omg, he's even managing to stress me out! I think the fact that he doesn't speak to her, verbally express how obsessed with her he is, is really creepy. đ”âđ« But I also believe that when he starts talking and feels "comfortable" with her, knowing that she won't leave, he won't stop anymore. I feel like he sees her as a reward for whatever he does, something that's just his, like a pet. I want to know at what other times he watched her, accompanied her without her knowing
LOOKING FORWARD TO MORE, I'M OBSESSED
Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, 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.
Character: Captain Hydra
Summary:Â a man marches into your life on a mission
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Iâm happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging â€ïž
As the man comes toward you, you canât react. He grabs your jacket, splitting the zipper, and rips it down your arms. You whimper as he strips the fabric away and lets it drop. His hand recoils to his belt and he unsheathes a long hunting knife. You take a step back and he catches back of your head and tuts as he closes in once more.Â
He fists your hair in his hand and tugs until you tilt your head back. He pokes the tip of the knife against your chin and drags it down your neck. You quiver as his eyes blaze down at you. His pupils dilate as his gaze falls to the blade and turns it in his grip. He hooks the slightly curved point under your shirt and rents through your shirt.Â
He slices so easily through the fabric that it leaves you breathless. You donât move, terrified of being gashed. He cuts up your bra in quick succession, then your jeans, and your panties, leaving you only in your beat-up sneakers and socks. Youâd feel ridiculous if you werenât so scared.Â
He stands straight and raises the knife, showing it to you in a silent threat. He twirls it and slides it back into the sheath on his belt. He looks down as you try to cover yourself with your hands. You shift on your feet and slowly bend to untie your shoes.Â
He turns away. You peek up as he goes to the wall and pulls a framed painting, opening the hidden compartment behind. He takes the pistol from his belt and puts it away. He unstraps the harness from around his chest and another blade from his leg. He reveals a few more weapons from under his clothing before he shuts the door; gears whirring to lock it in place.Â
Even without a blade, heâs dangerous. You know that much. That he disarmed himself shows that heâs just as aware of the imbalance. You slip free of your shoes and socks and stand, a hand over your pelvis and an arm over your chest. You gulp and search the room helplessly.Â
He nears and grabs you by the back of your neck. He marches you across the room and through another door. Within, a bathroom is lit by the flip of a switch. He shoves you towards the tub and reaches to crank on the faucet. The scour of water makes you wince.Â
He snaps his finger and points inside. You step over the porcelain wall and he yanks the curtain shut between you. You shiver even as the water steams hotly and pours over you.Â
The heat should feel nice but you only shake as it spatters down. You look around. You take the fresh bar of soap and scrub yourself. It smells like rose and vanilla. You set it back in the dish and rinse the lather.Â
You glance over. His shadow is gone. You inch towards the curtain and peer around it nervously. Heâs not there.Â
You retreat and face the showerhead. You turn off the faucet as the water only agitates your skin. You stand shivering, arms crossed, waiting.Â
The door clicks open and he stomps back in. He tears back the curtain and shoves a towel against you. You hug it.Â
âThank you,â you look up into his scarred face. âSir, why...âÂ
He lifts a single finger and pushes it against your lips. He shakes his head. You close your mouth and unfold the towel. He pulls his hand back as his eyes drift again to your body. Youâre self-conscious as you fumble to hide yourself behind the towel.Â
He grabs your arm and drags you out of the tub. He takes you out of the bathroom, back into the front room, and through yet another doorway. Itâs a bedroom. Itâs lit by a ceiling light, dimmed to amber, and a bed stands, draped in grey plaid flannel.Â
He points again and let you go. You go to the bed and stop at the foot. Itâs then you notice the plain white night gown. You look over your shoulder. He dips his chin down. You turn back and reach for cotton.Â
You trade the towel for the nightgown and the door slams. You turn. Youâre alone. You sway on your feet and examine the room. The walls are dark wood, rippled with knots and rings. The decor is sparse. The bed, a tall armoire, a shelf in the corner.Â
You near the shelf slowly, not sure youâre seeing whatâs there. The wall above it is plastered with pictures. Of you. Of your apartment. Of the tea shop. Every aspect of your life documented. Below, the shelf is cluttered with various objects; your possessions. The brush you thought you dropped out of your bag and replaced, several tubes of lip balm but you never finish those, a bracelet you forgot about, and an old journal you thought was still in your closet.Â
You back away. This man didnât just find you, heâs been following you. For a long time. You retreat to the bed and sit on the end. Again, youâre paralysed in futility.Â
He returns and you gasp as you look up. He has only a towel at his waist as he barges in. You cower with wide eyes as he walks to the shelf and sets down something in the small glass tray with your bracelet. Your shank of hair. You cover your mouth in horror.Â
Is he going to kill you? Heâs some deranged murdered and this is his kill room or some weird stuff like that. You stand and clutch the towel.Â
