#and i hate that hes boiled down to sex appeal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mx-mercury · 3 months

Text

one

gojo satoru x reader.

tags/warnings: fem!reader, teasing, fingering, one bed trope, p in v sex, fluff, gojo’s a little shit

word count: 5.6k

authors notes: cross posted to ao3 @/mx_mercury!! this is cringe but idc i am free :3

It was common knowledge within your friend group that Satoru Gojo might have a thing for you. The both of you butted heads constantly, the competition between you two never failing to push the boundaries of friendly. He couldn’t get enough of pissing you off, and when he started being just a little more flirty with you than anyone else? Oh, the embarrassment on your face was just heavenly.

It wasn’t like you didn’t reciprocate. You’d have to be blind to not acknowledge how attractive he was. He never failed to make you laugh, and his competitive attitude that balanced yours perfectly drew you into him. Something about him was magnetic, leaving you tantalized and missing him more often than you’d like to admit. However, your hubris wouldn’t let you accept your own feelings. You already had the displeasure of being suffocated by his ego everyday, the last thing he needed to hear was how you felt about him.

For these reasons, you considered throwing yourself off a bridge when you were assigned to a mission with him. He was quick to take over planning, telling you that you could “just rest your pretty little head until the mission.” You didn’t object, after all, who were you to protest not having to pay for anything on a trip to a city an hour away?

The only train ride available on short notice ran fairly late, so he got a hotel room for the both of you to stay at near the site that the curse was reported. The plan was to sleep there, then take care of the curse in the morning. Satoru was oddly peaceful on the train ride there, which you were thankful for. He looked over your shoulder at the book you were reading, eyes scanning the pages along with you. It was a nice, intimate moment between the two of you, bonding despite remaining perfectly silent. It warmed you up to him, dismissing the anxiety you held in your mind about staying in the same room with him. You stood behind him as he checked in at the front desk, unable to take your eyes off of him. His marine eyes glittered behind his glasses, a beautiful myriad of different shades of blue standing out in stark contrast to the dark lenses. His hair looked impossibly soft, lips shiny and plump. You couldn’t erase the soft smile from your face as you followed him. That was, until, in the elevator, on the way up to your room, he shot you a mischievous look. Your heart sunk, it was a look you’d seen many times. The same look he’d give you every time he was about to do something that would make your blood boil.

He opens the door to the hotel room, stepping aside to allow you to enter first. Around the wall, you see it. You see why he shot you that look earlier.

There’s only one bed.

You turn to him and give him an exasperated look. He stifles a grin and tilts his head at you. “What?” He asks as he walks in, shutting the door behind him.

“I hate you.” You say flatly, glaring at him as he moves to stand beside you. A look of realization dawns on him as he sees the one bed, prompting you to punch him in the shoulder. “Don’t act like you didn’t know!” You accused, face turning red. You’d be lying if you said the idea of sharing a bed with him wasn’t appealing.

“Ow!” He whines, clutching his shoulder. “I didn’t, what kind of guy do you think I am?” He gives you an offended look, quickly moving past you.

“Well, right now, I think you’re a perv,” you retort, folding your arms across your chest.

“I- That is not true,” he scoffs dramatically, slinging his backpack on the ground and picking up the phone on the desk. “Shut up for a second, I’m calling them.”

His back is turned to you, figure cast in the yellow-orange glow of the lamp on the desk. Your stomach does flips at the sight of him, indulgently looking him up and down. He feels your gaze rake up his spine, his back muscles tensing instinctively. “No, wait, it’s fine,” you murmur, eyes going wide as your gaze suddenly falls to your feet. The words slipped from you unconsciously, a passing thought somehow manifesting itself into reality before you can filter yourself.

He pauses, a grin spreading across his face, hidden from your view. “Nevermind.” He mumbles into the phone. “Sorry for the trouble,” he puts it down and turns to you, a knowing expression on his face. “Who’s the perv now?” He teases, tilting his head at you.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes, throwing your bag at him. He steps out of the way and it falls into a corner of the room. “I’m tired, I don’t feel like going through all that hassle.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugs, kicking his shoes off and flopping backward across the bed, hands under his head. He watches you grab your bag, pulling out a change of clothes.

You head to the bathroom and slip into the more comfortable clothes you brought to sleep in. It’s nothing fancy, a black sweatshirt and a pair of grey shorts. You glance at yourself in the mirror, noticing that the shorts fall a little high up on your thighs. You didn’t pack with the idea of Satoru seeing you in mind, but you tried your best to shrug it off.

He watches you as you come out of the bathroom, gaze falling onto your pillowy thighs. He bites his lip when you bend to stuff your uniform back into your bag, eyes exploring the backs of your thighs and your shorts that lift up dangerously high. You lay in the bed beside him, both of you splayed out across the mattress. You reach for your phone on the bedside table, tilting it away from Satoru’s view when you type in the password. He rests his chin on your shoulder, arms folded across your back as he looks at your phone screen.

“Who’re you texting?” He asks, lips directly beside your ear.

“Suguru and Ieiri told me to text when we got to the hotel,” you answer, desperately trying to dismiss the warm, rosy blush blooming across your cheeks. His weight is a comfort to you, as much as you hate to admit it. You feel him sigh softly as he squishes his cheek against your shoulder, admiring your side profile. You snap a picture of the both of you through your front camera to send to the group chat.

“Hey!” He protests, sliding down your back in an effort to duck away from the camera. “Warn me first, you didn’t even get my good side.”

“You don’t have a good side,” you roll your eyes as you press send.

“Be nice to me,” he rolls over onto his back, still on top of you. You push your hips up off of the mattress, attempting to shove in off of your body. He grunts and quickly rolls back over, large hands moving to grip your waist and secure his place on top of you. “Nice try.” He grins, moving to your shoulder again.

“Get off, weirdo.” You chide, phone buzzing as texts from Suguru and Ieiri appear on the screen.

squad

you: we made it

you: (1 attachment)

ieiri 💕: aw you two look cute lol

suguru: are you guys together yet

you: kys

you: both of you

ieiri 💕: how much you wanna bet they will be by tn

suguru: i’d give it a day

ieiri 💕: 1000 ¥

suguru: deal

you: i’d genuinely rather die

asshole: that’s hurtful :(

You look over your shoulder at Satoru, who flashes you a cheeky grin. He glances down at your phone and his brow furrows. “Why am I asshole in your contacts?”

“The shoe fits,” you grin, ruffling his hair and looking back down at your phone. He sighs dramatically and buries his head in your shoulder. You feel his breath against your neck, lips painfully close. Your own breathing quickens against your attempts to keep it still, face reddening.

“So warm,” he murmurs against your neck, pulling himself tighter against your waist. You feel the muscles of his chest against your back, the only barrier between the two of you being the fabric of your clothes. He shifts so that his legs are on top of yours, knee forcing itself between your thighs. You exhale a shaky sigh, unconsciously squeezing your thighs around his knee. His breath hitches at the motion and he chuckles softly, hot breath fanning behind your ear. For a moment, you agree with him. He’s warm against you, like a heated, weighted blanket, and even though it becomes slightly harder to breathe, you don’t want him to get off. He notices you adjust to his presence, heart fluttering excitedly at his success. The tension in your body noticeably dissolves, both of you sink further into the mattress as you scroll mindlessly on your phone. Time passes, he feels himself slowly melt against your body, taking occasional glances at your phone. He nearly falls asleep on top of you, overtaken by pure bliss. He blinks his eyes open and rises from you, earning a barely-audible hum of disappointment from you. You look up from your phone as he grabs a pair of black sweatpants from his back, slipping into the bathroom. You move to the head of the bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling the blankets over your lap. As you’re waiting on Satoru, your phone buzzes. You see a text from Ieiri.

ieiri 💕

ok be honest

do you like satoru?

jesus christ

for the millionth time, no

The bathroom door opens. You look up to see Satoru in the door, wearing the sweatpants he’d grabbed earlier with no shirt. The waistband of his boxers pokes out slightly above his sweats. His uniform is draped sloppily over his arm, he takes his glasses off and cleans off the lenses with the fabric of his sweats. You swallow thickly, unable to restrain your eyes from exploring his chiseled torso. “What?” He blinks at you, a blank, innocent expression on his face.

“Put a shirt on.” You grumble, looking back down at your phone to conceal your bright red face.

“I sleep shirtless,” He shrugs, placing his glasses back on his face. He flops into bed beside you, the mattress shifts under his weight. Through your peripherals, you see him lying on his side, cheek resting in his hand, staring up at you with a knowing expression. As if on cue, your phone buzzes.

ieiri 💕

are u sure?

You pause at the message, sighing softly to yourself. The message you type in reply is honest, too honest, you hesitate before you send it. But, it is Ieiri, you and her have been close friends for some time. You trust her enough not to make a huge deal about it.

ieiri 💕

are u sure?

i was

not anymore

“Sure about what?” Satoru says lowly into your ear, staring at your phone screen. You were so in your head you didn’t register his movement. Your shoulders are pressed into each other, his face dangerously close to yours. Quickly, you put your phone on the mattress face-down.

“None of your business. What’s your obsession with looking at my phone?” You reply, remaining stoic. He stares at you for a moment, his gaze locking you in a trance. You don’t say anything, enamored with his gorgeous eyes and bare torso so close to you. A grin splits his face suddenly and he reaches across your body, snatching your unlocked phone off of the bed. “Hey!” You shout in protest, reaching for your phone in his grasp. It’s futile, he’s already thrown himself out of bed and across the room in a matter of seconds. You fling the sheets off of you, dashing toward him as he reads through your texts with Ieiri. He glances up at you, cruel amusement clear in his face. It makes you realize you’re too late, he raises your phone above his head out of your reach.

“Got something you wanna tell me?” He smirks, eyeing you and stifling a laugh as you reach for your phone. You freeze, gaze falling away from your phone and onto his face. An idea enters your mind and your disposition changes, eyes lower and staring into his.

“Yeah,” you nod, the hand that was reaching up for your phone falling to his shoulder, “yeah, I do.” His smug grin falters and your hand slides down against his chest, fingertips against his collarbone. “Satoru,” you whisper, leaning close to his face, thumb stroking the smooth skin of his pectoral. It’s his turn to get nervous, cheeks dusted with a warm pink. You feel his heart pound through his chest, lips so close to touching. Your other hand moves to cup his cheek, his eyes dart to your hand, then to your eyes, then to your lips. He can’t choose what to focus on, eyes wild and anxious. He resorts to letting them flutter closed, feeling your soft breath against his lips and anticipating the feeling of your kiss. A grin spreads across your face, he looks adorable enough to make you almost feel bad for tricking him. Almost. “Give me my phone back before I slap the shit out of you,” you murmur lowly. His eyes fly open and his face turns bright red, your grin spreads wider at the sight. His arm holding your phone falters, you take the opportunity to jump up and snatch it, pushing off his shoulder for an extra boost.

“You are evil,” he laughs, grabbing your wrist before you can make it back to the bed. “It’s hot.” He pulls you against his chest, securing you in place with an arm around your waist. Your stomach does flips, the familiar feeling of his muscles against your back now more defined without the protective barrier of his uniform. It was then you realized you were in over your head, that you had unleashed a monster within the boy behind you. Trying to beat Satoru Gojo at flirting— at anything, really— was a losing battle. You’d caught him off guard just then, but it wasn’t like him to simply quit that easily. “What? Bite off more than you can chew?” You don’t answer him, you can’t find the words to say. Your mind draws blank, overrun by a fervid want for him. You look down, the sight of his strong forearm crossing over your body makes you ache. “No words?” He questions again, chuckling at you.

“What do you want me to say?” You snap defensively.

“You could start by telling me about what you and Ieiri were texting about.” He hummed inquisitively, tightening his hold on you and snaking his other hand down your arm. You tighten your grip on your phone in your left hand, knowing he’s making an attempt at reaching for it. You don’t answer, you can’t. Telling him your feelings would feel like he had won. Your pride wouldn’t allow for his victory. “Aw, come on,” he sighs, his forearms travels down to the hem of your sweatshirt and quickly slip under the fabric, his arm now against your bare skin, “don’t tell me I have to force it out of you.”

“Satoru-!” You whine sharply, reaching to grab his arm. His fingers press into your sides, ensuring that your half-hearted attempts to pull his arm away are useless. Your heart skipped at his words, his tight grip on your side sending electricity through you.

“What?” He questioned. “Just tell me, tell me and I’ll stop.” He coaxed, voice low and teasing in your ear. Your skin burned from embarrassment, the warmth of his body around you intoxicated you. You tilted your head back against his chest with closed eyes, enthralled in his touch. He peers curiously at you, red-faced and shaking against him.

Your eyes open and you gaze up at him, looming over you to see you better. He’s captivated with you pretty you look below him, languid eyes staring up at him with desire and a glint of apprehension. “I don’t want you to,” you expressed, voice soft. His heart jumped, eyes darting to your lips. Studying how shiny and soft they looked, he decided that his patience had run out.

