ass, leaving a mark on you, Sam placed his fingers on your clit, circling your pearl, aiming for your orgasm.

"C-come for me sweetheart, we're in this together..."

And with that, you let yourself coming undone on his desk, while he thrusted one last time, filling you with his semence.

Coming down from the high you were both in, he made sure to clean you, making you feel loved, not like a toy he just used. You look at him one last time, smilling with embarrassement, before leaving the church and going home, your heart filled and your head loaded with new fantasies.

Tadaaa, what have i write?! Hehe! Let me know what yall think!

#rory culkin #rory culkin x reader #under the banner of heaven #sam lafferty #rory culkin smut #smut #i ❤️ rory culkin

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