âPlease just tell me if youâre going to kill me. Iâd like to know at least,â you say, quavering.Â
His back tenses. Scars crisscross his muscles as they strain beneath the skin. He pushes his head back before he faces you. His expression says nothing. He comes to you, stopping just in front of you.Â
He grabs you by the neck and you tense. You try to prepare yourself for death but you wonât ever be ready. Your eyes well up and your heartbeat hammers in your chest. With his other hand, he strips away the towel. You yipe against his firm grip.Â
He spreads his hand over the left side of your chest. You can feel your heart more clearly. His palm is hot like fire. You shakily reach to clasp onto his wrist, begging him with your eyes. Not to let you go, but for mercy. Make it quick.Â
He squeezes your throat, not enough to block your breath, but enough to make you nervous. He lifts your neck and, without much effort, or care, hurls you back onto the bed. You splay over it as you exclaim and bite your tongue. Â
What he intends to do, might be worse than death.Â
âDonât leave me alone in the darkness. This place where we both exist, yet serve different callings.â
ă € ă € 㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀 㠀㠀 ă € ă €  㠀 ă € ă €â Sarah J. Maas , Catwoman: Soulstealer
How is this the cutest thing everđ
and yes you have to be black, this isnât an all access typa club
Fabinhos wife and her trafffic cone husband can go
Zazie Beetz as Alicia in Wounds (2019)
I started reading it at the time it came out, but I stopped because I was very sleepy and I felt like I wasn't really consuming the story and I'M SO GLAD I came back because this is a work of art. The way he verbalizes the fears she confessed to him? This man is the devil and wants to dismantle her. I need more!â°ïž
Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader
Warnings:Â NON-CON, mentions of prostitution, mentions of infidelity
â„ banner by @vase-of-liliesÂ
summary: turning your life around is easier said than done when you tempt the very man meant to lead you to salvation.
âBless me, father, for I have sinnedâŠâ
The familiar words tumbled from your lips, and your gaze remained on your lap, eyes following your finger as you traced patterns into the solid black skirt on your frame. It kissed your ankle as you shifted your feet, and the reminder of the long fabric had you swallowing down less than gentle thoughts. You slowly reached up to touch the collar of your shirt, eyes briefly falling closed as you cleared your throat.
Youâd spent hours agonizing over how youâd leave the houseâŠ
âIt has been seven days since my last confession. These are my sins.â
Like clockwork, you listed the time you cursed for some accident or another and the time you took the Lordâs name in vain and the brief impure thought about that attractive man youâd seen in the grocery store. Every week, it was the same. Sins that you yourself would never have considered as such months ago that you were now hyper aware of. They climbed out of your throat seamlessly, remembering every single one until only one was left.
The silence between you and the man just on the other side of that wall stretchedâa familiar occurrenceâand you took your lip between your teeth. You could taste blood as you worried it, swallowing it down before clearing your throat again. You smoothed your hand over your skirt, and you furiously blinked, struggling to blink away the tears that had started to collect. As you sat in silence, you wondered why you were trying so hard to impress people that had already written you off?
âIâve hadâŠsome hateful thoughts as well.â
You struggled to get the words out, always struck by just how emotional this made you. You looked up towards the ceiling, eyes roaming, and you hadnât even realized that your breathing had started to pick up until he spoke.
Father Mayhew.
âTake your time,â he gently encouraged. âSpeak when you are ready.â
It wasnât the first time youâd heard those words, recalling your first ever confessional and how youâd cried. It was as embarrassing now as it was then, but it was necessary. You were determined to live differently nowâto be different, now.
âAlthough I have abandoned my former life andâŠoccupationâŠâ you thought you heard him shift. â...I feel as if I will never truly be forgiven for it.â
You swiped your tongue between your lips.
â...will never be accepted.â
You recalled the eyes that often found their way to you during massâthe judgment, the disdain, the way in which some stared at you as if they didnât know how to place you.Â
Every sunday it was the same. Youâd wake up and agonize over how to present yourself in a place as holy as this. Youâd fret that this skirt was too short and that dress was too tight. Youâd fiddle with your hair for far too long and every lipstick you wiped off would stain your lips a little more than the last. You were constantly at a crossroad, torn between wanting to look nice for church and concerned about looking likeâŠwellâŠa whore.
You struggled to swallow.
âI see the way they look at me,â you eventually whispered, staring at nothing. âI canât hear what they whisper, but I know itâs about me.â
You touched your throat, hating how tight it felt.
âItâsâŠdiscouraging.â
You didnât want to use that word, but it was the only word that was appropriate. It made you sad, and you often wondered why you kept returning to a place that made you sad. Surely a church wasnât necessary to âfind Godâ...right? You didnât think so, but you had wanted to start somewhere, and considering that none of your friends even owned a bible, they had been of no help. Stepping foot into a place that had only ever served to be ominous and oppressive in your eyes was the most terrifying thing youâd ever done.
âŠbut then you had laid eyes on Father Mayhew.