He couldn’t take it anymore, he spun you around in his arms, wrapping them around your waist when you faced him. You gasped softly as he did, looking up at him with fawning eyes. “I won’t,” he whispered gruffly as he leaned into you. His lips caught yours in a passionate kiss, grunting softly against you. He holds you steady against him as he subtly pushes you backward. You whine and when the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. You quickly toss your phone onto the bed, freeing your hand. His hands move just under your ass, pulling away for a second to hoist you onto the bed with remarkable ease. You gasp as he drops you onto the mattress, his lips crashing onto yours before you can even consider speaking. Not that you could, the only thing going through your mind was his name.

He puts himself between your legs that dangle slightly over the end of the mattress, your knees flanking his hips. You toss your arms over his shoulders, hands moving to grip his hair. You squeak when you feel his tongue grace your bottom lip, immediately parting them and giving him access to your mouth. His lips curl upward against the kiss, seeing how you’ve become putty in his hands. He’s quick to intertwine his tongue with yours, groaning softly into your mouth. His hands caress the sides of your thighs, moving along the curve of your hips to the waistband of your shorts. His thumbs hook around the fabric, making you pull away with a whine of surprise. He pauses, half-lidded eyes moving to your face.

“Can I?” He whispers, forehead against yours. Your head spins, fingers toying with his hair. The reality of the situation sets in. The reality of the situation sets in. The idea of having sex with Satoru Gojo had been a mere passing fantasy, now come to life before you. Anxiety wound tight around your stomach, but you struggle to find it in yourself to object. Your heart throbs in your chest, skin screaming to touch him more. So, after a moment of silence, you nod, moving your arms under his and wrapping them around his body. He gives a pleased sigh, leaning in to kiss you again. The feeling of your lips is dangerously addictive, leaving him wanting more each time he’s pulled away. He quickly tears his glasses from his face, tossing them carelessly onto the bed. He slides your shorts down your thighs, stepping away and allowing you room to kick them off. Your underwear follows suit. He leans over you, his hand moves to the back of your head to gently guide you onto your back. He breaks the kiss, looming over you, supporting himself with a hand beside your head. His other hand kneads your breast through your shirt, pulling a soft, “hm,” sound from you. You wrap your legs around his waist, calling his attention to where you need him the most. His hand travels down your body, reaching just above your cunt. His fingers rubs a line along your slit, pulling a gasp from you.

“Mmh,” he grunts, sending butterflies through you, “so wet already.” His fingertip dips into your hole, making you jolt against him with need. “Mm-mm, not yet,” he coos, grinning at your frustrated, needy expression. He keeps teasing you, running his fingers along your pussy, making you buck upwards into his hand in an attempt for friction. He rises up on his knees over you, using his other hand to grab your hip and force you into the mattress. Your arms fall from his body to beside you, gripping the sheets. “Stay,” he commands, tone cautionary. You clench around nothing at his words, his abrasive tone making you shudder with sinful pleasure.

His fingers finally press against your clit, rubbing in a slow circle. A soft moan of relief escapes you, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. His jaw falls open at the sight of you, blushing brightly and rolling your hips against his fingers. “Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his pants tighten almost painfully, “so pretty.” His fingers leave your clit and rub your entrance, making you push your hips forward. His digits slip slightly past your folds, making you whine, reaching down for his hand. “You want this, baby?” He asks breathily, glancing up at you. You nod eagerly, eyes squeezed shut. “Say it.” He commands.

“Satoru,” you whine, embarrassed. The way you say his name makes him see stars, spurring him on. You turn your head away, pressing the side of your face against the mattress.

“Tell me,” his voice is raspy, pupils dilated. He can barely handle the sight of you, so desperate for him, your warmth around his fingertips. “Fucking tell me,” he repeats, breathing hard and labored. You see his own desperation, glancing down to see his erection prominent through his sweatpants. His chest rises and falls rapidly, the view making you squirm.

“Need you, Satoru.” You breathe, reaching for the waistband of his pants. “Need your fingers in me,” your whisper, your own fingertips grazing his erection. He groans softly, you can’t help but blink in surprise feeling how hard he is.

His fingertips finally plunge into you, pulling a loud moan from your throat. He bites down hard on his lip, seeing you stare down at his hand with languorous eyes. He pumps his digits in and out of you, you mewl pitifully and squirm underneath him. He looms over you again, hand slamming against the mattress beside your head, the force making you yelp in surprise. His fingers curl within you, pulling another moan from you. His lips press against your neck, you feel his heavy, desperate breaths against your skin. His teeth graze against your flesh, fighting hard against the urge to bite you. You feel his erection against your inner thigh through his pants, you shiver and roll your hips against his fingers. Your thigh grazes his hardness, making him groan against you, pressing heated, wet kisses against your neck. “Fuck,” he moans against you, whispering your name fervidly. Almost unconsciously, he grinds against your inner thigh, grunting softly against you. His fingers scissor inside you, thumb pressing against your clit, desperate to make you come so he can finally fuck you the way he’s dreamt of for so long.

You grin lustfully at the feeling of him rutting his hips against you, moans spilling from your lips at the motions of his fingers. His teeth nip at your neck, sucking and ensuring he’ll leave behind bruises on your tender skin. “Sa-Satoru,” you mewl, eyes rolling back for a split second. The sensation of his fingers stirring inside you, his cock pushing into your thigh, his hot mouth against your skin, all of it overwhelms you. His grunting makes you almost pity him, tapping the back of his neck lighting. “St-stop, Satoru, stop.” You pant, making him freeze. He rises from the crook of your neck, eyes flooded with concern and locked onto yours.

“You okay?” He murmurs, making you nod. You pull at his sweatpants, palming his erection with your other hand. “O-Oh God,” he gasps, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck me, please,” you plead, staring into his eyes. “I want it.”

He nods, not having to be told twice. He’s quick to pull his sweats down, freeing his erection from his boxers. His fingers leave you, hand planting on the other side of your head. He lowers onto his forearms, caging you under him with clenched fists. You feel the heat and weight of his cock against your entrance, you chew your lip with anticipation. He glances back up at you, giving you a look that says “are you sure?” You nod at him, and with that, he pushes his hips forward. He groans lowly as he pushes himself inside you, your hands fly to his back. Your fingertips press into his shoulder blades, nails biting into him. You cry out as he bottoms out within you, you swear you feel him slot against your cervix. He’s thick, you feel him stretching you out, but it’s not enough to cause any significant pain.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, pulling out of you slightly. You clench around him as he slides out of you, making him gasp. He thrusts back into you, making sure to be gentle. You mewl softly as he forms a slow rhythm, his dick pressing deeply into you. He shudders at your gasps, hitting the spongy part inside you. His breathing is raspy and hard, sending chills of pleasure up your spine. You roll your hips against him as he fucks into you, soft moans pouring from your lips. You whine his name and it pushes him over the edge. “Hah, fuck, I can’t-” he grunts, pulling out of you and slamming back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his back, the sting spurring him on. He quickens his pace, thrusting faster into you. You quiver around him, mewling pathetically at the sudden change.

“Satoru, it’s- ah! So much,” you whimper, raking your nails along his back.

“You can take it, princess,” he whispers, smiling and moving his hand to stroke the side of your face. You squeeze your legs around him, pulling yourself against his chest. His arms fall under your back, holding you against him as he ruts into you.

Your breath rakes against the crook of his neck, lips parted and pressed against his skin as you cry his name. He laughs breathily, setting you against the mattress and pressing a hand over your mouth. “Hush, baby, a little quieter.” You tremble, still moaning desperately against his hand. “Poor thing, you can’t restrain yourself, can you?” He coos mockingly, earning a glare from you. Your lips part and you bite into his palm, the pain making him drop his head and groan. He pulls his hand away, moving down your chest to palm your clothed breast in his hand. You whine softly, biting down on your lip to keep your voice at a reasonable volume. His hand moves down and swipes the end of your sweatshirt up over your chest, exposing your bare chest to him. Your tits bounce in tandem with his thrusts, he stares with lust and awe in his eyes. You blush and turn your head away, he sees the motion in his peripheral vision and quickly grabs your jaw, turning you to him. “Wanna see you, pretty girl,” he whispers lovingly, making you sigh. You turn your head to plant kisses to his palm and wrist between soft moans, his heart flutters at the gesture.

He feels you begin to quiver and clench around him. His cock throbs as he spears into you. His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing in a vigorous, sloppy circle. You arch your back and cry out his name, pressing your head into the mattress below. “Fuckfuckfuck, I’m- mmh, I’m so close,” you babble through clenched teeth, stars spotting your vision.

“Uh huh,” he pants, nodding in agreement. “‘S’okay, come for me.” You pull yourself against his chest, nails clawing his back desperately. His back tensed and his spine straightens, a low moan spilling from his throat.

You clench around him harder, involuntarily, his name pouring out of you. Sweat beads on your skin, and with a desperate gasp, you snap. Your orgasm rushes hard over you, drowning you in pleasure as your skin tingles. You feel yourself float on bliss, brain fuzzy as your eyes flutter shut. His teeth sink into your neck and he groans into you, a few more sharp thrusts and he reaches his own climax as well. Your eyes fly open as he paints your insides with ropes of cum, rutting softly against you. You drop yourself against the mattress, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Did you just-” you pause, too embarrassed to say anything more.

You melt at the sight of him above you, skin shiny with sweat and focused only on you. Adoration swirls in his eyes, before he pulls out of you, glancing down. “Oh,” he says simply. “It’ll be fine, probably.” He says, pulling you back against him with a soft, blissful sigh.

You relax in his touch, wrapping your arms around him tightly. You’re too exhausted to care about anything else but him, clinging to him. Your fingertips run gently over the scratches you left behind on his back, skin raised and red. “Sorry,” you murmur, worrying you might’ve hurt him.

“Mm-mm,” he quickly shakes his head, gently laying you back down on the mattress. “Battle scars.” He grins at you, sliding out of bed to grab his pants from the floor.

“Shit, that reminds me,” you sit up, watching him slip his sweats back on, “what time do we have to leave tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves you off, sitting at the head of the bed. You turn towards him, an impatient look on your face.

“I’m worrying about it. I have to set an alarm, and-”

“I’ll be your alarm.” He insists. “C’mere, sweet girl.” He pats the bed beside him. Your expression softens, you crawl to him and tuck your body against his. He places his arm around you, holding you securely to him. He leans his head down to kiss the top of your head, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “You did so well,” he whispers, leaning over you to switch the lamp off.

He continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, his praises and the warmth of his body lulling you to sleep.

“G’morning, baby.” You awake to soft kisses against your forehead. Your eyes flutter open to meet Satoru, smiling at you from beside the bed.

“Mmm.” You groan sleepily, turning over and pulling the blanket higher over your shoulder. He frowns, pullling the blanket off of you. “Go away,” you murmur, burying yourself deeper into the pillow.

He chuckles softly, arms sliding under your body to lift you off of the bed and into his arms. “We have a job to do, you gotta get up.” The cool air sends chills through, you cling to his body for a semblance of warmth. Goosebumps raise across your skin, you rub your eyes sleepily, pulling your sweatshirt down over your crotch.

“Put me down, I’m up.” You demand, and he sets you gently on your feet. You reach for your phone, plugged in on the bedside table. “Did you plug my phone in for me?” You ask, turning to him as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Oh,” he brushes his hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I did. Could you pass me those?” He points to his glasses, next to your phone on the table. You grab them by the frames and toss them to him, he catches them and puts them on his face, adjusting them on the bridge of his nose.

You unlock your phone, seeing you have several new notifications from the group chat. Your heart stops for a second, your thumbs scramble to press the notification. You scroll up, seeing a picture of you, asleep against Satoru’s chest, illuminated by the front flash. It’s sent from your phone, but you can’t recall ever sending it. Satoru’s shit-eating grin visible in the corner clues you in to the source.

squad

you: (1 attachment)

you: revenge >:)

suguru: oh?????

ieiri💕: SUGURU YOU OWE ME 1000 ¥

suguru: SHIT

ieiri💕: soooo what happened???

handsome guy❤️: i’m sure reader’ll be happy to tell you the details tmrw morning

suguru: wow

suguru: i’m honestly impressed

ieiri💕: i fucking called it

suguru: so she wasn’t mad abt the one bed thing?

handsome guy❤️: nope

suguru: how’d you manage to get away with that?

handsome guy❤️: my irresistible charm of course, what else??

suguru: stfu

Your face burns with embarrassment. You open your camera roll, seeing a large assortment of pictures Satoru took of you, cuddled up to him while you slept. In some, he’d put his glasses on you, kissing your cheek, or holding up peace signs to the camera, looking like the most proud man on earth. You switch back to the group chat, only then realizing he’d changed his contact name in your phone.

you: i want you all to know if satoru goes missing it’s his own fault and it has nothing to do with me

ieiri💕: uh oh

ieiri💕: don’t do it, he’s not worth the prison time

“Satoru.” You say flatly, turning to him. He looks up at you, face dropping when he sees your glare.