Heâd been the only one in the church at the time, and you would never forget the curious glint in his dark gaze. Youâd had no doubt that he could see you were scared and unsure and in an environment you were wholly unused to. Youâd appreciated the gentle way in which he talked to you, guiding you towards a pew in the front as you asked him questions that some people had answers to their entire lives. He hadnât treated you like you were stupid, but more importantly, he hadnât treated you like you didnât belong.
You were willing to bet that he hadnât even known about you then.
Although, months later, you were willing to bet that he did nowâŠeven though youâd never told him.
âHumans are flawed,â his smooth voice reached your ears through the wall. âWe all fall shortâeven the most devout of usâand we find ourselves falling prey to the temptation of judgmentâŠprideâŠlustâŠâ
You intently listened. After all, heâd never said these words to you before, always giving you some speech about Godâs love trumping all.
âI have no doubt that it is trying, but I am sure you will come to give them grace for their sins just as they will give you grace for yours. We are all Godâs children striving to lead a life in his imageâŠâ
His voice lowered at that, and you frowned slightly, looking towards the wall and thinking to yourself that he almost seemed to be talking to himself now.
âHe wants his children to love one another, a feat that is not without difficulty Iâm sure you knowâŠâ that actually made you hold back a chuckle. â...but Godâs love is powerful and he always grants forgiveness to those who genuinely yearn and ask for it.â
At that, you did smile.
You told him that you were truly sorry for your sins, and he told you to say ten Hail Maryâs, and you stepped out of the confessional feeling better than you did thirty minutes ago. You didnât know how long the feeling would last though, and so you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could, but you knew from experience that was easier said than done.
You touched the crucifix around your neck as you stepped out of your building.
It had once belonged to your mother, and despite how long sheâd been gone and how down on your luck youâd been ever since, you could never quite find it in you to pawn it. It was real goldâprobably the only real piece of jewelry you ever ownedâbut you just couldnât do it, and you supposed that you were never meant to. Despite the many years youâd lived life as the complete opposite of a God fearing womanâŠit felt right sitting just below your collarbone.
Even if many would not agree.
You were no stranger to several men in this townâand the ones who often passed through on their truck routesâbut that had not stopped you from seeking solace and guidance from a place youâd never stepped foot into in your life. You couldnât lie and say it didnât feelâŠstrange to be in the same building as some of the men youâd serviced before, their wives and children at their side as they furiously avoided making eye contact with you. It felt even worse to watch the way the women would congregate together after church, excluding you all the while talking about you.
It felt somewhat pathetic for your only ally in the place to be the priest.
Although you sometimes wondered how true that was these days. Youâd never once confessed that you used to be a prostituteâalthough the kids called it sex work these daysâbut you werenât stupid. As godly and devout as they claimed to be, you knew that the church was filled with gossip and there was no telling whoâd let it slip to the dark haired man. You knew when he knew thoughâŠ
âŠbecause he looked at you different.
It wasnât a bad differentâthank God for thatâbut justâŠdifferent, and while it wasnât necessarily bad, you still didnât think you liked it. Confessionâbeing anonymousânever allowed for you to tell him your name, and considering youâd only ever spoken to him once outside of confession months ago, you didnât know if he ever knew it was you he was talking to. You didnât know if he knew that the woman he spoke so gently with each week and listened to cry on the other side of some window was the same woman who often shrunk under his heavy gaze as he looked down on his congregation.
You never felt like he was judging you, no, but you also never felt like he was looking at you as he did that first day, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. He wasnât your friendâfar from it in factâbut he felt like the closest thing you had to one in this church, and so you often forced yourself to find excuses for it. He watches you because he wants to make sure youâre settling in okay. He watches you to observe how other members of the church are treating you. He watches you because heâs wondering if youâll ever come to confession, convincing yourself that heâs never recognized your voice all this time.
That is why he watches you, you told yourself.
No other reason.Â
âYou always come to pray at least three times a weekâŠâ
The familiar voice startled you as you stood, hand lowering as youâd just finished signing the cross. Your hand was still on your chest as you turned to face him, a small smile on your lips as he stood directly in the center of the aisle. You hadnât even heard him make a single sound, and you wondered how long heâd been standing there.
He slowly returned your smile with one of his own, although it was smaller, and the silent way in which he stared at you reminded you that heâd said something to you.Â
âYes,â you finally said, moving away from the altar. âIt helps withâŠumâŠreally everything.â
He blinked at you, and you noticed that a strand of his hair was threatening to go rogue. He always looked so neat and perfect that it was hard to miss. Father Mayhew was handsomeâif anyone had seen enough men to know it was youâbut he was handsome in a way that you would categorize as flawless. Divine even. In a way that was untouchable and only meant to be admired in the most innocent of appreciation.Â
He slowly nodded at your response, and you didnât miss the way he studied youâdark eyes drinking you in and taking note of every stylistic choice youâd made today.
âYou know, I think I might see your face far more than those who have been coming here for years,â he lightly told you, a slight laugh on his lips.
You laughed with him, only offering him a shrug.
âIâm still new. Iâm sure it just seems that way because you arenât used to seeing me.â
He started to shake his head before you could even finish talking, and you watched him move closer.
âNo,â he murmuredâso low you almost didn't hear him. âI think you are perhaps my mostâŠdevout congregant.â
He touched your crucifix as he said this, dark eyes tracing the shape of it, and he was so close that you could smell his cologne. You blinked at the scent, finding it strange to know that he wore cologne. It shouldnât be strange, you supposed, but you realized then that you didnât quite view priestsâview himâas human. As normalâŠ
His eyes lifted then to finally connect with yours, and a crooked smile danced along his pink lips.
âItâs admirable,â he whispered. âMore of my congregation could stand to follow your lead.â
You couldnât ignore the way your chest bloomed at those words, almost hating how much validation you wanted from this place. Validation that you were a good personâŠyou werenât who you used to beâŠthat you were worthy of something more, you didnât know. It just felt relieving to hear such a compliment from Father Mayhew when no one else in the church would even give you a chance.
âThank you, Father,â you quietly replied to him. âThat means a lot to me.â
You watched him slowly inhale as he dropped his hand, and he seemed even slower to step out of your way. When you walked past him, you could feel his gaze on youâalways watchingâand you smiled when he called out to you, telling you that he looked forward to seeing you on Sunday.
No one was more sad than you when you had to disappoint him.
An unexpected cold had you bedridden for days, and while you knew that an illness was a perfectly valid excuse to miss church, you couldnât swallow down the disappointment. You hadnât missed a single Sunday since you first started going, and you thought to yourself that the first thing youâd do when you returned was explain your absence to Father Mayhew.
You had never anticipated him showing up at your door to get it himself.
No one ever knocked on your door these days, so the sound had taken you by surprise. Your friendsâwhile supportive of the direction your life had takenâdidnât quite understand it and so you didnât see them as often, and as for anyone else⊠Well, there wasnât anyone else who would come knocking on your door. You didnât do that anymore so no customers were going to be greeting you on the other side with their money in their hand and an eager grin on their lips, and you doubted any of the women in town would want to sit down for a chat anytime soon.
Your shock at Father Mayhewâs presence was all over your face.
âFather,â you stated, the lilt in your voice hinting at your surprise.
He looked just as you were used to seeing himâclerical collar still on, not a hair out of place, and a hint of a smile on those pink lips. You stood there gaping at him for all of five seconds before it struck you how rude you were probably being.
âIâŠIâm so sorry. UmâŠcome in,â you told him, stepping out of the way and widening the gap in the doorway.
He didnât respond nor move right away, looking past you into your small house with a look in his gaze that you couldnât name. If he were anyone else, you might worry that he was judging where you lived. You watched his jaw briefly tighten, a noticeable strain in his face, and it only just occurred to you that maybe this wasnât appropriate? Although you were positive youâd heard of priests and pastors visiting the sick before, and while you certainly werenât on your deathbed, you didnât see why this would be different.
Before you could say another word though, his foot crossed the threshold, and you closed the door behind him.
âI do apologize for the unexpected visit,â he said to you, gazing around before his eyes landed on you again. â...but when I noticed that mass was absent of a face Iâd grown to look forward to, I became concerned.â
You couldnât stop your smile at his words
âOh,â you softly said. âWell, thereâs no need to be concerned. Itâs just a small cold that will be gone in a day or two.â
You watched him exhale at that, nodding to himself, and you studied him, surprised to see that he looked genuinely relieved at that.
âIâm glad to hear thatâs all it isâŠâ
At that, your brows furrowed, and you watched him slowly walk about your living room.
âI had feared that some of your fellow church goers had scared you off.â
Your lips parted at his words, and he turned and looked at you.
âThey often fall into the temptation of judgment, after allâŠâ
Your heart skipped a beat, and you didnât know how to react with the knowledge that he knew it was you who came to see him once a week. Youâd only spoken to him face to face twice, and you swallowed, looking away.
âI thought it would be a shame if they scared you off,â he confessed, and you noted that he was closer now. âI wondered what I would have to do to convince you to come back. Drag you, perhaps.â
You gave a soft laugh at that, although he didnât join you, and it awkwardly faded. He stared at you in silence for what felt like a long time, and just when you were considering asking him if he wanted anything to drink, he reached out to touch the crucifix around your neck again.
âSo devout,â he quietly said to himself. âIt almost makes me ashamedâŠâ
At that, you gave a heavy laugh, wondering how you could ever shame a priest.
âWhy?â
â...because I see why they flocked to your doorâŠmoney in hand.â
His gaze lifted as he said that, and you were still as you both just stared at each other. His words made you blink, and you were suddenly very aware of his hand practically on you. You couldnât stop the slight frown that fell over your face, and for the first time in monthsâsince you first stepped foot into that churchâyou feltâŠwrong.
âI see why their eyes trace every inch of you when youâre not lookingâŠas if to relive the memory of what you felt likeâtasted like.â
You finally took a step back, hand coming up to cover your necklace as if protecting it from his touch.