“Yes, my love?” He questions, smiling innocently. You put your phone face down on the table.

“Did you use my phone at all last night?” You ask.

“No, why?” He tilts his head at you, poker-face exceptional.

“Can you explain what’s in my camera roll, then?” Your glare harshens, sending chills up his spine.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He walks around the bed toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I hope this curse kills you when we get there.” You hiss, placing your hands on his forearms.

“Love you too,” he sighs sweetly, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. He lets go of you and ducks into the bathroom. You watch him walk away, unable to conceal the soft smile gracing your lips.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader #oneshot #idk man what even is tagging #gojo smut #yeah #my glorious blue eyed king 🙏

3 notes · View notes

builder051 · 7 months

Text

Whumptober 2023 day 1: swooning

Creedless Assassins

———————————

They’ve been in the nest all day. It’s a literal nest, formed from camping blankets and a couple of folding chairs. Clint made it. Nat has to admit, the construction is kind of genius.

It’s hot, though. They’re planted on the outer deck of a disused lighthouse, and the sun glancing off the ocean surf is as if it’s redirected precisely on the hiding spot.

In her long sleeved top and leggings, Nat feels more roasted by the second. She decides she’s done watching the beach and makes to stand up.

“What’re you doing?” Clint grabs her ankle, and she nearly topples down on top of him. Nat stabilizes herself with the back of her chair, and one of the blankets slips, forming a hole in the nest’s would-be ceiling. “Don’t tear down my masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Nat shakes her head. “It’s a fucking blanket fort. And it’s a little steamy in there.”

“Don’t like my sex appeal?” Clint cocks his head and grins. “Or, no, my body heat?”

“It’s October,” Nat whines. “I want real weather. Windchill and crunchy leaves and stuff.”

“Fall doesn’t exist in Florida,” Clint says. “Actually, I think they don’t have any seasons here. Except tourist season.” Clint laughs at his own joke.

“Whatever.” Nat tosses the blanket haphazardly over the gap in the nest. Then she distances herself a few feet and pulls her arms over her head in a much-needed stretch. She takes a deep breath, but the thick humidity just increases the feeling of suffocation deep in her throat. “God, I hate it here.”

Clint pops his head out to look at her. “We’re evacuating as soon I pop him.”

“You’re going to pop him?” Nat looks at him doubtfully. “That’s my job.” She pauses and breathes again. There’s a searing sensation on the top of her head, like the sun’s targeting her red hair and pale white scalp on purpose. It probably is, just fucking with her. “Unless there’s a deployment down here again. You can go by yourself.”

“Ok, fine.” Clint scowls. “I’ll keep watch. Promise to tell you when he starts dragged his surfboard out of the parking lot.”

“I still can’t believe it.” Nat brushes her fist over her forehead. She’s sweating. And dripping. It’s disgusting. “A surfing HYDRA boss? It’s like a bad movie.”

“Hey, don’t knock Point Break. He might be the Patrick Swayze type,” Clint points out.

A wave of vertigo plays around Nat’s head. “You know that’s Tony’s nickname for Thor, right? Don’t start slinging it around. I won’t be able to stand it if tall and blond shows up to help.” She groans in half pain and half humor. Nat tries to remember if they packed water bottles. Her brain is fuzzy. She quickly dismisses the thought. Water that’s been sitting in a backpack inside the nest would probably be boiling.

The backs of Nat’s knees are burning. She should do some squats or something, loosen up her hamstrings. The very idea of exercising is repulsive, though. Nat settles on slowly shifting her weight to one foot, then the other.

The first set of shifts feels good. Her left ankle wobbles after the second set. Nat ignores it and goes in for a third set. Her right ankle starts its own wobble. Then there’s an ungainly clatter and she’s lying on her side on the lighthouse’s paneled deck. “Shit.”

“Nat?” Clint pops out of the nest, sending a couple more blankets flying. “You ok?”

“Great.” Nat rolls onto her back and squints up at him.

“Hmm.” Clint examines her critically. “I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think your face is supposed to be grey and red at the same time.”

Nat brings her hands up and massages her cheeks. There’s clammy sweat in addition to what was already there. “It’s—I’m—fine…”

“No you’re not.” Clint squats beside her. “You totally just swooned. Want me to run down to the beach and get the lifeguard? I bet he’s got a first aid kit. And he’s probably wearing a Speedo, you know, if you’re interested in eye candy. I won’t be offended.”

Nat barely hears him. Her ears are rushing, and she’s stuck on a particular word. “Swoon?” She asks. “Really?” Nat swallows and tries to un-gum her throat. “I’m pretty sure Gone with the Wind takes place in Georgia.”

“No, it’s from Grease, right? Sandy and Danny, down in the sand?”

“No.” Nat sits up, only to tuck her head between her knees. “It’s ‘she nearly drowned.’ There aren’t any lines about falling over.”

“Ah.” Clint nods sagely. “‘He showed off, splashing around.’ That’s how it goes.”

“If you sing, I will fucking strangle you.” Nat peers at him over her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Clint pats her on the back, then gets to his feet. “You do that. Gotta stand up first, though.”

“Nah, changed my mind. I’ll tie your shoelaces together.”

“Well, you do what you want, I guess.” Clint shrugs. “I’ll be watching out for you.”

“Watch out for the target,” Nat corrects him. “Tell me when to shoot.”

“I can shoot him, if you want.” Clint offers. “If you still have the shakes, you should probably keep lying down.”

“Eh. Nat turns so she can crawl on hands and knees. “I’ll be burned to a crisp. At least your blanket fort has shade.”

“Hey.” Clint lifts his finger. “Masterpiece, remember? I just have to give it a little renovation.” He takes the stray blankets and tucks them back into place over the frame of the folding chairs. “One bed, one bath, great view of the ocean…” Clint teases with his best realtor impersonation.

“What’s that? A studio? Outdoor facilities and no air conditioning?” Nat gives a lopsided smile.”

“It’s all the same to me.”

“Yeah, well.” Nat stands up on her kneecaps, then sits heavily in her original spot in the nest. “As long as you do your job.”

“Take care of you?”

“Keep the goddamn watch.” Nat rolls her eyes and instantly regrets it. The headache she’s developing is something else. “So we can go home?”

“I can agree to that,” Clint says.

“Good.” Nat pokes him in the shoulder. “Where’s my gun?”

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 1 #swooning #Creedless assassins #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow #hawkeye #clint barton #passing out #sickfic #whump #fanfic #fanfiction

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watching-pictures-move · 1 year

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Movie Review | Easy Living (Leisen, 1937) & Holiday (Cukor, 1938)

I've started working my way through the Criterion Channel's Screwball Comedy Classics series, in large part because they just popped up on there and I like shiny new things (even if the shiny new things in this case are actually really old). But also because these movies represent a certain cinematic comfort food, executed with style so good as to be invisible. I gained an appreciation for the craft of American studio films of decades' past, and the ones from this era arguably represent a certain high point for that kind of commercial filmmaking. Of course, "high point" is questionable with a film like Rhubarb, where Ray "Dial M For Murder" Milland has to cater to the whims of the feline heir to an eccentric millionaire and the superstitious baseball team he's stuck managing as well, but this kind of movie would undoubtedly be worse were it made now. But that claim is easier to see with a movie like The Awful Truth, whose pleasures boil down to seeing genuine movie stars like Cary Grant and Jean Arthur scheme and spar (verbally, of course, although physical comedy figures into the proceedings).

The claim is also easy enough to justify with Easy Living and Holiday, which again present characters verbally jousting their way through ludicrous, knotty situations with the strength of their quick wits and genuine star power. On that level, both movies are extremely enjoyable, although I'd give the edge to the former, in that it has a more balanced cast all around, including a surprisingly affable turn by Ray "Dial M For Murder" Milland, who for once comes off like a likable doofus instead of someone looking to murder his wife. Holiday "suffers" in that respect because Doris Nolan, who plays Cary Grant's fiancee, doesn't stand a chance against Katharine Hepburn. Nolan is deliberately flag and lacking in magnetism, which is in line with her character, but makes it hard to grasp what Grant's character sees in her, especially as Hepburn is right there. (I've heard my share of Hepburn hate, and obviously whether one finds her sexy ultimately falls down to the viewer, but I must profess that if Hepburn talked quickly at me, I would likely die of a heart attack.) There's a match between Grant and Hepburn in their levels of magnetism and sex appeal, and the ability of their presences to break through the confines of their genres and periods and reach out to the audience in a way that almost feels transgressive. When Hepburn makes a comment about Grant's "queer"-ness, she might as well be leaning out of the screen and nudging us in the ribs.

These two movies are also interesting to compare for their economically-minded stories. Easy Living has a character being thrust unwillingly into the high life when she receives an expensive fur coat by a rich fatcat and is mistaken for his mistress, ending up with a free stay at a luxurious but struggling hotel. The movie is in part wish fulfillment and escapism, but it's also astute about the ways one is penalized for being poor in America, such as an early scene where the millionaire explains to the heroine the usurious rate of interest she's actually paying on her meager loans. Holiday has a self-made man marrying into a family he realizes is maddeningly rich. This is arguably a less pointed movie on the subject, but allows itself to feel ambivalence and malaise about the high life, and suggests that untold riches can present their own set of problems. (Unsurprisingly, this tanked during the Depression.) Both movies suggest the extent of luxury through their settings, Easy Living panning across a hotel suite where each room is more extravagant than the last, and Holiday by showing us floor after expansive floor of a mansion. And both movies wrap up in ways truer to their tones, Easy Living with a twist of fate that highlights the nonsensical behaviour of financial markets, and Holiday with characters rejecting the confines of class expectations in favour of emotional truths.

#film #movie review #holiday #george cukor #easy living #mitchell leisen

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peter-parcoeur · 3 years

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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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jayoctodot · 3 years

Text

The Silent Patient vs The Maidens

I will start by saying that I understand the appeal of these novels as page-turners. They are easy to read and if you want a twisty reveal at the end, you will probably be entertained and satisfied. That being said, I am SO CONFUSED by the near-universal adoration of The Silent Patient and the reasonably positive reception of The Maidens. The weaknesses of the two are strikingly similar, as well, which doesn’t give me much hope of seeing improvement from this guy, though I am intrigued to see whether he keeps repeating the same (apparently successful!!) patterns. These books were at least super fun to hate.

(For context, I read The Maidens for a bookclub I'm in, because several of the members had read and loved The Silent Patient, and one of them gave me a copy of the latter to read on my own time. I loathed The Maidens and then read The SP for comparative purposes. And because I'm a masochist, apparently.)

SPOILER WARNING! Do not read on unless you've finished both books (or unless you care not for spoilers). Sorry if it gets a bit shouty.

Here are the similar weaknesses I noticed in both:

PSEUDO-PSYCHOLOGY

-> Weirdly similar “group therapy” scenes early on where a cartoonishly unstable patient arrives late, disrupts the meeting by throwing something into the middle of the circle, and is asked to join the group after the therapist(s) speechify on the importance of boundaries (HA! None of these therapists would know an appropriate boundary if it kicked them in the ass) and debate whether to “allow” the patient to join. Both scenes are so transparent in their design to establish the credibility/legitimacy of the narrators as therapists, but instead both Theo and Mariana come off as super patronizing. The protagonists are less and less believable as therapists at the stories progress (though at least Theo’s incompetence is explained away by the “twist” at the end; Mariana, on the other hand, is confronted in the opening pages of the novel by a patient who has self-harmed PRETTY extensively, and rather than ensure he get proper medical attention, she essentially throws him a first aid kit and tosses him out the door so she can pour herself a glass of wine and call her niece... and it devolves from there).

-> Ongoing insistence throughout the narrative that one’s childhood trauma entirely explains the warped/dysfunctional way a character behaves or views the world, which is why the books go out of their way to give EVERY potentially violent character a traumatic childhood; when Theo insists that no one ever became an abuser who hadn’t been abused themselves, I wanted to throw the book across the room. (That is a MYTH, SIR. GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGY.)

-> Female murderers whose pathology boils down to “history of depression” and “traumatized by a male loved one/family member.” Because, as we all know, depression + abuse = murderer!

-> The “therapy” depicted in both books is laughable and so so unrealistic, mostly because neither narrators function as therapists so much as incompetent detectives, obsessively pursuing a case they have no place pursuing (or skill to pursue - both just happen across every clue mostly by way of clunky conversation with all the people who can provide precisely the snippet of info to send them along to the next person, and the next… until all is revealed in a tired, cliched “twist”). Their constant Psych 101 asides were so tiresome and weirdly dated (also, the constant harping on countertransference got so ridiculous that at one point during "therapy" Theo literally attributes his headache and a particular emotion he feels to Alicia, as though the contents of her head are being broadcast directly into his mind... and I'm PRETTY SURE that's not how it works???)

CHARACTERS

-> Psychotherapist narrators with abusive fathers and pretensions of being Sherlock Holmes, which results in both characters crossing ALL KINDS of ethical lines as they invade the personal lives of everyone even tangentially connected to their cases (and, in Theo's case, violate all kinds of patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah, by the end, that's the least of his offenses, but before you get there, it's baffling that NO ONE is calling him out on this).

-> All female characters are either elderly with hilariously bad advice, monstrous hulking brutes, or beautiful bitches (except for ~MARIANA~, who is Bella Swan-esque in her unawareness of her own attractiveness, despite multiple men trying to get with her almost immediately after meeting her. I'm so tired of beautiful female characters being oblivious to their own hotness. Are we meant to believe all mirrors and male attention have escaped their notice? If it’s to make them “relatable,” this tactic really fails with me).

-> All characters of color are shallow, cartoonish side characters, and most of them are depicted as unsympathetic minor antagonists (the Sikh Chief Inspector in The Maidens continuously drinks tea from an ever-present thermos, and his only other notable characteristic is his instant dislike of Mariana, whom he VERY RIGHTLY warns to stay out of the investigation that she is VERY MUCH compromising… the Caribbean manager of the Grove is universally disliked by her staff for enforcing stricter safety regulations at the bafflingly poorly run mental institution, because HOW DARE SHE. There's a very clear vibe that we're supposed to dislike these characters and share the protagonists' indignation, but honestly Sangha/Stephanie were completely in the right for trying to shut down their wildly inappropriate investigations).

-> "Working class" characters (or basically anyone excluded from the comfortably upper-crust, educated main cadre of characters) are few and far between in both stories, but when they show up, he depicts them as such caricatures. We got Elsie the pathologically lying housekeeper in the Maidens, who is enticed to share her bullshit with cake, and then a TOOTHLESS LEPRECHAUN DEALING DRUGS UNDER A BRIDGE in the SP. I kid you not, a man described as having the body of a child, the face of Father Time, and no front teeth, emerges from beneath a bridge and offers to sell Theo some "grass." I was dyinggg.

-> There are no characters to root for. Anywhere. Partly because they’re all so thinly drawn — and because we’re clearly supposed to view almost ALL of them as potential suspects, so they’re ALL weird, creepy, or incompetent in some way.

-> The flimsiest of flimsy motives, both for the narrators and the murderers. Theo fully would have gotten away with his involvement in the murder if he hadn't gone out of his way to work at the Grove and "treat" Alicia and his justification for doing so is pretty weak; his rapid descent into stalking and murder fantasy and his random ass decision to "expose" Alicia's husband as a cheater with a spur-of-the-moment home invasion and staged attempted homicide is ONLY justified if the reader hand waves it away as WELP, HE'S CRAZY, I GUESS (after all, he DID have an abusive father and a history of mental illness, and in Michaelides novels, that's ALL YOU NEED to become a violent psycho). I guess we're lucky Mariana didn't also start dropping bodies (because the logic of his fictional universe says she should definitely be a murderer by now... maybe that'll be his Maidens sequel?). But she especially had NO reason to randomly turn detective - and she kept trying to justify it by saying she needed to re-enter the world or that Sebastian would want her to (??), even though she had no background in criminal psychology... or even a particular fondness for mysteries (really, I would've accepted ANYTHING to explain her dogged obsession with the case. WHY were Sebastian and Zoe so certain she would insert herself into the investigation just because one of Zoe's friends was the first victim? WHY?). As for Zoe and Alicia, their motives are mere suggestions: they were both abused and manipulated, and voila! Slippery slope to murder.

WRITING STYLE

-> Incessant allusions to Greek tragedy and myth, apparently to provide a sophisticated gloss over the bare-bones writing style, which opts more for telling than showing and frequently indulges in hilariously bizarre analogies. Credit where credit is due — the references to Greek myth are less clunky in the SP, and I liked learning about the Alcestis play/myth, which I hadn’t heard of before - but OMG the entire characterization of Fosca, who we are meant to believe is a professor of Greek tragedy at one of the most respected universities on the planet, is just absurd. His "lecture" on the liminal in Greek tragedy is essentially the Wikipedia page on the Eleusinian Mysteries capped off with some Hallmark-card carpe diem crap. The lecture hall responds with raucous applause, clearly never having heard such vague genius bullshit before.

-> Super clunky and amateurish narrative device of interludes written by another character; Sebastian’s letter reads like a mashup of Dexter monologues and Clarice’s memory of the screaming sheep, but by FAR the worse offender is Alicia’s diary, where we’re supposed to believe she painstakingly recorded ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS, BEAT-BY-BEAT DIALOGUE, even when she’s just been DRUGGED TO THE GILLS with morphine and has mere moments of consciousness left… and even before that, she literally takes the time to write “He's trying the windows and doors! ...Someone’s inside! Someone’s inside the house! ETC ETC” when she thinks her stalker has broken in downstairs. WHO DOES THAT?)

-> Speaking of dialogue, the dialogue is so bad. Based on his bio, Michaelides got a degree in screenwriting, which makes his terrible dialogue even more baffling.

-> HILARIOUSLY rendered voyeur scenes where the narrators spy on couples having sex. Such unintentionally awkward descriptions. First we had Kathy’s climax sounds through the trees and then the bowler hat carefully placed on a tombstone before the gatekeeper plows a student. Again, I died.

PLOT/"TWIST"

-> The CONSTANT red herrings make for such an exhausting read. Michaelides drops anvils with almost every character that are so obviously meant to designate them as suspects in our minds. There is absolutely no subtlety in his misdirections.

-> The “crossover” scene between the SP and The Maidens makes no sense - when in the timeline does Mariana’s story overlap with Theo’s? They confer just before Theo starts working at the Grove, obviously (though Mariana appears to be the one who alerts Theo to the job opening there? Whereas in the SP, Theo has been obsessively tracking Alicia since the murder and had already planned to apply to work there?), but then are we supposed to believe that while Theo has been psychotically pursuing his warped quest to “help” Alicia, he’s also been diligently treating Zoe, so invested in her case that he repeatedly reaches out to Mariana to get her to visit Zoe and even writes Mariana a lengthy letter to convince her to do so??? And then a couple days after The Maidens ends, Theo is arrested???

-> But the thing I really did hate the most is how Michaelides treats his female murderers (who are both also victims themselves) as mere means to deploy a “twist”; there’s no moment spared to encourage our sympathy for Zoe, who was groomed and manipulated by the only trusted father figure in her life, and even after spending a decent amount of time getting to know Alicia via her ridiculous diary, where it’s so apparent that she’s been demeaned, objectified, manipulated, gaslit, and/or used by EVERY man in her life, she’s sent packing to spend the rest of her days in a coma… HOW much more satisfying would it have been for her to succeed in exposing Theo and reclaiming her voice? But no, she basically rolls over when he comes to finish her off (SPEAKING OF — ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THERE ARE NO SECURITY CAMERAS IN THIS INSTITUTE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE????), writes one last diary entry, and drifts off forever. And then a couple pages of nothing later, the story is over. GOODNIGHT, ALICIA!

Both books kept me rolling throughout (by which I mean eye-rolling but also rotfl). Maybe I will check out his next effort — I’m morbidly curious what he’ll turn out. It does leave me wondering whether I should give up on thriller novels entirely, though. Are many of the weaknesses of these novels just characteristic of the genre? Maybe I'm just holding these books to unfair standards? I'm mostly only familiar with thriller films — many of which I think are amazing — but maybe you can get away with more in a film than you can in a novel.

...I really only intended to write a handful of bullet points, but more and more kept coming to mind as I wrote, to the point where subheadings became necessary. Whoopsie.

#the maidens #the silent patient #book review #alex michaelides #thrillers #books

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mackjlee9 · 3 years

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Omega!Sugawara Koushi x Alpha!Male!Reader [Fluff]

!Short Chapter!

Omegaverse

Masterlist

Haikyuu!!

Requested by Memey_Boii on Wattpad.

I was walking around the halls of Karasuno, looking down at my shoes as I ignored every single stare that was on me. I didn't actually care, at least not anymore.

My name is (M/n) and I'm a second year in Karasuno High School, my classmates and even kohais or senpais were scared of me, and only because I am the quiet type, with little to no expression on my face, and being an alpha only added onto that.

The world I live in has a secondary gender, the main one is whether you are; female or male. And the second one is if you are; an alpha, a beta, or an omega.

The alphas are the dominant ones. Betas are pretty normal, it's almost like they don't have a secondary gender. And the omegas are seen as the weakest, they're the ones that can get pregnant, no matter the main gender.

And I, as an alpha, am already dominant and my body is bigger and muscular, which meant people look up to me and respect me.

I'm not going to lie, sometimes I hate the fact that this "secondary gender" exists because as an alpha, people always would expect so much from you and they force you to do things a certain way, behave like that and dress like this.

Well, back to the present. The reason I am walking around the halls -the third years' hall- is because I'm looking for my cute, beautiful, and wonderful omega.

Yes, I am dating an omega, he's my mate and yes, he's a male. And his name is Sugawara Koushi.

In this world, same-sex relationships don't really matter, because an alpha can impregnate an omega, no matter their sex.

And he was the main reason why I didn't care about the stares or words being said behind my back because I have my silver-haired omega to give me attention and treat me like a baby.

//////

The end of the week arrived quite quickly, and now I was walking towards the gym to go see Koushi, but when I got there he wasn't anywhere. Daichi-san walked up to me and stood beside me, looking me in the eyes.

"If you're looking for Suga, two guys came up a short while ago calling for him, they said it was important." I nodded as I analyzed his expression.

He didn't seem to trust those two guys, he was kinda nervous. And it made me nervous too, but I just hummed and bowed my head in respect.

"I'll keep looking for him anyway, see you, Daichi-san." He waved me goodbye as I walked out of the gym, closing the door behind me and sighing as I put my hands in my pocket, taking out my phone, "Where are you, Koushi?"

I dialed his number, but nothing, it would simply go to his voicemail, making me wonder why he wasn't picking up my calls. So instead, I decided to walk around the school for a while, class already ended, and that left club activities for the day, which meant most of the students went home by now.

My eyes wandered around, searching for my boyfriend, but I couldn't find him anywhere.

Until I reached the back of the school.

The strong scent of alphas reached my nose, making me flinch. Usually, an alpha's scent was appealing to omegas but other alphas were disgusted by it. I hate smelling an alpha's scent. And something was happening back there, so I was about to turn around as I heard their hungry growling, when a familiar scent reached my nose too.

Koushi...!

I hurried behind the school building and what I saw made my blood boil in anger. Two alphas were towering over Koushi as he was on the ground, panting and with his uniform twisted. My protective instinct kicked in, and I released my own scent as I threw my backpack on the ground, getting those two dudes' attention as they growled louder.

But their growling stopped as they turned towards me. They seemed to recognize me, and I recognized them too. They're first years.

Their dominant attitude was soon replaced with soft whining as they bowed their heads in submission. I bared my fangs at them, growling in anger.

"Go," both of them turned around and ran away in the opposite direction of where I was standing. I instantly rushed towards Koushi, who was panting and sweating a lot. He seemed to be in the middle of his heat, but that wouldn't make sense, because his heat ended last weekend. I crouched in front of him and fixed his uniform, he held onto me as I took out my phone to text Daichi-san what happened.

I explained to him the situation and told him I would be taking Sugawara to my house to take care of him. When he texted back, I didn't need to see him to know how pissed off he was, but he told me to be gentle and attentive with Koushi, he'll be taking Koushi's bags later after practice.

I pocketed my phone back into my bag and hang it on my shoulder, my arms reached under my boyfriend's legs and behind his back, lifting him and pressing his body close to mine. He whined and latched onto my neck, nuzzling me softly.

The way home was stressful. Random people would turn to look at me with judgmental looks and others would have soft expressions on their faces. And the attention was because of Koushi's scent, not because I was carrying him like a princess... well, that might've also contributed.

When I reached my house, I had to ring the bell because I couldn't open the door myself, and thankfully, my mother was home. She opened the door and I walked past her before she could say anything to me.

I rushed upstairs and struggled to open the door to my room. When it finally opened, I walked in and placed Koushi on my bed, quickly changing his uniform and dressing him with an oversized t-shirt of mine. Well, it wasn't oversized, it just looked big on him. I changed my clothes too and went downstairs to ask mom if she could make us something sweet.

Back in my room, I got in bed with Koushi, sitting as I rested on the headboard, and he instantly crawled on top of me, snuggling on my chest.

I stroked his back up and down, caressing his hair gently and humming a tune. Every now and then I made sure he was okay and felt comfortable, and eventually his panting and whining died down, making me hold him tight as he fell asleep on top of me.

I leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of his head, "I love you Koushi."

#sugawara koushi #haikyuu!!#male reader #fluff #omegaverse #anime #one shot #reader insert #.mackjlee9 writes #x reader #sugawara koushi x male reader

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yamayuandadu · 3 years

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Circe by Madeline Miller: a review

As you might have noticed, a few of my most recent posts were more or less a liveblog of Madeline Miller’s novel Circe. However, as they hardly exhausted the subject, a proper review is also in order. You can find it under the “read more” button. All sorts of content warnings apply because this book takes a number of turns one in theory can expect from Greek mythology but which I’d hardly expect to come up in relation to Circe. I should note that this is my first contact with this author’s work. I am not familiar with Miller’s more famous, earlier novel Song of Achilles - I am not much of an Iliad aficionado, truth to be told. I read the poem itself when my literature class required it, but it left no strong impact on me, unlike, say, the Epic of Gilgamesh or, to stay within the theme of Greek mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter, works which I read at a similar point in my life on my own accord.

What motivated me to pick up this novel was the slim possibility that for once I’ll see my two favorite Greek gods in fiction, these being Hecate and Helios (in case you’re curious: #3 is Cybele but I suspect that unless some brave soul will attempt to adapt Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, she’ll forever be stuck with no popcultural presence outside Shin Megami Tensei). After all, it seemed reasonable to expect that Circe’s father will be involved considering their relationship, while rarely discussed in classical sources, seems remarkably close. Hesiod’s Catalogue of Women and Apollonius’ Argonautica describe Circe arriving on her island in her father’s solar chariot, while Ptolemy Hephaestion (as quoted by Photius) notes that Helios protected her home during the Gigantomachy. Helios, for all intents and purposes, seems like a decent dad (and, in Medea’s case, grandpa) in the source material even though his most notable children (and granddaughter) are pretty much all cackling sorcerers, not celebrated heroes. How does Miller’s Helios fare, compared to his mythical self? Not great, to put it lightly, as you’ll see later. As for Hecate… she’s not even in the book. Let me preface the core of the review by saying I don’t think reinterpreting myths, changing relations between figures, etc. is necessarily bad - ancient authors did it all the time, and modern adaptations will inevitably do so too, both to maintain internal coherence and perhaps to adjust the stories to a modern audience, much like ancient authors already did. I simply don’t think this book is successful at that. The purpose of the novel is ostensibly to elevate Circe above the status of a one-dimensional minor antagonist - but to accomplish this, the author mostly demonizes her family and a variety of other figures, so the net result is that there are more one dimensional female villains, not less. I expected the opposite, frankly. The initial section of the novel focuses on Circe’s relationship with her family, chiefly with her father. That’s largely uncharted territory in the source material - to my knowledge no ancient author seemed particularly interested in covering this period in her life. Blank pages of this sort are definitely worth filling. To begin with, Helios is characterized as abusive, neglectful and power-hungry. And also, for some reason, as Zeus’ main titan ally in the Titanomachy - a role which Hesiod attributes to Hecate… To be fair I do not think it’s Hesiod who serves as the primary inspiration here, as it’s hard to see any traces of his account - in which Zeus wins in no small part because he promises the lesser titans higher positions that they had under Cronus - in Miller’s version of events. Only Helios and Oceanus keep their share, and are presented as Zeus’ only titan allies (there’s a small plot hole as Selene appears in the novel and evidently still is the moon…) - contrary to just about any portrayal of the conflict, in which many titans actually side with Zeus and his siblings. Also, worth noting that in Hesiod’s version it’s not Oceanus himself who cements the pact with Zeus, it’s his daughter Styx - yes, -that- Styx. Missed opportunity to put more focus on female mythical figures - first of many in this work, despite many reviews praising it as “feminist.” Of course, it’s not all about Helios. We are quickly introduced to a variety of female characters as well (though, as I noted above, none of these traditionally connected to the Titanomachy despite it being a prominent aspect of the book’s background). They are all somewhat repetitive - to the point of being basically interchangeable. Circe’s mother is vain and cruel; so is Scylla. And Pasiphae. There’s no real indication of any hostility between Circe and any of her siblings in classical sources, as far as I am aware, but here it’s a central theme. The subplots pertaining to it bear an uncanny resemblance to these young adult novels in which the heroine, who is Not Like Other Girls, confronts the Chads and Stacies of the world, and I can’t shake off the feelings that it’s exactly what it is, though with superficial mythical flourish on top. I should note that Pasiphae gets a focus arc of sorts - which to my surprise somehow manages to be more sexist than the primary sources. A pretty famous tidbit repeated by many ancient authors is that Pasiphae cursed her husband Minos, regarded as unfaithful, to kill anyone else he’d have sex with with his… well, bodily fluids. Here she does it entirely because she’s a debased sadist and not because unfaithfulness is something one can be justifiably mad about. You’d think it would be easy to put a sympathetic spin on this. But the book manages to top that in the very same chapter - can’t have Pasiphae without the Minotaur (sadly - I think virtually everything else about Pasiphae and Minos is more fun than that myth but alas) so in a brand new twist on this myth we learn that actually the infamous affair wasn’t a curse placed on Pasiphae by Poseidon or Aphrodite because of some transgression committed by Minos. She’s just wretched like that by nature. I’m frankly speechless, especially taking into account the book often goes out of its way to present deities in the worst light possible otherwise, and which as I noted reviews praise for its feminist approach - I’m not exactly sure if treating Pasiphae worse than Greek and Roman authors did counts as that. I should note this is not the only instance of… weirdly enthusiastic references to carnal relations between gods and cattle in this book, as there’s also a weird offhand mention of Helios being the father of his own cows. This, as far as I can tell, is not present in any classical sources and truth to be told I am not a huge fan of this invention. I won’t try to think about the reason behind this addition to maintain my sanity. Pasiphae aside - the author expands on the vague backstory Circe has in classical texts which I’ve mentioned earlier. You’d expect that her island would be a gift from her father - after all many ancient sources state that he provided his children and grandchildren with extravagant gifts. However, since Helios bears little resemblance to his mythical self, Aeaea is instead a place of exile here, since Helios hates Circe and Zeus is afraid of witchcraft and demands such a solution (the same Zeus who, according to Hesiod, holds Hecate in high esteem and who appeared with her on coins reasonably commonly… but hey, licentia poetica, this idea isn’t necessarily bad in itself). Witchcraft is presented as an art exclusive to Helios’ children here - Hecate is nowhere to be found, it’s basically as if her every role in Greek mythology was surgically removed. A bit of a downer, especially since at least one text - I think Ovid’s Metarphoses? - Circe directly invokes Hecate during her confrontation with king Picus (Surprisingly absent here despite being a much more fitting antagonist for Circe than many of the characters presented as her adversaries in this novel…) Of course, we also learn about the origin of Circe’s signature spell according to ancient sources, changing people into animals. It actually takes the novel a longer while to get there, and the invented backstory boils down to Circe getting raped. Despite ancient Greek authors being rather keen on rape as plot device, to my knowledge this was never a part of any myth about Circe. Rather odd decision to put it lightly but I suppose at least there was no cattle involved this time, perhaps two times was enough for the author. Still, I can’t help but feel like much like many other ideas present in this book it seems a bit like the author’s intent is less elevating the Circe above the role of a one note witch antagonist, but rather punishing her for being that. The fact she keeps self loathing about her origin and about not being human doesn’t exactly help to shake off this feeling. This impression that the author isn’t really fond of Circe being a wacky witch only grows stronger when Odysseus enters the scene. There was already a bit of a problem before with Circe’s life revolving around love interests before - somewhat random ones at that (Dedalus during the Pasiphae arc and Hermes on and off - not sure what the inspiration for either of these was) - but it was less noticeable since it was ultimately in the background and the focus was the conflict between Circe and Helios, Pasiphae, etc. In the case of Odysseus it’s much more notable because these subplots cease to appear for a while. As a result of meeting him, Circe decides she wants to experience the joys of motherhood, which long story short eventually leads to the birth of Telegonus, who does exactly what he was famous for. The final arcs have a variety of truly baffling plot twists which didn’t really appeal to me, but which I suppose at least show a degree of creativity - better than just turning Helios’ attitude towards his children upside down for sure. Circe ends up consulting an oc character who I can only describe as “stingray Cthulhu.” His presence doesn’t really add much, and frankly it feels like yet another wasted opportunity to use Hecate, but I digress. Oh, also in another twist Athena is recast as the villain of the Odyssey. Eventually Circe gets to meet Odysseus’ family, for once interacts with another female character on positive terms (with Penelope, to be specific) and… gets together with Telemachus, which to be fair is something present in many ancient works but which feels weird here since there was a pretty long passage about Odysseus describing him as a child to Circe. I think I could live without it. Honestly having her get together with Penelope would feel considerably less weird, but there are no lesbians in the world of this novel. It would appear that the praise for Song of Achilles is connected to the portrayal of gay relationships in it. Can’t say that this applies to Circe - on this front we have an offhand mention of Hyacinth's death. which seems to serve no real purpose other than establishing otherwise irrelevant wind god is evil, and what feels like an advert for Song of Achilles courtesy of Odysseus, which takes less than one page. Eventually Circe opts to become mortal to live with Telemachus and denounces her father and… that’s it. This concludes the story of Circe. I don’t exactly think the original is the deepest or greatest character in classical literature, but I must admit I’d rather read about her wacky witch adventures than about Miller’s Circe. A few small notes I couldn’t fit elsewhere: something very minor that bothered me a lot but that to be honest I don’t think most readers will notice is the extremely chaotic approach to occasional references to the world outside Greece - Sumer is randomly mentioned… chronologically after Babylon and Assyria, and in relation to Persians (or rather - to Perses living among them). At the time we can speak of “Persians” Sumerian was a dead language at best understood by a few literati in the former great cities of Mesopotamia so this is about the same as if a novel about Mesopotamia mentioned Macedonians and then completely randomly Minoans at a chronologically later point. Miller additionally either confused or conflated Perses, son of Perseus, who was viewed positively and associated with Persia (so positively that Xerxes purportedly tried to use it for propaganda purposes!) with Perses the obscure brother of Circe et. al, who is a villain in an equally obscure myth casting Medea as the heroine, in which he rules over “Tauric Chersonese,” the Greek name of a part of Crimea. I am honestly uncertain why was he even there as he amounts to nothing in the book, and there are more prominent minor children of Helios who get no mention (like Aix or Phaeton) so it’s hard to argue it was for the sake of completion. Medea evidently doesn’t triumph over him offscreen which is his sole mythical purpose. Is there something I liked? Well, I’m pretty happy Selene only spoke twice, considering it’s in all due likeness all that spared her from the fate of receiving similarly “amazing” new characterization as her brother. As is, she was… okay. Overall I am definitely not a fan of the book. As for its purported ideological value? It certainly has a female main character. Said character sure does have many experiences which are associated with women. However, I can’t help but think that the novel isn’t exactly feminist - it certainly focuses on Circe, but does it really try to “rehabilitate” her? And is it really “rehabilitation” and feminist reinterpretation when almost every single female character in the book is the same, and arguably depicted with even less compassion than in the source material? It instead felt like the author’s goal is take away any joy and grandeur present in myths, and to deprive Circe of most of what actually makes her Circe. We don’t need to make myths joyless to make them fit for a new era. It’s okay for female characters to be wacky one off villains and there’s no need to punish them for it. A book which celebrates Circe for who she actually is in the Odyssey and in other Greek sources - an unapologetic and honestly pretty funny character - would feel much more feminist to me that a book where she is a wacky witch not because she feels like it but because she got raped, if you ask me.

Circe evidently having the time of her life, by Edmund Dulac (public domain)

#circe #madeline miller #greek mythology #madeline miller circe

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twstoric · 4 years

Text

shrouded in ambers

Jamil Viper Birthday Special!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: jamil viper x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: when you’re always crawling to be on the good graces of the al-asim family, there’s only one obstacle standing in your way—the loyal servant directly under the first prince himself

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): hate-sex?, non consensual touching (minor), slightly dub-con, cunnilingus, high sexual tension, semi-public sex, enemies to..?, servant!reader, slight au!

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.7k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: grrr going feral for birthday boy jamil is great <3 and i apologise for any mistakes/typing erros—i was too lazy to proofread whoops-

Having a smile plastered on your face is a custom in the life you live. Many people warm up much quicker to a seemingly kinder face than a gruff feature—you’re not sure of the detail but you get better responses from doing the former.

You have a kind smile, you’re told often followed with your usual response of I just enjoy what I do, is all. That kindness of yours has taken you to great heights.

You’re adored by the Al-Asim family; trusted with tending to the younger family members and adjusting their troubles. You’ve climbed up the ranks in a silent hierarchy of servants through years of patience and endurance—you’re not going to allow yourself to fall into a life of poverty just because of a minor slip up.