âWhat memories they must have of youâŠâ
You wrapped your other arm around yourself, mind whirling to reconcile the man before you with the same man whoâd always been so welcoming and gentle. Not once did you ever think he judged you for your past, and you supposed that you were right, but not once did you ever think he also mightâŠ
You hadnât done that in over a year, but had it really escaped you so quickly that a seemingly devout man was stillâŠa man?
âFather, I think you should-.â
âI donât say any of this to offend you,â he interrupted, tilting his head. âI say it because I fight the urge to touch you every time youâre in my presence.â
You moved by him to make your way to the door, but like an ever present shadow you only just noticed, he was close behind.
âYou can cover up as much as youâd likeâwear skirts down to your ankle and shirts up to your chinâŠâ his hand on the door halted your movements.Â
You felt his chest just barely grazing your back, and his lips followed suit, the softness of them brushing against your ear as he spoke. That familiar cologne invaded your senses.
â...but none of it can hide the temptation you pose by merely existing.â
You shrunk away from him at that, tears in your eyes as he verbalized the same fears you had every time you walked into the building. You flinched when his lips touched the back of your neck, heart dropping to your stomach, but you reached for the door handle anyway.
âFather, Iâd like you to leave-.â
Your words were cut off by your own sharp scream, taken aback by the feel of his fingers harshly pressing into the skin of your throat. His hand rested on the back of your neck, and you pressed your hand to the door when his lips grazed your cheek.
âTheyâre all like rabid dogsâŠjust waiting to pounce,â he mused against your skin, sliding between you and the door and forcing you further into your house with every step. âJust waiting for you to give up this charade and go back to taking their money for a quick fuck.â
You blinked, and a few tears escaped.
â...but they donât know you like I know you.â
He grinned against your cheek, and you winced as he lightly nipped at the skin there.
âThey donât know that you come to church at least thrice a week to light candles and prayâŠâ
You were full on sobbing now, and you could feel the cool metal of his ring against the back of your neck.
âThey donât know that you never miss your weekly confession, telling me every time you so much as say the Lordâs name in vain.â
His free hand was reaching for the buttons of your shirt, popping them open one by one, and you gasped when his fingers finally met skin. He dipped his head, mouth finding the skin of your shoulder and collarbone interesting before his hand searched for your wrist.
âThey donât know that you are the most pious woman to walk through those doors,â he purred, pressing gentle kisses to the inside of your wrist. â...and that I just want to ruin you for it.â
When his hand dipped between your legs, you were quick to try and stop him, still wincing at the tight grip on the back of your neck. Father Mayhew made a noise of disapproval, and your hand faltered when he harshly bit your shoulder.
âWe areâŠand always will beâŠsinnersâŠâ
Once his fingers were inside of you, it was like the point of no return. You found it funny that he likened the men in church to that of rabid dogs when he himself was behaving like the very thing he used to insult them. When your knees buckled, he followedâone arm around you and holding you in place while the fingers on his other hand curved into you.
Every thrust of his fingers made you wetterâembarrassingly soâand when he pulled your head back, he forced a kiss onto your lips. He swallowed down your whimpers and noises of protest, a moan escaping him as he tasted the inside of your mouth. With him so close to you, you could feel the muscles and contours of his frame beneath his clothes, and you were forced to recognize your predicament and his strength and what that meant for you.
When you were face to face with him again, his hair was nowhere near as neat as it was when he first walked through your door. His pink lips were swollen and reddened from kissing you and dragging over your skin. Your pajama top had long been discarded, the bottoms long ripped and pulled off of you. Father MayhewâsâCharlieâclerical collar was long gone, his shirt pulled open and hanging off of him.
You recalled the way your mouth had parted into an âOâ shape when the head of his cock finally dipped into you, stretching you with every inch and making your heart momentarily stop. His hand covered a breast, the feel of his ring cooling that singular part of your skin, the rest of you so overheated. His other hand was wrapped around your throat, and you clawed at his hand as he fucked you.
The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in your tiny home, the only sound to rival it being his harsh grunts and your strained voice. Any fight that youâd put up had been quickly squashed down, shown in the harshest manner just how strong your priest was. You hated how good it felt, hated that you didnât want this but was now forced to enjoy it. Nevermind the fact that you hadnât enjoyed sex for the act itself in yearsâŠ
âŠbut of all people to find yourself in this predicament with.
Father Mayhewâs hands never stayed in one place for long. He seemed determined to touch every part of you he could get his hands on, lips tasting the saltiness of your skin. Sweat clung to your frame and his, his fingers sliding over you as he kneaded your thighs and your waist and your chest. Every time you reminded yourself how wrong this was, heâd push his cock into you to the hilt, and youâd involuntarily throw your head back.
You could feel your crucifix pressing into your skin, and your eyes watered.
âI must admit that I wasâamâjealous,â he dragged out, voice hoarse and throaty and wholly unlike how you were used to hearing him. âYour devotion to God inspires an envy within me that I never knew existed.â
You took note of the scars on his back underneath your fingers.