Then again, becoming a trusted maidservant of the Al-Asim family, one so close to the royal family themselves and not just for cleaning services, can be a difficult feat to acquire. Especially if you’re not from a line of family that’s been in service to them for generations. No, you were taken in from the slums and going back isn’t an option you’d want to make.

You want a much higher pedestal. Somewhere you know they wouldn’t be able to get rid of you so easily if you slipped up just a bit because acting perfect on a day to day basis can be so tiring. It’s taken off more years in your life than any disease you know of.

The plan is simple: appeal to the higher ranking family members and you’re fine. The only problem is that the job you desire is already occupied—by someone you might as well consider as the devil incarnate.

“I see you still have the tendency to daydream,” Jamil’s voice is soft when he speaks, the meaning behind his words contrasting to the smooth timbre of his vocals and you have to hold back a glare when turning to him.

The smile you offer comes naturally to you—trained to stretch on your lips at any given moment as you give the long-haired male a small bow. “Mister Viper. What a surprise.. are you not tending to the First Prince?” Your fingers are clasped together over your maids outfit, then thin material worn out from years of daily use but you take pride in maintaining the smooth white colour the dress comes in.

Jamil’s face remains neutral, staring at you as if looking for your inner demons before he turns around. “I shall take my leave,” he utters, never losing the cool edge to his voice and you keep the smile on your face until his footsteps are no longer heard.

When the silence once again envelops your surroundings, you can’t help the quiet huff you let out. Unbelievable, you think. Who does he think he is? He’s never liked you since the day you came and you’re not even sure why! Trying to befriend him is useless and acting polite towards him because he’s higher ranked than you gives you headaches. It’s almost too cruel how the irony of your desires is blocked by the single entity that makes your blood boil.

Coming yourself with another hiff, you straighten your back, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress before you take the tray of tea in your hands. Time to go back to work.

‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

In life, too many complaints won’t get you anywhere—you know at least this much but again, for the umpetenth time, you can’t help the growing feeling of annoyance brewing up inside you whenever you’re called up to do something in ungodly hours.

You’ve never had the best personality behind closed doors, afterall. So you’ll quietly complain whenever it's necessary (in your mind, of course. The risk of being overheard makes you paranoid).

The kitchen of the royal palace is spacious, stretching wide to accommodate the source of all the luxurious meals always prepared during occasions formal or not. It’s located in the further areas of the palace as any kitchen normally so as to make sure the smell of cooking food wouldn't stink up the area too much.

Because of its location, you find yourself walking quite the distance from your chambers and into an already dark kitchen. You can’t turn on the lights pass curfew so a small candle is your company as you prepare to boil water for the tea requested.

The day had been much more hectic than usual. You can’t remember all the details when you’re one of the servants running around the palace to get everything done. It’s preparation for another event. That much you’re sure of but what type you don’t think you really care for the details.

Fatigue and lack of sleep seems to be catching up to you. You find it difficult to keep your eyes open, resorting to pinching your arms to make sure the slight pain can keep you up and about. Too deep in your sense of tiredness, it takes a second for you to realise that the candle you’ve lit is already blown out—the fire from the stove your only source of lighting.

“Wh-? Ahh, shit, shit,” curses flow out of your mouth profusely, hurriedly reaching inside your dress pocket for a lighter. You’re not sure if it’s because of your fatigue, the chilly air, or even because of how dark it is but you’re fumbling with the match box, struggling to even open it in your panicked state.

Just before you could properly light the match, the candle burns again with a new fire; the small flame used to light it aflame disappears with a shake of the hand. You stare unblinkingly at your newly lit candle, and as if slow motion, you trail up the hand near the small fire to find the familiar face of the First Prince’s personal servant.

“Mister.. Viper,” you greet, unsettled by his sudden appearance. You don’t think you even heard him come in let alone get so close to you like this. Were you so out of it that you weren’t able to hear anything…?

“What’re you doing in the kitchen so late at night?” Jamil gets to the point, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head questioningly.

Your mouth opens and closes in response, mind blanking on how you should reply. “Um.. I was requested to make tea for..” Somehow, Jamil is moving closer to you, your vision going blurry before it only fills with the sight of him. “What- what’re you doing?”

Your breath hitches, the small of your back already pressing against the edge of the counter and Jamil places his hands behind you, trapping you between his arms. He leans closer.

“There’s an intruder trying to break into the castle,” he whispers, lips brushing against your ears and your face burns. Jamil does nothing after that. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak another word—his lips faintly brushes against your ears each time you breathe, your senses only filled with the warmth of Jamil’s body and how you can smell the strong scent of spices pressed so close to him like this.

“I don’t… Why are you telling me this?” All you can do is question back, lost on what he’s implying ang you tense when feeling his hand settling on your hip, pressing you harder against the counter.

There’s something so… primal and raw in the way Jamil is touching you. His fingers hold your firmly in a soft pressure that if you weren’t so hyper aware of where his hands are, you wouldn’t notice that he’s already touching you.

Jamil moves back enough to look at you, his other hand lifting from the counter to grasp your chin so you’re forced to look at him properly. “I believe that intruder is already inside,” he murmurs and you see something glinting in his eyes. Suddenly, his grip on you tightens, pulling your chin roughly towards him and his voice is firmer, “What’re you doing in the kitchen?”

You feel a sudden anger flaring in your chest. “Are you accusing me, Mister Viper?” You can’t help but spit out, glaring at him openly. “I already told you- I’m making tea.”

Jamil smirks in response, uncaring of your sudden attitude as he lets you go. The male turns off the stove, your protest ignored as he turns to you again, leaning against the table from across you. “On whose orders are you making it for?”

“That’s-” the bite in your throat suddenly disappears. You blink in irritation before an unsettling feeling brews in your stomach. From who.. that’s... Of course it would be from one of the younger children, wouldn’t it..? But for them to stay up this late then.. the First Prince? But that would be Jamil’s responsibility—not yours.

You bite your lip, brows furrowing for a different reason now; confusion. “It was from a note,” your voice is quiet when you say this, gaze darting to the floor to avoid the smug look on the other’s face at your confession. How could you have not realised..?

Jamil takes quick strides over to you and before you know it, he’s turning you around and roughly pushing you down on the counter. You yelp, hands shooting out to soften the impact as Jamil presses his chest over your back. “Aren’t you too trusting… or maybe.. You’re an accomplice of this intruder?”

What.

“That’s- that’s-! Of course not!” You feel the shudder raking down your spine at the low hum Jamil makes from your words. Your face burns with humiliation, tears springing up to your eyes for a reason beyond you; you’re cursing Jamil to hell for all this.

“Why should I trust you? I’ve always found your sudden climb in ranks to be a little odd,” he sighs and the snarky remark you had disappears when you feel something hard pressing against your behind. The outline of Jamil’s growing erection presses against the thin material of your dress, slow languid rolls of his hips makes your body burn.

You’re quiet now; distracted by the way the brunet is rutting against you. Jamil is a difficult person for you to tolerate but you can’t deny how attractive he is. “So quiet suddenly?” And you want to curse the skies why he was given such an attractive voice.

His hold on you eases before there’s no longer any pressure holding you down. You get up slowly, pushing yourself up by the elbows and turning your head to see that Jamil has already moved some distance away from you. The neutral look he normally has is back.

You think your heart might explode. He can’t just- do that and act like nothing happened..! There’s no words you can think of—verbal communication suddenly beyond you. All you can do is clutch at your dress weakly, your pussy feeling so empty and uncomfortably wet.

“I can…” you gulp, voice hoarse and Jamil raises a brow in question. “I can help.. find the real intruder.” Your chest feels so fucking heavy now, the bruning heat in your body clouding all common sense. “To prove my innocence.” You add quickly as an afterthought, because you’re not doing this for him.

A small laugh leaves the latter’s mouth in response and you feel your brow twitch. “You’re a difficult person to deal with.”

Wha..?

Jamil pushes himself off the table, once again trapping you between his arms but you feel much calmer than before. The candle burning as your only source of light seems to emphasise the brunet’s features. Eyes slanted and shaped like a predator stares at you hungrily and feels natural for you to draw closer to him when Jamil leans over. “Always having a smile on your face when you’re clearly annoyed. Why are you so insistent on putting up a mask?”

His breath ghosts over your lips, body pressing close to you as if you weren’t close enough. You look into his eyes; searching for something and smiling when you find it. “Should I say the same to you?”

The simple questions snaps whatever tension you’re in and Jamil crashes his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue and slithering in when you give him access. His hands wrap around your back, trailing down over your ass and squeezing you with greedy hands.

You moan in response, pulling him closer by wrapping your hands around his neck and rolling your hips against the hard tent in his pants. Jamil groans softly, breaking the kiss to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. His fingers tug the front of your dress down, the cotton tearing slightly from his rough ministrations but you don’t care about that when his lips reaches the skin above your breasts, marking you with love bites and easing the pain with the slow drag of his tongue.

Much to your disappointment, Jamil doesn’t pull your dress any further down, instead, he’s the one getting on his knees; his hands trailing up your legs and hiking your dress along with it. Your dress settles over your hips, held by his hands as Jamil nudges your legs apart to trail kisses up your inner thigh.

You’re clenching around nothing, small gasps leaving your lips at every mark Jamil leaves with every inch closer to your aching core. “Please,” you can’t help but whine, tangling your hands in his hair. You feel Jamil smirk against your skin.

He pushes your undergarment to the side and your vision goes white from the first slow drag of Jamil’s tongue against your weeping cunt. The taste of you on his tongue makes Jamil feral—harsh strokes of his tongue against your outer lips before his mouth sucks and he’s eating you out like an animal.

You’re struggling to keep your moans in, legs shaking with every suction of Jamil’s mouth on your core, greedily tasting every inch you can offer him. His hold on your thighs are brutal; not allowing you to close your legs. Your dress is no longer held up by his hands and falls over the male’s head, hiding him from view.

You’re biting at your hands to keep your sounds in. It’s already so late at night and despite your location being in the further areas of the palace, if anyone were to walk in the kitchen then the first thing they’ll see is you, writhing and crying from a reason beyond them, Jamil hidden away behind a table and under your dress.

“A- ah-!” The yelp you let out echoes in the kitchen. You’re mortified by the sound but it’s only a second later that you're moaning again. Jamil’s fingers curl once again, dragging against your walls deliciously. His touch is gently, easily finding all the right buttons to push without too much prying as his mouth focuses on your clit.

You whisper his name quietly, the only thing you can think of saying and it seems to spur the brunet to fuck his finger’s into you, easily finding your good spots and you’re coming with a strangled shout.

You don’t get to register how Jamil greedily sucks off your juices, throwing you into the edge of overstimulation before he finally pulls away; pushing your dress over his head. The blood rushes to your face, gaping at the way Jamil swiped his tongue over his lips as if to collect your juices and your squeak when the male suddenly pulls you into a kiss.

When you break away, Jamil is smirking at you handsomely, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Should we get started then?” You nod absentmindedly, blinking at the satisfied smile Jamil gives you. “Then we’ll start with the main entrance. I think that’s most likely where they entered from because of the hectic preparations.”

“What?” You can’t help but ask dumbly.

The laugh Jamil lets out makes you feel both warm and irritated. His eyes narrow when he looks at you but the smile on his face is still present. “I see.. Did you want to continue?” You can’t answer. Jamil smirks.

He takes your wrist and you’re frozen in his stare as Jamil guides your hand to his erection. The hardness in your palm makes your mouth water and thighs clench uselessly as Jamil blinks his eyes slowly. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, pressing your hand harder against his clothed dick and groaning at the pressure. “Should we be able to catch the intruder then I’ll be sure to reward you.”

#jamil viper #scarabia #jamil x reader #twst x reader #twst n/sfw #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #f!reader #specially brewed

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poppysimp · 4 years

Text

Desperation [ Poppy x MC ]

Part two here

Warnings: Homophobia, internalized homophobia, mentions of sex.

a/n: hi everyone !! i wrote this based on a fanfic written by @nightwhite13 please go read theirs. i was feeling angsty so i thought i’d make y’all sad too 😌 i might do a part 2 if y’all want me to 👉🏻👈🏻 you can say it in the tags

Sex and sweat. That’s what Poppy’s room reeked of. She gripped her expensive bedsheets as Bea’s nails dug deeply into her back as she worked her fingers deftly against her.

“Fuck, Poppy!” Bea yelled after one last, deep thrust, grabbing a handful of Poppy’s hair as she rode her hand.

Poppy wiped off some drops of sweat off her eyebrows and reached over her nightstand for a clean shirt. “You can leave now, Farmsville.” Her voice hoarse and icy.

“Gee, princess. Let me catch my breath first.” She said jokingly trying to reach for Poppy’s hand, but retreated as soon as she caught a glimpse of her serious expression “Fine, fine. I’m leaving now. But, can I least get a kiss before I go?” Poppy hated it when she pouted, she looked so fucking adorable and made her feel things, it just wasn’t fair.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so annoying. Fine, but then you leave” She begrudgingly kissed the other girl. Though, she couldn’t manage to hide the smile creeping up on her lips for much longer.

Luckily, Bea was already reaching for the door “Good night, Poppy” She smiled warmly, unbothered by Poppy’s attempts to push her away.

“You know, here’s a crazy idea.” She blurted out right before stepping outside “What if I actually stayed for more than one minute after we have sex” She whispered that last sentence as if it were the most escandalous of proposals.

Her rivals effort to actually get close to her warmed Poppy’s heart to a boiling point. Of course she’d never admit it to anyone, not even herself “We’ll discuss it another day. Now, out”

And just like that, her bed was cold and lonely once again. Hooking up after one of their big fights in front of everyone had become some sort of tradition for them. It always went the same way; they’d spit out venomous insults at each other, put on a show for the zombified crowd of drama-hungry college students who seemed to get off on their stupid feud and went back to Poppy’s place to blow off steam.

She absentmindedly ran her perfectly manicured nail across the love bite left behind on her pale neck while laying on her back. Who did that bitch think she was? No one gave her the right to look so fucking perfect all the time, to have intoxicating kisses and a gentle touch. How dare she look at her with that godamned smile? How dare she make her feel this way?

Tears began to sting and her heartbeat began to increase. Warm droplets of salty tears flowed from her cheeks, all the way down to her collarbone.

“Girls are not supposed to like other girls. That’s just sick, an abomination”

Her father’s penetrating voice boomed in her brain. She was only 14 the first time she heard him say those words.

They were on one of their usual trips to the jewelry store to get her mom a diamond the size of her face, which he only did after screwing his secretary, when she saw it. Two girls locked in an embrace she’d only ever seen in couples formed by a man and a woman.

She was curious, enthralled, even. Could a girl and a girl really be together the same way a boy and a girl were? Well, girls certainly smelled better than boys. She never really understood the appeal of boys the way her girlfriends seemed to. They were loud, smelly, annoying and definitely not as cute as the other girls said they were. She just didn’t get it.

Of course, that curiosity was immediately shot down by her father.

He scoffed “Dykes” was the first word that came out of his mouth in a despective tone “Those sick people. Showing their depravity in public as if it’s something to feel proud about. Let’s go, Poppy, a good girl like you shouldn’t be exposed abnormalities such as them”

That wasn’t the last time she’d hear those words come out of his mouth. Her developing years were filled to the brim with lectures from both her father and her mother on what being “a proper lady” meant.

“Girls are not supposed to like other girls. Please, baby, promise me you’ll never be one of those sickos” She’d never forget her mother repeat those words as she brushed her hair. A gentle, motherly gesture filled with venom and bigotry “You’re way too pretty, just like your mommy. I’m sure you’ll find a nice boy in no time”

The truth was, Poppy didn’t want a nice a boy. Who she wanted wasn’t particularly nice, or a boy, for that matter.

She wanted the girl who defied her ever since she first stepped on campus. She wanted the girl everyone kept trying to pin against her. She wanted a girl, period. Her dad would be so disappointed.

She felt angry, trapped and desperate. This was all Bea’s fault, she was supposed to marry a nice man and take over her father’s company. She was supposed to think about her future, but right now, the only thing on her mind was Bea’s soft lips over her neck, her small hands running all over her body. The way her arms felt, the way her kisses felt. She was the only thing on her mind.

Sex, sweat and desperation, that’s what Poppy’s room reeked of right now.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #queen b #queen b choices #poppy min sinclair #poppy x mc #makepoppyali2020

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moonflower-31 · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist

Part 16

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Talk of rape, misogynist views of women, degrading language.

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Young lady I have had it with you!"

You groaned and ran a hand through your hair, knowing the angry voice of your mother wasn't a good sign. You leaned back in your bed, plopping down against the pillow. 3...2...1…

Your door swung open and a red faced version of your mother reared her head into the room. She was fuming, and you knew it was all because of you.

"After all I've done for you! I've fed you, raised you, dealt with each and every temper tantrum, and this is how you repay me? By denying me this one thing I ask of you?!" Your mother exclaimed. You knew better than to respond just yet. That would just fuel the fire.

"Don't I deserve happiness too?" She wailed, very quickly trying to guilt trip you. "I've done so much for you, and the one second I ask you to do something so simple you shove it right back in my face." She fake sobs, giving you crocodile tears. You want more than anything to prove her wrong. To point out that all of your life has been products of her decisions and her orders. You've barely ever gotten a single damn choice.

But that was what she wanted. For you to break and disrespect her so she could force you to say yes. It's what she did. She loved to manipulate you. But now that you were older, you knew all of her tricks. And you'd be damned if you were going to fall for them again.

"I want to marry for love, mother. Not a man I barely know. All he's done is send me creepy letters." You respond calmly, noticing she was waiting for a response.

"Pah! Love! There is no such thing as love! He's a nice man! Those letters are love letters! You should feel special that you're getting anything at all!" Your mother screeched, putting demanding hands on her hips.

"The letters are creepy, mother. He threatens you and father if I don't marry him. He just threatened Arthur in the last one. I had to get a completely different cell phone because he wouldn't stop calling me."

"Well then that just proves to you why you should marry him! He wants you! What girl would want anything else?" Your mother insisted, causing the boiling rage inside of you to grow hotter and hotter.

"Me, Mother. I want more than just him wanting me. There were plenty of guys in highschool that wanted me, even in my young age. And you said no. They were of higher status too. So what fits your criteria, mother? Anyone I want to be with isn't an option?" You challenged, growling at your mother as you stood up and faced her.

"You will not speak to me like this. Now, Peter is here to see you. You will go down and speak with him, no exceptions!" Your mother dropped that bomb on you before exiting the room with a slam of the door.

You stood there in shock, unsure of what to even do. He was here. He has threatened to hurt your brother if you don't say yes the next time he asks. You were certain he would ask again this time. But you didn't want this. Whatsoever. You wanted freedom. You wanted to experience life for a few years before even considering settling down and having a family. Which Peter wanted right away. He wanted you as a housewife cooped up in one of his properties knocked up and barefoot. He said so in a number of his letters. The thought disgusted you.

So what were you to do now? There wasn't a way out. It had been a year since he'd first proposed. You were so close. But to get there you knew he would hurt your brother. Your family. And blame it all on you.

You sighed. This was really the only way.

You found a dress that he had sent you and slipped into its revealing fabric. You hated the plunging neckline and the sex appeal of the dress, but you knew it would help with this final sacrifice. Make him believe you.

You slid your hands over your dress to smooth it all out before you quickly put your hair down and headed down to the gardens where you knew he would be. It had been his favorite place to wait for you. To watch you in your window.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, breathing heavily. You felt almost dizzy with nervousness as you continued down the stairs and down the corridor that headed to the gardens.

You could do this. At least, you hoped you could.

The sunlight shined into your eyes as you entered the garden, seeing his sunscorched hair glimmering from all the gel that he used.

You swallowed nervously before approaching him. He didn't turn his head for a few moments, making you think he hadn't noticed you. You stop beside him, swallowing again.

A few moments pass until he finally speaks up. "I see you've finally listened to your master and worn the dress I bought you." He comments. Of course that's what he noticed first.

"Yes, I wore it. But I am not your property." You hiss.

"Touchy subject, I suppose. Have you considered my offer?" He slyly spoke. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled sharply.

"Yes." You begin. Peter raises an eyebrow, turning around to face you.

"And?"

"I…" you start, unable to continue from the pounding of your heart ringing in your ears.

"Remember what I told you, pet." He replies lowly, walking up to you. You let your head fall and you look down at his shoes, finding them much more interesting.

"Look at me when I speak to you, bitch!" He sneered, slapping you in the face. You widen your eyes at the sudden violence and look at him in shock, slowly raising your posture to straighten.

Then, Peter pulls out a knife and holds it against your neck. "You say no to me one more time, you deny me what I paid for, I will kill everyone in your family. Your mother. Your father. Even little Artie." He threatens. You feel a twinge of rage strike you as he called your brother by the nickname only you were allowed to call him.

"You know what? This time, I think I'll kill you. Tell your mother an assassin came by, and I tried to stop him." Peter faked a sad and distraught expression. You felt disgusted just by watching him. He let out a cackle as he continued.

"Then I'll tell them you had finally said yes. So they'll give me the company. Unless… you want to say yes now and avoid all of that nonsense." Peter smiled cruelly.

You had nothing. Have nothing. You couldn't do anything without losing. So you answered him. Said what he wanted to hear.

"Y-yes." You whispered, feeling tears immediately build up behind your eyes. Peter then grinned evilly.

"What was that? I don't think I heard you quite right."

"I said yes, you bastard. I-" you caught on a sob in your throat, making you gulp. "I'll marry you…"

You didn't think his smile could get any wider, but it did. He let out his version of a triumphant sigh and he reached forward, touching your belly. You almost recoiled immediately, wanting to run on instinct.

"I can't wait to knock this body up, make you have my sons. Because you belong to me."

You felt like it was the beginning of the end. And unfortunately, it was.

○●♡●○

Derek slowly woke from his forced nap with a quiet groan. His mind hadn't caught up with him yet, and he began to look around aimlessly for a moment. He could barely see anything, because it was all too blurry. Damn, he must have a concussion.

He could feel the car bumping along the road, hitting what seemed to be a hundred different potholes. They must really be heading off road.

Morgan went to rub his eyes, but found he couldn't. His hand wouldn't move away from his other. Then he felt the dig and the burn of the rope against his skin. And he remembered.

Why this SOB didn't use Derek or your handcuffs, he didn't know. What he did know, was that these knots were complex, and would take a minimum of five minutes to even get loose. By then Peter would already know he was awake. Morgan didn't want him to know that piece of information just yet. He wanted to see where they were going. See if he could figure out a way back if he managed to get you out.

Morgan let his head hang to not draw any attention to himself. He looked over to you, finding your image growing clearer as the minutes passed. You were still in what you were wearing when Peter kidnapped you both, so Derek felt a wash of relief that Peter hadn't tried anything with you yet.

His eyes trailed from you to the front seat, where he could hear terrible singing with the song American Idiot. He tried not to make any noticeable faces, but still couldn't stop the grimace from forming on his face. Morgan used what little dexterity he had to try and feel for his phone. Thankfully, he still had it. But he didn't know if this psychopath had some sort of detector for a phone that's on, so he didn't dare try. Even if he promised he'd try to keep it on for Garcia.

"So, you decide to wake up finally?"

Morgan jumped slightly, lifting his head up. Peter looked at him through the rearview mirror. Derek fought the urge to sneer at him, settling on an unpleasant look instead.

"Good, I'll need you awake so she doesn't think I killed you. If she does, she'll run. And then you're really gonna be dead." Peter sneered. Derek swallowed a very tempting profanity word to call this bastard. Did he seriously think she belonged to him? Like he owned her?

Morgan stayed quiet, watching the trees that flew by the window. He was trying to figure something out. But the throbbing in his knee and the pounding in his head was inhibiting his every instinct.

So instead, he just focused on trying to untie his bonds. He knew based on the loops and how complex the damn knot felt, it was going to take awhile. So he started slowly so as to not make Peter aware of what he was doing.

Slowly though, you awoke beside Peter, looking up into the windshield. You noticed the growing bruise beside your eye and the swelling of a lump on your head. You, unlike Morgan, had no restraints. You merely had a seatbelt over you. You turned your head slowly towards the door, and noticed the lock and unlock feature plus the handle had been completely ripped out, making it impossible to open the door from the inside.

"Good, you're awake too. That means we can finally discuss your purpose once we get to where you'll be staying for however long until it takes." Peter spoke up. You knew immediately what he meant, making you instinctively cross your legs and press them together tightly.

"Please, that doesn't mean anything to me. If I have to force one in you I will. So do us both a favor and get used to being a submissive breeder." Peter spat, making you swallow harshly.

"She isn't some dog, Peter. She won't just lay down and take it." Morgan practically spat. Peter gritted his teeth.

"Really? And that's not what you did? Or at the very least that wasn't what you wanted to do?" Peter asks, glaring back at Morgan with a hateful look.

"No, damn it. I don't ever think about wanting to do that. To anyone." Morgan growled. He was already digging his own grave. But that didn't mean he was digging yours.

"Jesus, when did you get so soft? Women are men's property. They should obey us. And the sooner you get that through your head, the sooner you'll be able to accept it." Peter hissed. "You know what? I think I might just show you what I mean once we get to where I'm taking you both. Show you how a man treats what belongs to him."

Morgan almost cursed audibly. What did he just do?