â...a desire to have you completely devoted to me,â he bit out, covering your lips with his own. âYou so desperately desire forgiveness and acceptanceâŠand all the things you didnât think you were worthy of having.â
He harshly thrust into you, making you gasp.
â...and I can give that to you,â he whispered into the kiss.
The power behind his thrusts had you scratching at both his back and the floor, eyes squeezing shut at the way his fingers dug into your skin. It was like he was both holding you to him and trying to prevent you from ever walking away. Your chest arched up into his as you gasped, choked whimpers climbing out of your throat with every push of his hips. He growled against your skin as his lips traveled to your neck, the sound almost demonic to your ears.
When you came around himâyour first orgasm in over a yearâyou couldnât swallow down the noise it forced out of you. You could feel blood beneath your nails and a slickness on the inside of your thighs, but all the while Father Mayhew didnât stop.
With one hand pressed against the floor, he pushed himself up to look down at you. His free hand slid up your sweaty frame, coming up to wrap around the crucifix that rested against your skin. He tightened his hold around it, and he pulled on it, forcing you to lift your head and meet him halfway for a kiss.
âI want you just as eager to get on your knees for meâŠâ
ANNIE JANUARY/STARLIGHT | Season Two
How can Peggy be hateable in all universes? Jesus Christ! Steve and her are two idiots, they don't deserve the reader in their lives. ANYWAYS fuck them, let's go to Norway!
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You've had a crush on your best friend for years, but you're slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.
Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor
Note: please enjoy the first chapter!
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âNo, no, not the pink, red,â you cup your hand over your ear pod, âexactly what it says on the order sheet.âÂ
Were anyone to see you, sitting in the dirt, with a brush in hand, all alone, they might think youâre a bit out there. You, talking to the air, dusting off a clump of soil, orchestrating your own voice with the bristles. You dip your head as you focus on what the voice in your ear is saying.Â
âIâm not trying to be difficult,â you argue, âI put in the order weeks ago. A red bow. I have the receiptâ I mean sure, pink or red doesnât matter to me but itâs not my birthday.âÂ
âWeâll see what we can do,â the woman relents. Itâs not exactly a triumph but as close to as you can hope. If itâs pink, youâll just have to take the fall. The damn fondant will be devoured by the nightâs end anyhow.Â
You hang up with a double tap on the ear pod and your playlist resumes. You go back to trying to uncover the shape caked in layers of muck, turning the brush to chip away the rougher bits with the pointed tip. The work is tedious but it has to be. You canât risk damaging the relic nestled inside.Â
The abrupt chiming of your ringtone once more sounds through the bluetooth earpiece. You huff and hit the pod with the heel of your hand. You greet the call with only your name.Â
âAre you still on site?â Your boss, Arturo asks.Â
âYep, still here,â you still your hand and twist your arm, pulling back the end of your glove to see your watch, âjust a bit longer. You know I have that thing tonight.âÂ
âUh, yes, I recall,â he says dully as you hear paper shuffling, âyou got time to chat?âÂ
âSure,â you keep the cluster of dirt and the brush in one hand and use your other to push yourself to your feet, âI just gotta catalogue this before I finish the day.âÂ
âWell, I have good news and bad news,â he begins as you carefully walk between the cordoned off patches. The whole place is a maze of where and where not to step. You go into the tent and put down the half uncovered idol. Itâs brittle, made of hide and yew, with a bit of bone. âLucia is pregnant.âÂ
âOh? Thatâs great,â you furrow your brow, wondering what that has to do with you.Â
âMeans she canât travel for a while. Sheâs adverse to long term commitments at the moment soâŠâÂ
âSoâŠâ you trail off as you label the mound of dirt and make notes for the next day.Â
âSo, you want her assignment?âÂ
âWhich one?â You peel off your gloves and shake off the excess filth.Â
âNorway. It can be a bit dingy but the landscape is nice.âÂ
âNorway? For how long?â You close up the ledger and tuck it away on the shelf. You pass between the tables of artifacts as you pull out your phone.Â
âCould be a while but I figured you never get to go very far. Youâve been pent up in-state for so long, you could use the vacation.âÂ
âOh? Well, IâŠâ you scroll through your phone and see the notifications. Emails confirming delivery, messages asking if everything is sorted. âIâd have to think about itâŠâÂ
Itâs evasion more than indecision. You know you donât want to go. You canât go. Your whole life is here. You have an apartment and friends and⊠Steve. Your best friend. Â
âMake sure you do think about it. Itâs a great opportunity. Especially for a junior anthropologist. Lucia wonât be on leave forever.âÂ
âI know. Iâll think about it.âÂ
You hang up and pluck the earbud out. Ugh, youâre covered in dirt and dust. You donât have time to go home and shower. You knew you wouldnât. You have to be at the venue before everyone else. You can change there and try to wash up in the sink. Whatever, no oneâs going to be looking at you anyway. Itâs Peggyâs night. Yay.Â
You lock the fence and tug one last time to make sure itâs secure. You drag your boots across the thinning grass to your car parked on a stretch of gravel. You drop inside and hit start. You connect to the bluetooth and get some tunes going. You buckle your seat belt as you check the mirrors. Youâre probably going to have to speed there.Â
You back out as the music blares from the speakers. Itâs not loud enough to drown out your thoughts. Why did you agree to this? Peggy doesnât even like you. Oh, but she likes Steve. She is his girlfriend and you are only his best friend. Youâre supportive. You keep your mouth shut and smile.Â
Ugh. You squeeze the wheel until your knuckles hurt. You know why you offered to help plan the surprise. Youâre pathetic but youâre not delusional. It meant you got more time with him. There hasnât been much of that since Peggy came along, not just the two of you.Â
Classic, isnât it? In love with your best friend. Friends since college. Friends forever, you vowed naively, thinking that forever would never come. Nothing lasts that long, you can only hope to outlast Peggy.Â
And if you donât, maybe this crush will finally run its course.Â
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Red and white streamers decorate a long table set with trays. Thereâs a banner over it that reads âHappy Birthday, Peggyâ, and a stack of gifts already forming in the corner. Guests drift in with anticipation as you hurry around to check off all the items on your list.Â
You fix a small vase of flowers, trying to hide the droopy one in the back, and tug a wrinkle out of a tablecloth. You smile and wave at those who are early as you weave between them. You pull out your phone and lean it on the clipboard angle in the crook of your elbow. Theyâre on their way, okay. Keep it cool.Â
As you come to the kitchen door, you nearly collide with someone else. Sam touches your arm gently as he keeps you from tripping backward. You gasp and hug the clipboard with a wobbly grin.Â
âHey,â you greet breathily, âyouâre here.âÂ
You look down at the guest list and check him off.Â
âAh, figured Iâd make an appearance,â he kids, âRogers would take it pretty rough if his best pal wasnât here.âÂ
âPlease, donât start that with Bucky again,â you warn as you point the pen in his direction, âthe two of you, in fact, are seated separately.âÂ
âNo fun!â He whines dramatically.Â
You scrunch your lips at him and peer around. Yes, none of this has been fun. Caterers, servers, tables, space, food! Yes, you were going to check on the cake. Your sole squeaks as you twist sharply and go to slam your hand into the door.Â
âHey,â Sam blocks your way with his arm, âbefore you disappear, youâre still wearing your boots.â He points to your feet, âin case youâre wondering about the snail trail.âÂ
He sweeps his finger up in a gesture alluding to your previous path. You glance over at the dirt littered in your stead then down at your dusty boots. You sigh and hang your head back.Â
âFuck!â You snarl.Â
âDonât worry, Iâll find a broom,â he assures you, âwhile you take a breath. You need it.âÂ
âI canât, Sam, theyâre already on their way. I still have to get everyone in their place and⊠quiet,â you scowl, âugh, this is gonna be so bad. I donât know what Iâm doing.âÂ
âSo⊠whyâd you do it?â He asks as he drags his hand away from the doorframe. You look at him and blink slowly. You shrug.Â
âIâm a good friend,â you insist.Â
He gives a skeptical hum and nods, âsure are,â he grumbles, âtoo good, if you ask me.âÂ
You throw up your hand before turning into the kitchen. You donât have time to worry about him. Is he jealous that youâre helping Steve so much? Or does he know something else? You donât let the seed sprout as you nearly cry out at the sight of the cake.Â
A pink bow. Jeez. Of course. You check the cake off your list, nearly tearing through the paper. Itâs better than nothing, even if Peggy never settles for less than the best.Â
Thereâs no time to complain or send it back. Your phone vibrates again. Five minutes. Your heart is racing. Why? This isnât even your party. You just want it to be perfect for Steve. You hate to disappoint him. Ever.Â
You really shouldnât care that much but you do. Like so many other things in your life.Â
đ
The crowd can't keep quiet. There's a low buzz that ripples through the guests. A wave of anticipation that's spread like a deadly virus.Â
You feel a nudge in your side and peek over as Bucky sends Sam a sneer and wriggles in place. Those two never let up. You hiss at them to quit and they look as guilty as a pair of unruly children.Â
"He keeps tickling me," Bucky whispers.Â
"No, I'm tryna fix his hair, look at this mess," Sam flicks a strand away from Bucky's cheek, "this is a nice event, Buck, not your living room."Â
"Both of you," you warn. Â
"You're bitching at me when Indiana Jones here brought the dig with her," Bucky mutters.Â
You look down. Dammit. You still didn't change out of your boots. You roll your eyes. It's not about you. It's Steve's night. Er, Peggy's. Â
You shake out your nerves and shake your head, "you two," you step behind Bucky and insert yourself between the men, "behave."Â
"Yes, mom," Sam snickers as Bucky groans and tries to smooth the few shanks that have slipped free of his low ponytail.Â
You exhale and give an exasperated look to the door. You really can't handle them on top of everything else. You just want this night to end already. All your hard work and you won't even get to enjoy any of it.Â