○●♡●○

Spencer was the first one Hotch notified. And he was the first one to burst into the BAU determined to get you back. Now it was 11 hours later, and they had nothing. Nothing other than the stupid letter that had no DNA on it. Garcia had tried to look things up on Peter, but since he was so rich, he had someone erase all of his personal information off the web permanently. Meaning not even Garcia could find it.

"Reid, are you alright?" Hotch asked, entering the conference room where Spencer was hunched over the letter and a written account of what he remembered you told him about Peter. And your past with him.

"Does it look like, I'm alright, Hotch? On average in the US about 62,823 women over the age of 21 are abducted in a year. Each of those women have their own stories a-and--And I didn't do anything to stay here with her, it could-ve been me with her. Instead of Morgan. I should've been there--" Spencer began to ramble for what he felt was the millionth time that morning. And you had only just been taken the night before.

"Reid." Hotch interrupts.

"What? What could be so important that I need to turn away from trying to analyze this letter to try and find any sort of information on Calvin? To bring both of them back?" Spencer questioned, feeling his words drip with unintentional venom.

"That's what I needed to speak to you about. We're all working hard to get them back, Reid. But we're working in shifts. And I believe you need a break. Even if it's small." Hotch attempted. Spencer groaned and pulled at his hair, tapping his pen against the table furiously.

"No, Hotch. I don't need a damn break. I need to find them! Find (Y/N/N)!" Spencer exclaimed, tossing his pen at the table in frustration.

"Reid, I know. We're all frustrated too. We have an APB out on his car and his license plate. He can't go far without drawing attention. We'll find her, Reid. Find her and Morgan. But we can't do that if you don't take a break." Hotch reaffirms. Spencer tightened his fist at his side. He sincerely wished he had some sort of stress ball in his hand so that he wouldn't be about to break a pen. But that wasn't in his abilities as a magician.

"Hotch, you don't understand. She trusted me. Me! I was the first person she told about him and look where that got her! I failed her, Hotch! I said I'd protect her! Keep her safe! When she didn't come back to the apartment last night I panicked, okay? But I didn't get off my goddamn ass to go find her!" Spencer felt like he was going nuts inside his own head. Like he finally got his mother's schizophrenia and he was hallucinating all of this.

"Reid… I may be your boss, but I also hope to be your friend. I know how you feel about her." Hotch informed, catching Spencer’s attention. "She would want you looking, yes. But she wouldn't want you destroying yourself in the process. Think of her, Spencer. You need a break. We need fresh eyes on this, and that's the only way you can try to obtain them. This case will still be worked on with or without you."

Spencer looked down at the now black inked mark on his hand from the broken pen, feeling some of the anger begin to fizzle down.

"You know the only reason I have you on this case is because of the information she shared with you."

Spencer knew that was true. If he didn't, Hotch would have made him take the next however many days off until they found her.

"All due respect, Hotch, but all I care about right now? Is finding her. And finding Morgan. I'm not going to quit now nor will I quit tomorrow. I've lost too many people, Hotch. I'm not going to lose her too. I can't." Spencer spoke up again, turning his gaze from the floor to Hotch's eyes.

Aaron sighed and looked at the ground. "Spencer, why don't you go do something? Go home, eat something and take a shower. Then I'll clear you to continue this case. Until then, I will not let you touch another piece of evidence."

"Hotch-!" Spencer began.

"I'm doing this for your best interest and theirs. We need you completely focused on this case, Reid. We need you without distractions. This is the best way I can think of to achieve that." Hotch insists. "Now go home, or I will make Rossi escort you downstairs." Hotch orders before he leaves the room, leaving Spencer in shambles. He was usually useful in so many cases because of his 'genius'. But right now, he felt like he had an IQ of 3 when it came to trying to help find you.

He sighed. Hotch was right. Once he had some coffee and some food maybe he'd be of more help. Of more open mind.

He just hoped they'd find you before it was too late. The thought chilled his spine in a way he hated, that made him feel nauseated. No, he couldn't think like that. They were going to find you. They had to. You were counting on him and he couldn't let you down.

After all, he did love you, didn't he?

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x you #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x reader fanfic #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds family

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avengerscompound · 4 years

Text

The Ritual

The Ritual: A Captain America Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 2026

Rating: E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo - Shaving Kink

Warnings: Smut (MF vaginal sex, shaving kink I guess)

Synopsis: When Steve gets home from a mission, he has a ritual to help him feel more like himself. The two of you get a little more out of it than just him getting clean.

The Ritual

The sound of the door opening startled you. You hadn’t expected Steve home so soon and as he came through the door you jumped up and ran to him, throwing yourself into his arms. He let out a soft huff as you crashed into him and laughed softly as he closed his arms around you.

“You know,” he said as he lifted you off your feet and carried you inside. “If you make coming home so good, I’ll just end up going away a lot more regularly.”

“No, that’s not how it’s supposed to work,” you said, nuzzling at his neck.

He was a little worse for wear. Not beaten up exactly. He’d come home in pretty bad shape on occasion. Bruised or broken ribs were a pretty common injury. As were gashes that required a few stitches. Often on his head. More than once you’d been called into the medbay because he’d been knocked unconscious. So for Steve, it wasn’t so bad. Mostly he was dirty and he looked exhausted. You assumed he probably hadn’t slept or showered much or even at all since he left. He had at least a week's worth of beard grow in. Not really enough to say it was a beard, but it was more than just a shadow of facial hair.

He set you back down on your feet and leaned in and kissed you deeply. His scruff scratched your skin making your lips tingle and feel a little numb. He had that pungent caustic smell of sweat and dirt and you pulled back and wrinkled your nose.

“Honey…” you hummed, running your hands down his sweat-stained compression shirt.

He knew what you wanted right away. Not that it was going to be an unreasonable request. This little almost-ritual you’d developed had started because it was always the first thing he wanted to do when he got home and you had just injected yourself into it.

He chuckled and turned you around. “Yes, you can. I’ll shower first though,” he said. “You go get the towel and chair while I’m in there.”

You clapped your hands and skipped off to the kitchen to boil some water. By the time you’d steamed a towel, dragged a chair into the bathroom and set up everything, Steve was stepping out of the shower.

The room was full of steam because Steve always showered hot, and he dripped water on the floor as he grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist. It sat low on his narrow hips so that the defined lines of his Adonis’ belt drew your eyes down, leaving only your memory of what was under the white cotton.

He drew you close to him as he still dripped with water and left a wet handprint in the middle of your back to balance the entirety of the front of your clothes as he pressed you against his unyielding form.

“You smell good,” you hummed as you breathed him in. It was soap and sandalwood and salt. He kissed your neck just under your ear and grazed his teeth over your skin.

“You taste good,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Steve,” you moaned his name like it was the lyric of a song and pushed him back towards the chair. “Not yet.”

Steve sat and looked up at you and you grabbed the hot towel and wrapped it around his face. He hummed and leaned his head back, his muscles visibly relaxing.

You pulled your straight razor and began stropping it along the leather strap you’d attached to the chair.

Steve liked a clean shave. He always had and despite how much you might like the feel of his facial hair against the soft skin on the insides of your thighs, he hated growing it in. When you met him he always shaved with the shitty disposable razors you could buy at gas stations and dollar stores - ten to a pack. You would sit on the vanity and watch as it methodically removed any trace of hair from his face trying to reason with him that he could maybe let it grow in a little.

There was something about watching the razor slide over his skin though. The deadly sharp blade dragging over such exposed areas, again and again, was sexual in its own way. One day you'd asked if he'd let you do it and he'd agreed. And despite the fact, you'd nicked him in four different spots and you'd run the razor in the wrong direction he seemed to quite enjoy it.

You'd really enjoyed it. The intimacy of it. The trust involved. The sound of the blades cutting the hair. Even the smell of the shaving cream. It had this strange level of eroticism you had not expected and after you'd wiped the last of the cream from his face, you'd ended up fucking him right there on the bathroom counter.

After that, you'd gotten really into shaving. You'd looked up tutorials and bought books about it. You'd invested in equipment. And if using one of the cheap plastic razors had turned you on it was nothing compared to how it felt to use a straight razor.

You put the blade back in its holster and unwrapped the towel on Steve’s face. He looked up at you with a sleepy content expression and you grabbed your cup of shaving cream and the brush and began applying the cream to his face. It had a strong astringent scent, but there was an undertone of lemon and cedar to it too.

When there was a thick lather on his face you took out the razor and began to shave. You started with the tricky little spots. Under his nose and near his ear. You then began to shave his cheeks. The blade slid smoothly over Steve’s skin making a soft scratching sound as it sliced through the coarse facial hair. There was such an odd and specific mixture of things at work that blended together to be such a turn-on for you. The blade itself and the way it was used was incredibly sexy. From the thick leather stop that you used to realign the edge. To the shape of the razor, the shine of the blade. No one would argue that the aesthetics weren’t appealing.

The cut of the razor was incredibly sexy too. There was a reason why a straight razor was used as a murder weapon in so many films. It was deadly sharp as well as aesthetically pleasing. When you ran the blade down his skin it cut the hair so close there wasn’t even the shadow of it showing.

The main thing that got to you - the thing that went right to your core - was how he trusted you. You tilted his head back and ran the blade down his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and his towel tented at his waist. He trusted you. He trusted you to not intentionally hurt him, which was good in itself. Steve had a lot of reasons not to trust people. If you were some kind of sleeper agent you were in the perfect position right now to take out Captain America. It wasn’t just that though. He also trusted in your skill. He knew you weren’t going to accidentally hurt him either. That you handled that razor like an expert. That… that’s what really did it for you. This was something that Steve thought was important and he knew you were the best person to do it. Not only that, but your competence turned him on.

By the time you were running the blade down the last patch of skin, Steve was rock hard and you were dripping for him. You cleaned up the stray areas you might have missed and wiped the little spots of shaving cream from his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at you as you grabbed the aftershave balm. The usual light blue of his eyes was blown out completely. You began to massage the thick, honey-scented balm onto his skin, soothing it. He hummed contentedly and reached up, cradling your jaw as he looked up at you. You smiled down at him and grazed your teeth over your bottom lip. “Feel like you again?” You asked.

“Mmm… nearly,” he said and guided you down to kiss him.

It was tender and loving but there was a heat to it. His tongue teased your lips apart and you flicked yours out to meet it, dancing them together. You moved around him without really breaking the kiss, just repositioning your lips in small increments until you were in front of him, straddling his lap and bracing your hands on his shoulders.

He pulled you down into his lap and ground his erection up into you. You rolled your hips against it. Your panties soaked through with your arousal as the two of you kissed and moved against each other.

Steve pulled back slowly, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip and he looked up into your eyes. “I missed you,” he said in a breathy growl. He picked up the straight razor and flicked it open again.

Your tongue flicked out, brushing over your bottom lip. “I missed you too,” you breathed as he collected the fabric of your dress in his hand. He pulled it out away from your body and then used the razor to cut the fabric right down the middle.

You gasped and your cunt clenched as a shiver ran through you. “Steve,” you said, the sound somewhere between a moan and scolding. “You’ve ruined my dress and my razor.”

He chuckled and carefully put the razor away again. You nuzzled at his neck and ran your hands over the hills and valleys of his muscular form. When the razor was safely in its holster he ran his hands down your back and over your ass. You hummed and kissed him, letting your lips graze over his. He tilted his head and deepened it. It became frantic and hungry and you rutted your hips in his lap wanting nothing more than his cock inside you.

Without any warning, he lifted you and slammed you into the wall. You braced your feet against the cold tiles as his hips rutted into you.

“Please, Steve,” you mewled, your fingers digging into the thick muscles in his shoulders. “Give it to me.”

He reached a hand between you and tore the crotch out of your underwear and with a snap of his hips he was inside of you, his cock stretching you and filling you completely. You adjusted to him quickly. Your bodies used to each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He felt like home.

He began to thrust his hips, rolling them with every forward movement, pushing you into the wall and swirling his cock inside you. You kissed hungrily, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen, and your lips going numb and tingling against his. Your body responded to his. Ached for it. You fell apart with each movement he made.

He broke the kiss and bowed his head. You thrust your chest out and he pulled a nipple into his mouth as he slipped a hand between the two of you and began to rub your clit.

It was too much. A hot current tore straight through your core and all your muscles clenched at once, your fingers clawing at his back. With a loud cry, you threw your head back and came hard. Your body seizing up and clenching around Steve’s cock.

He grunted and picked up his pace, fucking your through your orgasm, dragging it out so that it was all you were. You buried your face in his neck and whimpered as you cunt fluttered and squeezed his shaft, milking him.

He grunted and released inside you, moaning and pushing you hard against the wall. “Fuck,” you gasped, tugging on his hair.

He hummed and pressed his lips against your neck, slowly slipping from within you and setting you back on your feet. You kissed your way down his neck and over his collarbone. “Feel like you now?”

Steve smiled and wrapped his arms around you, holding you closely against him. “Yes. Now I feel like me.”

#SSB2020 #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #the ritual

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