"Everybody," Natasha hisses as she runs away from the doorway, "they're coming."Â
The group quiets, as much as they can, a collective bated breath as you wait and listen. The lull is unbearable as the heat of the bodies around you pricks sweat down your neck and across your scalp. The door begins to open, almost as if in slow motion, and as the guest of honour is revealed, you cry out.Â
"SURPRISE!" The eruption of the chorus has your head spinning as Peggy gives a melodramatic swoon, grabbing at Steve's arm as she leans on him heavily.Â
She parts only to fan her eyes and squeal. "Oh my god, you guys!"Â Â
She teeters on her heels as people holler happy birthday and her group of girlfriends flutter over to wrap her up in a cacophony of giggles and preening. You smile, a bittersweet twitch in your cheek as you watch her spin back to Steve and pull him into a kiss. Â
You're happy for them really, proud to see all your effort come to fruition, but you just feel so hollow. For an instant, you think it should be you right there, gushing in glee over the celebration of another year, with Steve beside you. Â
You gulp down the jealousy and wiggle your nose to ward away the tears. That's a stupid thought. If it hasn't happened in more than a decade, it's not going to happen now.Â
đ
As the guests disperse into their own conversations, you finally manage to wade through to the happy couple. You approach with a small wave at Steve. He doesn't see you, he's watching Peggy as she chats with Natasha.Â
"Hi," you call above the din, "so, you like it?"Â
Steve turns to you, confusion stitching his forehead before he registers your questions. He nods and gives a smile, "it's amazing, you did so good!"Â
The sparkle in his eyes, the perfect line of his jaw, the way he's looking at you, it makes your heart rend. You tilt your head and dig your toe into the floor bashfully, "thanks. I'm so happy to see it come together."Â
"Um, the cake," he brings his index finger up, "I was hoping to bring it out soon."Â
"Er, yeah, it's back in the kitchen. About thatâ"Â
"Great," he claps your shoulder and brushes by you, "just gonna put the finishing touches on it."Â
"Hm, what do youâ"Â
He's gone before you can finish your question. You deflate just a little, setting your feet flat as you sway aimlessly. The motion hooks Peggy's attention. You give a sheepish smile as you wring your hands.Â
"Oh, uh, just came over to wish you a happy birthday," you chirp, "are you enjoying it?"Â
"Ah, I didn't see you here, I thought maybe you were busyâŠ" she gives a pointed look to your boots, "working."Â
"Um, yeah, no," you fidget, "always happy to come support you two."Â
"Where is Steve?" She gazes past you, shouldering by dismissively, "he was justâŠ."Â
Right. You nod and flit away in embarrassment. You can't say you ever got along with Peggy. Where you're accommodating, she's a bit too demanding. Different people, but you don't dislike her. You just don't mesh. Or perhaps it's just that you don't get what Steve sees in her. Especially when you're right there.Â
Enough. This isn't about you or your stupid dumb heart. Just smile and go with it.Â
The kitchen door swings open, a noise barely discernible above the hue, and the rattling wheels of a cart underline the steady drone. A lull washes over the crowd as they part. You move with the tide and face the sudden divide.Â
A hush falls over the room as Steve pushes the cake across the floor. He stops before Peggy as she faces him, another feigned pout of surprise. He grins proudly at her as you stare curiously at the top of the cake.Â
"Oh, pink?" She comments on the fondant bow as her eyes flick over to you. She quickly corrects herself an admires the double tiered dessert, "Steve, it's so pretty."Â
You know she hates the colour. You recall the one time you wore a pink bow in your hair and she made a similar comment. Cute, she remarked in her roundabout way in her oh so sophisticated accent.Â
You manufacture a smile and step closer as Steve beckons to the guest. Tension stills the air, almost paralyzing the crowd. You squint at the heart shaped box perched atop the bow.Â
"Is this for me?" Peggy asks if it's not obvious.Â
Steve nods, his cheeks tinting pink, as you notice how he wipes his palms on his pants. Peggy delicately takes the box from the pedestal of fondant and your ribs ache from the pounding of your heart. You curl your fingers until your nails dig into your skin as you watch him kneel beside her.Â
She doesn't notice as she opens the box on its hinges. Her lips part and she stares at the contents. She looks over at Steve to find him on his knee and she claps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes gleam as she whimpers his name through her fingers.Â
The scene hazes behind your tears as you stare wide eyed. Your ears ring as Steve's voice is dulled by your shock.Â
"Margaret Elizabeth Carter," Steve's timbre warble just a bit, "will you make me the happiest man on earth?"Â
You don't wait for her answer. You already know it. It's the very same you give in every outlandish dream you've ever had of your happy ending. You spin and storm through the crowd, blind with horror and self-pity.Â
Surprise! Your whole world is crashing into pieces.Â
đđąđđą đ: đđ. đđđ«đš-đ„đđđąđ§. đŹđĄđ/đĄđđ«. some dark stuff, virgil van dijk and drew starkey
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